“Can I come in?”

  Alarion gave no more answer to Elena’s question than he had the three knocks that had preceded it. His focus was on the satchel open on the bed before him. It was a small thing, bulging with a few changes of clothing, his toiletries and essentials. He had packed most of his other valuables neatly to the side—his greatsword and mace, his blackstone bracer, and the various other magical items he had collected.

  It spoke volumes about who he was becoming that the only items of value he owned were those used in battle.

  “Alarion… can I com-”

  “Do I have a choice?” He snapped over his shoulder. “About any of this?”

  Elena let out a quiet sigh.

  “Some. I have as much choice on the matter of your induction as you do. But if you want me to go, I will go.” There was a pause as she waited for a reply. When none was forthcoming, she added, “I did not want you to leave on bad terms.”

  Those words earned a laugh from Alarion, though it was a bitter, hollow thing. “Too late.”

  “Alarion…” Elena sighed again. “You had to know there would be consequences for lying.”

  Alarion shoved a sheathed dagger into his bag with enough force to make the bed beneath it groan in protest. He picked up another and studied it between his fingers, his back still to Elena as he formulated a response.

  “I did not lie. You assumed I would obey. You never even asked.” Alarion’s voice was soft as he unsheathed the throwing dagger and rolled it between his fingers. “I could have left. But I did not.”

  “What? What are you talking about?”

  “The specifics are… fuzzy. But I know they gave me the choice. I could have gone anywhere. Left from any dungeon. But I came back.” He sheathed the weapon and tossed it into his bag. “Stupid.”

  The click of Elena’s heels filled the bedroom as she came closer. “Far from it. If you had fled, we’d have found you. They might not have bothered with some farmer with a weak Awakening, but the items in this room alone would be enough for any competent sympathetic mage to track you down.”

  Contrary to Elena’s intention, Alarion’s expression soured at the news. “So, there was never a choice.”

  “Only the strong get to choose.” Elena repeated the words with the cadence of a well-rehearsed idiom as she rested a gloved hand on his shoulder. “For what it is worth, I am sor-”

  “Stop.” Alarion shrugged off her hand as if it had scorched him. “Stop making excuses. For your people. For your husband. You are strong! Why not choose to change things, to stop him! You said you would keep me safe!”

  Elena stood stone silent for a moment. Then she tugged off one of her gloves. The flesh beneath was scarred and warped by fire, her index finger missing up to the first knuckle.

  “Do you really think you are the only one he punished for what you did?” she asked, pulling the glove back on as though disgusted with herself for revealing the infirmity. “I tried to soothe his anger. I have tried to push for reforms. You need to understand, strength is relative. I am stronger than you, but there are so many who are stronger than I am. And not just in level or rank. Political power. Economic power. Arcane power. Military power. I want you to be better than him, better than me, Mothers willing, but you cannot be this reckless and na?ve!”

  “I…” Alarion started to speak, but words escaped him as he stared at her gloved hands. His own balled into fists, his breathing coming quicker, his face flushing red. Then a horrible thought occurred. “Is he going to hurt Sierra?”

  “No. He will punish her, I am sure. But nothing so vulgar as violence. Her father is too well established. Doubly so with the news you’ve given us.”

  “You think her fath-”

  “Hush. There are no wards here, and my husband has enough reasons to despise you.”

  The mention of Dar caused Alarion’s anger to flare once more. He wanted to hurt him. To break him. To make him feel small. It would likely be decades before he would be strong enough, but Alarion was nothing if not single-minded.

  “I am sorry,” he said at last. “For your…. for everything. I had to stay. But I am sorry.”

  Elena laughed. “I come to clear the air, to apologize to you, and somehow you are the one asking for forgiveness? No… all of this is messy. We do what we can with what we have. I understand why you stayed. I am glad you did. I just… I wish the circumstances had been different. For all of this.”

  There was a sadness in Elena’s posture as she reached out to ruffle a hand through his messy white hair. She pulled him into an embrace and gave one final sigh. “I will be there in the morning for your departure. It would not be proper to seek you out during your term, but I will write, and I will send what I can.”

  Alarion blinked a few times and rubbed moisture away from one eye as they parted.

  “You are a good boy. Alarion. I am sorry I am such a poor substitute for what you have lost.”

  With those words, she turned and walked away.

  “Are you awake?”

  “Ngh?” Alarion groaned. There was a light in his face and he rolled onto his left side to escape it as he murmured an answer. “I am awake.”

  “Alarion…”

  “I said I am-” the boy protested before his mind caught up to his mouth. He blinked a few times, squinting against the light as he looked back over his shoulder. “Sierra?”

