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ALWAYS PRESENT THE truth, no matter how difficult it may be to speak it. Except, perhaps, when your wife asks how she looks.
—Onin, Guardsman
* * *
ONIN DIDN'T RETURN home until sunset. The long shadows throughout the city provided some relief from the heat of the summer day. As Onin crossed the threshold to Manespike Manor, the house steward, a man named Howle, met him at the door.
"Good day, m’lord," said Howle. The steward held a bowl of water in one hand and a towel draped over his other arm. Onin happily washed the sweat and grime from his face. He splashed the cool water over his head and rinsed his thick beard liberally, wiping himself dry with the towel afterward.
"Thank you," Onin muttered even though it was considered improper. He hadn’t grown up with personal servants and was still getting used to being waited on. His childhood home had employed several retainers to maintain the estate and grounds and keep the horses, but his father thought hand servants to be an extravagance. The servants took his discomfort in good humor, however, and kept about their duties.
"Is m’lord ready for his dinner?"
"Shortly, Howle," Onin said then paused. He then asked tentatively, "Is Lady Manespike at home?" His face betrayed his mixed emotions.
"She has already eaten and retired to her chambers, m’lord," replied Howle. Torn between his appetite and his domestic obligations, Onin decided to talking with Yolan would likely spoil his hunger.
"I’ll eat before I go up," said Onin. "Send word for her to expect me." It never ended well when he showed up at her chambers unannounced. She often refused to see him at all.
Torreg waited for him in the dining hall, the grizzled old captain his most common dining partner. When Yolan did eat at home, she usually did so in her own chambers at odd times. It rankled Onin that he had to chase down his own wife in his own home, but if he couldn't get along with Yolan, at least her father was good company.
Torreg stood and clasped his hand warmly, and both men took their seats.
"How goes it at headquarters?" asked Onin. Torreg spent most of his time with the order since his return to the Heights. The captain gave a distasteful expression in response.
"Still in over my head," said Torreg. "A lot has happened in fifteen years, and I’m still catching up. The number of raids coming from the Jaga has steadily increased over time. The king has a responsibility to support his allies in the Midlands, but the forces of the Guard are stretched thin. If the trend continues, all of the Guard divisions will be deployed to the Midlands instead of at home, doing their sacred duty."
"It’s unthinkable," said Onin with a disapproving frown. "With all the Guardsmen occupied elsewhere, the successor will be vulnerable."
"Well, there’s the argument, isn’t it?" said Torreg. "It’s unthinkable for us to leave the successor defenseless, but others ask what madman would kill the successor and doom the place he calls home. No one would, so many in the higher echelons of the order think our men are better used maintaining peace in the Midlands."
The servants had begun to place food on the dining table.
"So the Guardsmen are sworn to meet the king’s obligations, while the fighting men of the Great Families stay here in their roosts? Hardly seems like the best use of those men," said Onin.
"We’re not alone in thinking that way," said the captain. "However, those opinions are whispered, not shouted among our fellow Guards. The vocal ones end up being deployed to the Midlands for lengthy tours of duty." Onin narrowed his eyes, and Torreg gave him a bitter grin in response.
"That's how you ended up in the Midlands?"
"For being vocal in my opinions? Yes," said Torreg, pulling a leg from a roast chicken. He bit into it and continued speaking around a mouthful. "It has long been the same struggle—the Guard, instead of watching over our charges, enforce the king’s will away from home. Meanwhile, the Great Families maintain that they need all of their men at home for defensive purposes."
"Defensive purposes?" Onin laughed. "Defense from what? Encroaching clouds?"
Torreg spread his hands helplessly. "Defense from each other, I imagine," he said. "The Great Families have long, intricate histories and some very long-running grudges between them. We've not had open conflict in generations, but the potential is there, I wager." The old Guard rubbed his temples wearily. Onin noticed his hair had thinned with age. "It feels like trying to row a boat up a waterfall at times."
The table was piled high by this time, and both men lapsed into silence while they ate. Torreg noted the other empty seat at the table. "Things are still difficult with Yolan?"
Onin shrugged. "Same as ever," he said around a mouthful of bread. "She hates me. Has since we met."
Torreg was visibly saddened by his words. "I never meant to make your life so unpleasant, Onin," he said sympathetically. "Yolan has always been a willful, even spiteful, girl. I hoped she would grow out of it over the years, but alas, she becomes more intractable with age, not less. Truly the jewel of the Manespike family, she is."
"I’ve been meaning to ask something," said Onin. "No disrespect, but, why me? Yolan is beautiful and wealthy and from a Great Family. Surely she had better suitors than an adopted Midlander from a common family?"
"Ah, you’ve caught me out, my son," said Torreg with a wry grin. "Firstly, you are correct on her beauty but not her wealth. The Manespike family is not as well off as you might suspect."
Onin gestured around himself vaguely. "But this household . . ." he began.
". . . is expensive to maintain, and we haven’t sold a dragon in years," finished Torreg. "The other families know, and even if it wasn’t common knowledge, you can bet the other breeders would be circulating that little tidbit. Despite our financial straits, though, there were suitors to be had—good breeding, high standing, wealth. But Yolan would have none of them.
