Chapter 16.1 (Insomniacs)

Author's Notes: 917 words.

In summary: The House of Wyn - the Dragon Lords - settled in Wyn's land, had one prominent rival. On the land that is now Eimhin, Comas, and Elchanan - lest that land has been separated further, as so often happens to the bodies of empires - was once the House of Costava. Aligned with the phoenixes, they claimed to be the descendants of some of the mages who had gained the blessing of The Creator in their journey from the Ascended Lands to this continent. Wyn had been the leader of those mages, of course. Both houses vied for control of the land that is now the Confederacy, as each desired control of the Erefung Lake, that jewel through which bounties sailed from the ever-wealthy northern kingdoms (now Lecizstan) to the cruelties of the deserts beneath. They also wished to seize the Pillars, around which the whole world was oriented, as it would be easier to assert their closeness to Him. This conflict finally resolved itself when-

Terasu slammed the book shut, growling as she stared at its eloquent cover, illustrating a dragon surrounding a spire. "This is so boring. Where are the golden-haired heroines, and the villians beheading good kings and sending out their dark armies? I didn't come here to learn politics."

"Your father wanted you to learn the history of your kingdom," Latton said, pulling back the tent flap to look inside the spacious, candlelit room.

"My father’s an ass," replied Terasu, crisscrossing her legs and yanking a comb through her disheveled hair.

Latton sighed, seeing the poor job she knew she was doing – she wanted his attention - and stepped inside. "Language, my princess."

"There’s rules to making new kings, Latton. He’s not going to spit in the Confederacy’s face by trying to replace the King. It’ll just makes us look weak." She yanked the comb away from his reaching hands.

"Wielde is not particularly strong, is he? Does the Alliance oppose him from the fear that he is seen as weak by the rest of the world?" Latton slowly lowered onto his knees and looked into her bloodshot eyes. She glanced at him for a second, and then a fire rose within her eyes, locking her vision in place. "-But I came to serve and protect you, not to dispute."

"Right," Terasu said, handing him the comb in a quick, firm movement. As he pulled at her hair, she blew some strands from her eyes. "It's hard to take you seriously when you stab your stupid self."

Humming, Latton began to arrange her hair into a bowl shape - it fit easiest in the helmet, Terasu had always reasoned. "I have no idea how it happens, madame. I suppose I am so often tired, and then I often forget to sheath my dagger after practice.”

Terasu waved it off. "Fine, but maybe I need to get someone to watch you. What’d the others think if I had servants for my servants?"

He said nothing. Terasu stared at her lap, at the small tears in her pants. In the corners of her mind, she wished, however faintly, that there might be blood. Rowland's, to be specific. There had to be some trace of him. Beyond the red bows that Latton had made her take off, all of Rowland's possessions were stashed somewhere in Alarick's tent. Alarick would not let her touch them, no matter how much she had Latton plea for her case - it was unhealthy, Alarick said, and she needed to move on.

And she wanted so hard to break that veil, that funeral gown draped over her head, shading and souring her vision. It kept her up at nights, staring hopelessly at the stars; it kept her unkempt, unclean, weeping. She was never a good writer, but she had spent fruitless hours composing poems for him. His death stabbed at her soul and fractured her mind, and she wanted to forget.

But then she thought of the girl who called her a traitor, and then she couldn't help but wrap the veil tighter around her. That freak had done something to that boy. He had been so calm and normal before that night, but he had killed her Rowland anyway. Terasu thought that there was no question; it was the girl who was responsible for her miseries, who had charmed the other pallbearers of her innocence in some nefarious way, and it was the girl who danced freely as Terasu sank into the ground. She could remember only that night, and it would not leave her memory, not until that girl was gone.

"Where's Jonathan?" asked Terasu all of a sudden. Her eyes never rose.

Latton put the comb aside and breathed deeply. "Training some of the newer recruits," he said. "Eremia was nowhere in the vicinity, last I saw."

"Have him sent to me," Terasu said, after a few seconds of thought. "And is there anything else I need to know?"

"Ceinen is rather distraught these days," remarked Latton. "Something about Madeleine and her attention towards him."

Terasu laughed bitterly. "Nothing new; he's always been crushing on her." She glared through Latton’s eyes. "Well then, leave me alone, and make sure to bring him. We’re going to talk about that girl, and I want him to do something for me."

Latton bowed. "As you wish." He began to step outside the tent, but hesitated. "You know her name, you know."

"It makes her more real than she is."