  “There he is,” she replied wryly. “I was worried I would have to shake half the manor down to rouse you.”

  “What are you doing in my room?” he asked, gathering the covers over his chest by the light of her lantern. “… in the middle of the night?”

  “You are leaving in the morning, yes?”

  “Mm.”

  “Well, I have just finished my report. I have duties in the morning, and I am not likely to have another chance to speak with you before your departure.” Despite her upbeat tone, Alarion had spent enough time with Sierra to recognize the stress in her shoulders, the worry in her eyes. “I am not happy with all of the things that I said.”

  “But you are happy with some of them?”

  Stolen story; please report.

  She gave him a look, then just as quickly looked away with a slight blush. “I am offering amends, try and be a bit humble? I am only asking for an hour, maybe less. Get dressed and meet me in the courtyard.”

  Alarion lay in bed rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as she departed. He knew better than to let the sweet embrace of his pillows claim him despite his aching body and general weariness. If she had to ask him a second time, it would be much less gentle.

  Somehow, the thought that she wouldn’t ask again felt worse than the idea of her trying to stab him in his sleep.

  With a reluctant groan, Alarion fell out of bed. With some effort he dressed in fresh clothes, slid into his sandals and took a moment in front of the mirror for vanity. His reflection felt strange these days. He’d become broader in the shoulders, the muscles in his arms now well defined. He was clean and smooth shaven, almost handsome. Gone was the wiry child that had arrived at the Trinity Isles. The only thing Alarion had in common with that boy was his stunted height.

  He didn’t look like an Ashadi orphan; he looked like a Vitrian noble. Mothers above, he even talked like one. Idly, he wondered if his mother or his sister would recognize him.

  It made him sad to think they wouldn’t.

  The halls of the manor were empty save for the endless patrols of the household guard, men and women who appeared more perplexed than concerned that he was up and about at such a late hour. Only the gate guards gave him or Sierra any trouble.

  “No one out. The Governor’s orders.”

  “Excuse me?” Sierra asked. Her tone was polite, as if asking for clarification, but her posture was not. She was stiff. Angry. “We are going for a walk.”

  “The Governor does not want-”

  “The Governor does not want me waking him up in the middle of the night with my orchestra.” She shot back. “I have had free rein of this island for months. You think he intended that no, actually, his equerry is not trusted to walk around in the dark on her own.”

  “Miss-”

  “Shall I wake him?!”

  “Fine. Fine.” The man relented as the soldier next to him chuckled at his dismay. “Just… I did not let you leave. If anyone asks.”

  “No one will. The whole of the Trinity will be off lockdown in the morning when this one is gone.” Sierra answered as she grabbed Alarion’s arm and pulled him forward.

  “Where are we going?” Alarion asked as they cleared the gate, a bit befuddled by the entire exchange.

  “The far side of the island has a small outcrop.” Sierra explained as they walked, her pace slowing as they fell out of sight of the guards. “It is private, and far enough from the sleeping quarters that I can play something nice without waking half the manor.”

  “You are going to play?”

  “I play every night, or as often as I can. Remember?”

  They walked by moonlight along the foot of the curtain wall that surrounded the manor. Sierra led the way, following a familiar trail and warning him of uneven stones and animal burrows that might trip him. Tired as he was, even the short journey felt like a lifetime, but it wasn’t long before their destination was in sight.

  The rocky outcrop was a hundred feet offshore with a small path of upraised stones that mostly connected one to the other at low tide. The rocks were slippery and the sea water freezing as they made the crossing to the moss-covered island. Curiously, there was a large satchel resting against one rock. Some of Sierra’s things, no doubt, given that she took up a position on a flat stone next to it.

  “Kotone. My players, if you please?”

  “Yes Miss! Yes Miss!” The little Thoughtborn familiar answered cheerfully as it began to summon and place a familiar series of chairs and instruments.

  “I love the moon when it is like this,” Sierra said, gesturing out over the ocean where a reflection of it stared back into the sky. “I used to make promises to the moon when I was little. A way to keep me honest and focused. Just little things, you understand. Never a promise I risked breaking.”

  The words struck a chord with Alarion as he settled down across from her with a grunt of exhaustion. “One of my sisters used to do the same. She broke a promise once and my mother was furious when she found out.” The memory brought a wan smile to his lips. “I never did learn what she had done.”

  “Maybe it was just that she broke the promise at all?” Sierra suggested. “It is not like Vitrians have a monopoly on valuing honesty.”

  Alarion nodded along with the thought, then caught Sierra’s eye as she glanced about. She was on edge. Nervous. It wasn’t like her at all.

  “Why are we here?” he asked.