"Each of them had some flaw, real or perceived. Too tall, too short, too pale, bad complexion, bad manners, bad odor . . . you name it, she complained about it—loudly. Some of the suitors weren’t easily dissuaded and would return multiple times to beseech her. Those were the ones she really treated badly. After one particular incident, the suitors stopped coming altogether."
"What happened?" Onin asked despite himself. Somehow it felt wrong to be gossiping about his own wife, but he couldn't help himself.
"She stabbed him," said Torreg uncomfortably. In response to Onin’s shock, he added, "With a hairpin. Skewered his hand. When word got around, her prospects for a sound marriage were all but gone."
"I can imagine," said Onin with sarcasm. "How does it come down to me, though? I’ve no breeding or standing in the Heights, outside of my father’s position."
"Ah, and there’s my shame," said Torreg with a pained expression. "Your family has wealth aplenty. Zorot is a clever man who knows how to make the most of his investments. Your dowry has brought the Manespikes back from financial ruin."
"Wait," said Onin. "I came with a dowry?"
"Indeed," said Torreg. "There you were, one of the most gifted warriors I have ever seen, from a family with money and just enough standing to be socially acceptable. You would bring honor and wealth back into the Manespikes. It seemed like the answer to all my problems. Now it seems my wishful thinking has put you in an unenviable position. Forgive me, lad. I didn't realize what I was doing."
Onin sighed. This shed some light on what was going on in his house but didn’t give him any clue on how to proceed.
"Why is Yolan so disagreeable all the time?" he said, his frustration coming to the fore. "She seems offended by my presence."
"I cannot really say," said Torreg. "I was dispatched to the Midlands when she was just a baby, and she grew up with only her mother to look after her. My Tulanda, may the gods watch over her soul, indulged our daughter to excess. She died during Yolan's twelfth year. I was still in the Midlands when I got the word the fever had taken her." A deep pain passed over Torreg’s face. "I couldn’t return home, and Yolan couldn't come to me. So she was raised by the servants afterwards.
"Yolan has spent her entire life going where she wants, when she wants, and doing as she pleases. She is not used to having strictures placed on her or taking orders. Maybe things would have been different if I had been able to be a true father to her, but this is the hand the gods dealt me. So I did the best thing I could and married her to you."
Onin rubbed at his beard, considering what he had just heard. A plan began to take shape in his mind. He drained the wine goblet in his hand and held it up for the servant to refill it. He would need several more to have the courage for what he was thinking.
* * *
SENSI ARRIVED AT THE place designated by Lornavus shortly after nightfall. He dressed warmly for the summer evening, in a hooded cloak, but he desired the cover it would provide to him. He did not know this place well, which made him uncomfortable. He preferred a certain familiarity with a location’s layout, should the need arise for a speedy exit.
The location, a back alley of modest dwellings, seemed deserted, however. Any of the locals were securely tucked away in their homes, sitting at their own hearths. No sound could be heard except the trickle of a nearby fountain and the whisper of the night breeze.
Sensi looked around often, searching for prying eyes. A tall, robed figure emerged from the shadows to stand next to him while he was looking the other way. He gave an abrupt start but recognized Lornavus and recovered himself. The twin nodded in greeting and motioned for Sensi to follow.
"I don’t see the need for all this skullduggery," complained Sensi in a whisper. "Who do you want me to meet, exactly?"
"I cannot tell you," said Lornavus. "Because I do not know, exactly."
"You don’t know?" said Sensi. "What do you mean?"
"Be patient," said the twin. "You’ll understand soon."
At first, it seemed like they meant to enter one of the domiciles, but instead Lornavus led the way into another alley between two homes. The darkness engulfed them, and Lornavus produced a hooded lantern to light their way. A door waited at the back of the alley, tucked out of sight. The walls were high on either side. Sensi guessed the sun would never reach the place. Unless one knew where to look, the door would remain hidden, even during the day.
Lornavus halted at the door and rapped lightly. A few taps, then a pause, then a few more taps, followed by another pause and a final three taps. After a moment, Sensi could hear the sound of a bolt sliding, and the door opened. No light issued forth, the doorway was nothing but darkness. The thin man stepped inside without hesitation, and Sensi stayed right behind him. Sensi knew one thing for certain: the company of the twins would ensure the greatest safety. He had no reason to suspect them of wanting him dead; there were much easier methods than leading him off on some expedition like this. Still, the stealth and intrigue made Sensi nervous.
The lantern didn’t illuminate the room much, but Sensi could tell they were in a storage cellar of some type. Crates were stacked about them, and another door stood on the opposite wall. The man who had let them enter likewise hid beneath a hooded cloak. Sensi didn’t miss the sword in his hand, though. The mysterious doorman opened the opposing door and ushered them through, hastily closing it behind them.
Altavus awaited them in the darkened passage. The brothers exchanged a brief glance, all the greeting they required of each other, but Altavus politely inclined his head to Sensi.
"Pleasant evening, Sensi," Altavus said evenly. His tone sounded light, almost expectant.
"Greetings, Altavus," said Sensi. "It’s been some time since anyone has seen you."
