56. The Fate of Fenrir #2
“About the Morta’s existence, yes,” he replied. “About the Lord’s culpability, not until very recently.”
“Did she know?” Persephone asked of Mariana.
“Yes,” he said. “She helped me learn the full truth.”
“You tried to tell us,” Kate stated. “All that talk of tedium before the ceremony…”
“I should’ve tried harder,” Faren said, angry and ashamed and apologetic. “I should’ve broken my Oath to warn you, but…”
“That would’ve alerted the Lord,” Persephone finished for him.
Kate pursed her lips. “I imagine I would’ve done the same thing, if I were you.” It was as close to an I forgive you as Kate would get, and it assuaged at least some of his guilt.
“We were so worried about you, Faren,” Eva said, shaking her head as if to rid it of the frightening memories. “We’re just so grateful you’re alright.”
The lot of them nodded in agreement, surprisingly earnest for how ruthlessly they liked to tease him.
Then Persephone looked to Mariana. “Did you fight those…things, too?”
“Yes,” Mariana said.
“She’s the best fighter in the Kingdom,” Faren added with pride.
“Better than you?” Beatrice asked.
“Better than me,” he confirmed.
Persephone narrowed her eyes at Mariana. “Is she capable of speaking more than one syllable at a time?
“Yes,” Mariana replied with a smirk.
Kate couldn’t quite hide her charmed grin. Beatrice snorted.
“Prove it,” Persephone said.
Mariana’s spine was sword straight. “What would you like to know?”
Persephone rested her fists on her hips. “Why’d you save him?”
“Because I love him,” Mariana replied.
The first time Faren heard those words from her, he’d been delirious—only half-conscious.
He’d been wondering over the past twenty-four hours if he’d imagined it.
Now, his heart pounded in his throat. He had not expected such candidness in front of his sisters.
He tipped his head, studying Mariana’s profile—aching to reciprocate, if only she’d meet his gaze.
But she was staring at his sisters, her expression neutral and cool—save for a slight feathering around her eyes.
“Aww,” Eva cooed.
“How sweet,” Persephone said mildly.
Beatrice made a disgusted face—but then her eyebrows shot up, as if something had just occurred to her. “Wait a minute!” she exclaimed. “You look like the lady knight from the last Fen-Loth Unity Ceremony. Are you the one who yelled at Faren and then hit him with a squash pie?”
Mariana’s cheek puckered with a suppressed grin. “Perhaps.”
A long pause—then his sisters erupted into fits of laughter.
“I like her,” Kate decided.
“Me, too,” Beatrice agreed.
“She seems good for you, Faren,” Eva added.
“We approve,” Persephone said.
“Oh, good,” he deadpanned, “I was waiting for your approval.”
Just then, Phina poked her head through the curtain. “You have visitors,” she said—and at first Faren thought it was an observation, but then Warner, Shae, and Lee were wedging in beside his sisters.
“Thought you’d be lonely in the infirmary, but…” Shae glanced meaningfully around the room. “It appears not.”
“Everyone wants to meet the miracle,” Warner said, slapping Faren’s shin.
He wore clean clothing with no armor, his damp hair pulled into a knot at the back of his head.
A rigid-looking bandage had been adhered across the bridge of his broken nose, and he had a wicked raccoon mask of bruising, but he appeared in good spirits.
“Please tell me you haven’t been spreading word about Faren’s recovery,” Phina chided.
Warner lifted his palms. “Not to worry, Phina, I know how to follow orders.”
The reminder of Warner’s intact Oath made Faren’s heart twinge—not with jealousy, exactly; perhaps grief?
Shae, too, was still a Mighty Knight. Faren looked to Lee, and found the archer already staring back at him, a solemn sort of pride on his face; in addition to Lee’s notched and faded Oath tattoo, he had dark rings under his eyes and still appeared quite pallid—but he was quick to smile encouragingly.
Faren was unbelievably grateful to the Fates that all three of his closest friends had made it out of the conflict alive.
Beatrice swept an approving gaze over Warner and sidled closer. “That’s a pretty scabbard,” she said, gesturing at the weapon that hung at his hip. “Is the sword inside it just as fine?”
Warner waggled his eyebrows. “Take it out and see.”
“Absolutely not,” Faren enunciated, ignoring Mariana’s muffled chuckle. He made a shooing motion at Persephone. “Please get her out of here.”
Persephone looped her arm through Beatrice’s and tugged her out of the curtained room—not without Beatrice calling over her shoulder at Warner, We’re staying in the guest suite; maybe I’ll run into you in the hall?
Kate and Eva followed, the both of them glancing back at Faren with amusement before they disappeared.