  Sierra frowned at the direct question and looked away. She bit her lower lip, chewing on it and his query before she answered with one of her own. “Do you remember our last conversation? Our last real conversation. Not the ones in the dungeon or during your training.”

  “Obligation and ambition. Right?” Alarion asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “What about it?”

  “Last time I asked, you did not have an answer. I wanted to know if you found it? If you have found an ambition. If you know what you want? Have you thought about it?”

  He had. Though the weeks between had been chaotic, her question had never fully left his mind. It was always somewhere at the back, ready to needle him the moment he took a breath for himself. He wanted an answer as much as anyone else.

  “I think I want to be forgiven.”

  Sierra tilted her head. “What did you do?”

  Alarion ignored the question. His answer hadn’t felt right on his lips. He wanted forgiveness, but it wasn’t his ambition. In most cases, it wasn’t even possible to obtain. “I want to be better.”

  “Alarion, strength is a means not-”

  “No. I know,” he stopped her. “I do not mean stronger. I mean better. I want to be a better person than I am now. More complete.”

  His thoughts drifted to his mother and father. To the good times. To hard work on the farm and quiet nights by the fire. His mother had been better than him. She’d been happy in a way that he hadn’t understood at the time. Did she have an ambition? Or had she reached it, only to have it taken?

  Whatever it was to be better than he was now, he’d find it. And he’d find it with enough strength to make sure no one could ever take it from him.

  “I do not know how to describe it, or how to get there,” Alarion explained. “But I know what it looks like.”

  “Hmm.” Sierra seemed unconvinced, but she smiled nonetheless. “How very… you.”

  They sat together listening to the waves wash up against stone as Sierra’s familiar completed her set up. Half the island was dotted with over two dozen instruments, most of them unfamiliar. There were the cellos, of course, but also smaller stringed variants, drums and wind instruments. Each was set carefully on a seat, awaiting an invisible player.

  “Kotone if you could-” Sierra’s familiar popped into existence one last time to hand over her cello and a freshly rosined bow. “Thank you, dear.”

  The pieces in place, Sierra began to play, and the small stone island came alive. It began with a gentle back and forth, a few sweet notes played one after another. Then another came in heavier than the first. The strings sang, and the wind danced about his ears as the pace intensified.

  It was a mournful song, like so much of Sierra’s music. It made him think of Elena and her injury and of Sierra and her dreams. He sat amidst the tension between artist and soldier, between woman and Vitrian. Her eyelids flickered as she played, her eyes tracing invisible strings of magic to her orchestra. She looked peaceful, all that embarrassment and tension drained from her body in the love of her craft.

  He needed to find that for himself. To find it and hold on.

  The orchestra wound down, soft notes fading into one another until only Sierra’s strings remained. She struck a few notes, each long and sorrowful. And when she struck the last one, something odd happened.

  A bell rang out from the darkness of the open ocean.

  “I really do like you,” Sierra whispered. Her voice was shaking. So were her hands. “You are stupid and stubborn, but you are also kind, introspective and surprisingly thoughtful. You act out of instinct, but never out of malice. You are decisive, strong, and gentle. There are not a lot of men like you.”

  “Sierra… what is going on?”

  “If you were… if things were different. I think I could fall for you. Maybe I already did. Maybe that is why I am shaking like a leaf.” The girl laughed, a giddy noise almost on the verge of panic. “They still can be better, just like you wanted. Just… try not to be you. Just for a few minutes, okay? Please. Trust me.”

  “Sier-”

  “Do you trust me?” she interrupted. “That I only want the best for you?”

  “I… I am not sure. Yes?”

  “Then you need to stay here. Until it is over.”

  An explosion lit up the night sky as the far side of the curtain wall detonated. Overhead, a dome of magic glowed white in the midnight air, inscriptions pulsing with mana, then shattering as a second detonation followed. Then a third. Massive chunks of masonry, thrown free by the blast, rained down into the sea along with other debris.

  Sierra saw the look in his eyes and shook her head. “No. Please. Do-”

  Bssht

  Alarion vanished, but to his surprise, he did not go far. He’d intended to arrive in his chambers, close enough to reach Elena or ZEKE. Close enough to make a difference.

  Instead, he flickered a handful of feet away and found himself gripping the hilt of his greatsword in the bottom of Sierra’s bag.

  “Alarion!” she shouted as he ripped his hand free and started for the shoreline. When he said nothing, she swore and dragged her bow across her cello. The note was so high it stung, but it was the violent eruption of violet energy across his path that gave him pause.

  “They will kill you if you go back,” she warned as she struck two discordant notes. The air wavered in front of her as two of her spectral minions took up a place between her and Alarion.

  “And my father has ordered me to kill you if you try.”