"I’m sure the rumors are rampant," said Altavus. "But my seclusion has been rewarding in the extreme. You are to share in the some of the fruits of my labor this evening."
"Meaning what?" said Sensi. "What is this all about, anyway?"
Wordlessly Altavus handed cloth-wrapped bundles to his brother and Sensi, reserving one for himself. The bundle had something light but solid in it, which felt like an oblong bowl. When the twins began to unwrap the bundles, Sensi did likewise. His confusion only compounded when he found himself holding a plain, simple mask, made from porcelain. The face was finely constructed, smooth but featureless, and had a pair of thongs for attaching it over the ears. The twins donned similar masks while he looked over the one in his hands, and realization dawned on him.
"So this is why you don’t know ‘exactly’ who you’re going to introduce me to," said Sensi with a grin. Sensi placed the mask over his face and tied the strings together behind his head.
"Exactly," said one of the twins. Sensi had lost track of which while putting on his own mask. It bothered him; they were indistinguishable at the moment. "We are introducing you to a collection of individuals who wish to remain anonymous to one another, and there is good reason for doing so. The masks allow us to gather and interact without being able to glean any identities."
"What is the nature of this group, then?" asked Sensi shrewdly. "Why is secrecy of the members so important?"
"Because we are the ones who seek to free our people from the yoke of religion," said one twin. Eerily, the other twin finished with, "We’ll dispel the fog of superstition that holds us back from achieving what the ancients achieved before us."
* * *
ONIN DRANK SUFFICIENT wine to feel warmth throughout his body. He strode through the corridors of the manor, steadily but purposefully, until he found himself outside Yolan’s chambers. Only an occasional wobble marred the confidence of his stride.
A manservant guarded Yolan's door, mostly to keep away eavesdroppers. When Onin stopped outside the door, the servant had the look of a man who didn't know how to respond. Onin clearly intimidated him; he stood a full head above the man and was twice as wide across the shoulders. The servant cleared his throat before speaking. "The lady does not wish to be disturbed."
Onin cast him a withering look. It had the desired effect, and the man visibly shrank away. "That’s too bad because I intend to disturb her."
With those words, Onin pushed the door open and stepped into the room unbidden. He had been in Yolan’s private chambers a scant number of times, and as usual, he was struck by its opulence. Decorative furniture, tapestries, and works of art festooned the place. The finely crafted pieces crowded the eye with an explosion of rich colors. A pair of handmaidens bustled about, tending the fire, pouring wine, plumping pillows, and serving food from silver trays. Another handmaiden plucked a yearning tune on an elaborate harp in the corner. Smoke from the braziers filled the air with a haze as well as an earthy scent.
Yolan lay in the midst of luxurious cushions, attended by two servants; a large, well-muscled man who fanned her while an adolescent boy with refined features read poetry aloud to her.
Everything but the smoking braziers ground to a halt when Onin entered the room. Collectively, the attending servants looked at him with cold, blank stares then turned back to their mistress, awaiting instructions. Yolan, clearly irritated at the interruption, reacted as Onin expected.
"What do you want?" she asked with venom.
Onin shrugged. "Nothing in particular."
"Then what are you doing here?"
"Just wanted to see you."
"Now you’ve seen me. Go away." She started to motion for the servants to resume, but Onin interrupted her.
"No," said Onin.
The look of shock on her face was priceless. The servants exchanged nervous glances with one another.
"No?" she repeated. Her voice had risen noticeably. "Get out of my rooms!"
Onin rolled back and forth on his feet like a mischievous schoolboy. "No."
Yolan grew livid. She clambered from her pile of cushions to stand defiantly before him. "What is this?" she screamed. "Overcome by carnal need and here to claim the husband’s right! Well, I’m not your breeding sow, to be used at your discretion!"
"No," he said firmly. "That’s not it."
"Then what?" she raged at him. "What in all the Heights has moved you to disturb my privacy and invade my rooms?"
"Ever since we were married, I’ve been as civil to you as possible, and you show me nothing but contempt," Onin said. He thrust out his jaw. "Well, I’m sick of it. I’m not going to walk around here, scared of you anymore. Be a shrew if you like. I’m not going to let it get to me."
Her hand lashed out like a viper. The slap rang through the air, leaving an angry red welt on Onin’s cheek. He stood solid as a stone, unflinching.
"Get out of my rooms!" she screamed again, red faced.
Onin looked her squarely in the eyes. "No."
Yolan snarled and snatched a crystal decanter from the hands of a nearby handmaiden. She swung it in a wide arc and smashed the delicate vessel over Onin’s head. Onin held his ground stubbornly, shards of crystal scattered across his shoulders. A trickle of blood ran down his cheek from his scalp. Without moving, he fixed her with a cool stare, and they locked gazes for a few silent moments.
With a short leap, Yolan was upon him. He braced himself for another blow when he saw her quick movements and was unprepared when her arms wrapped about him passionately and she smothered his lips with her own. They kissed madly, with abandon, and it was several seconds before Onin could disengage himself enough to speak. "Get out!"
The servants ushered themselves from the room, closing the door as they left.