Warner gave Faren an innocent look, which only made him scowl harder.
He was about to forbid his friend from wooing his sister when he heard new voices, footsteps, and the squeaky wheels of a cart echoing beyond the fabric walls of his sickroom.
Moments later, the curtain was swept back further, revealing Major Oderin Farkept and the Heir of Lothgaim, along with two ledgermasters, plus at least six Fenriran and Lothgaimian Mighty in tow.
Warner, Shae, and Lee all swiveled toward them and bowed their heads. Phina merely frowned at her brother. Mariana laid a hand on Faren’s shoulder again, and he wasn’t sure if the contact was meant to steady him or her.
“Good, you’re awake,” Oderin said, giving the others in the room a perfunctory glance.
Both he and Archer presented a mix of cleanliness and grime, as if they’d hastily tended to themselves between frantic meetings.
Their faces, shirts, and bandages were fresh, but sullied by their greasy hair, blood-caked weapons belts, and—in Oderin’s case—a breastplate that was more grime than gold.
Faren could only imagine the protestations of Archer’s retinue, who no doubt hated that the heir had yet to bathe and receive more than a few hasty wraps of gauze.
But Archer had always been that way—serious, exacting, notoriously harsh, with an unapologetic disinterest in propriety.
In spite of Faren’s rapport with both men, he didn’t love for them to see him laid up like this, being so useless amid the realm’s great need. He adjusted his position, sitting a little taller against the headboard. “Major. Heir. To what do I owe the honor?”
Phina—at Faren’s insistence—had already given him a truncated report of the politics that’d unfolded while he was being monitored by her army of alchemists.
The Mighty General of Fenrir had fallen in battle, making Major Farkept the highest-ranking knight in the territory.
In the short time Faren had been bed-bound, Oderin had put Phina in charge of the Adepts and begun the process of civil triage.
Knights had been sent to round up the Arcane magicians and ledgermasters who’d enabled Lord Haron’s ambitions with the Morta (of which there were blessedly few).
Valiant stragglers and knights loyal to Lord Haron were being actively sought, apprehended, and jailed for later trial on the grounds of treason against the realm.
Meanwhile, two Maronan spies who’d attended the Unity Ceremony disguised as nobility had come forward and were now en route to Marona with a Fenriran escort to deliver the news and request assistance.
Fenrir City had been put on a temporary lockdown, with remaining Mighty and Lawful knights posted in every neighborhood to assess citizens’ wellbeing, answer approved questions, and maintain calm while the issue of succession was addressed.
Archer, in a gesture of support, had agreed to stay in the city until greater stability was achieved.
Faren had no idea what Oderin and Archer needed with him. Based on Phina’s report, it seemed like they had it all well in hand.
“No need for formalities, Faren, we’re well past hierarchy,” Oderin said.
Archer—not known for his charm—added, “You’ve more than earned a place as our equal.”
Faren balked at the implication. He might’ve been born a noble, but he was no heir—nor was he even a knight anymore. Without a title or duty now, he wasn’t sure who exactly he was—but when Mariana squeezed his shoulder again, he found that he didn’t mind being just Faren at present.
“I explicitly requested he not be disturbed,” Phina objected. “I am still in the midst of my assessment, and—”
“We won’t be long,” Oderin assured her, “but we will need the room.”
Taking that as their cue, Warner, Shae, and Lee all filed out of the space, patting Faren’s leg as they went, and offering respectful nods to Oderin and Archer. Phina grumbled on her way out, saying something under her breath about gold brutes and bastard brothers.
Mariana made to leave, too, but Oderin lifted a palm. “You, stay.” He turned to one of the ledgermasters, a petite woman with a shaved head and reddish freckles. “Lottie?”
On his cue, she ducked outside, appearing moments later with a wheeled healer’s cart draped in a linen sheet.
She positioned the cart to Faren’s right, then dragged the curtains closed, shutting out the guards and the hubbub of the surrounding infirmary.
The room felt crowded by the grandeur of the remaining visitors within: Major Farkept, the Heir of Lothgaim, two ledgermasters, and whatever was hidden beneath that sheet.
Oderin regarded the second ledgermaster, a fulsome woman with short black curls. “Sorrel, if you don’t mind?”
Sorrel sighed through her nose, and all sounds beyond their immediate vicinity—the shuffling of healers, the fitful noises coming from neighboring sickbeds, Warner and Shae’s distant laughter, wrens chirping outside the window—ceased, enclosing them in a private bubble.
“Okay,” Oderin said to Lottie.
With a gentle tug, she removed the sheet from the cart, revealing its contents: two massive ledgers with the words Valiant and Mighty debossed on their spines.