2412 Strilaxis 9, Reshpe

Reeca's wings flapped in the dimming light. Every time she flexed her back muscles, pain shot off to her shoulders. She cursed.

Since she left Cardina, her wings started throbbing. Two days later, it didn't register how much the landscape had changed, from beige, barren fields to green, dense layers of trees. Her memory contained just one word over and over—pain.

She looked back without thinking and eyed the tear dangling at the corner of her wings. The blue seemed out of place against all the green around her but who cares about that? She groaned as she flapped her wings to soar higher. As usual, her temples throbbed in sharp, searing pain.

Before she left the human territory, she had examined the arm-length tear and decided it wasn't much to worry about. Her wings were fine. It was just a little tear.

Jokes were on her because two days after that, her wings became the most uncomfortable thing she ever carried on her back. Basic wing care and she neglected it. Nice going there, Reeca.

She had tried mending it using weaving magic but the tear only got worse. So she let it be.

She had no choice. Not when she had to use her wings to fly the fastest she could to Oaksham, the Varichria's trading and livelihood capital. Reeca recalled cursing audibly as soon as she killed off Rhys's message on her trailwhisperer a few days ago. Of all the places her brother could choose a rendezvous point, it was the Weaver's Capital.

Not only was Oaksham noisier than Reeca would have liked, it was also where the rest of the Varichriais were. The chance of people recognizing the both of them was not only high, it was the only outcome Reeca could imagine out of this situation.

But Rhys called her to say that he had discovered something. Knowing her and her brother's propensity to never stay out, Reeca knew she had to get to Oaksham as fast as she could.

Now, she was flying past the border between Cardina and Narfalk. In just a few hours, she would be inside Narfalk. Reeca sighed as she craned her neck to look at the dimming sky beyond her. After so long, she still found herself back to where it all started.

The sun set over an hour ago, giving way to the second sphere in their timetellers. Crozal, the Crimson Mother, shone from somewhere in the atmosphere, raining her rays on people below. Nestled among the clouds and countless stars and their constellations lie both Murco and Aravid, contributing their meager light to turn the sky into a dark shade of olive.

Reeca sighed. These moons' presence didn't assure her the slightest bit. Cold wind blew her hair off her forehead as she flew above the trees' crowns, the color of sky deepening their multicolored hues. Had these trees been this tall?

She scoffed. She sounded like a mother fussing over her children except those children were trees.

Reeca shook her head and she angled her body. The cold, night breeze slapped her cheeks harder as she dived lower into the forest, tearing through the canopies. Her wings refused to carry her higher, no matter how hard she flapped them, so she had to drop closer to the ground. Even when it meant people seeing her more than she expected or liked.

Aunt Orkin's tavern. That's where Rhys needed her to be by sundown. Well, it wasn't exactly sundown but who cares? There was no one chasing them now.

Reeca flew along the all-too-familiar roads of Oaksham which were non-existent. Varichriais don't give much importance to roads when they spend their days up in trees or in the air. They were born to fly, not to toil on earthly endeavors such as roads. One simply has to learn how to navigate this forest without trivial things like roads.

Only a few travelers were on the air with her. One of the wonders of travelling at night, if Reeca could guess. Some cast her a curious glance, no doubt recognizing her. They recognized her, didn't they?

Reeca pulled the hood of her cloak lower. She was gone for a long time. Perhaps, the people simply had forgotten? Or maybe her father messed up the communication system so that there was no efficient way to let the Palace know that the banished princess was back in town?

Perhaps, most of the public didn't even know what had transpired in the Palace back then. A ball of dread dropped in Reeca's stomach. Ignorance was the best and she should let it be that way, no matter how long ago it was.

Houses made from patched clay and leaves faded in and out of her view, their foundations firmly planted in the ground. The lanterns in their yards shone ever so bright, the flames powered by simple weavings. Trees, mostly alfalea and rimmon, covered most of the sky, and along their sturdy branches, stood more houses.

Those were of the wealthy citizens. It's considered wealth and status here if one owned a house higher up. Reeca strained her neck, looking for some ongoing constructions in case her father decided to promote another family into the Council. There were none.

Before Reeca's eyes, more lanterns on houses' porches flared to life as if responding to the time. It was a typical day in Oaksham.

She passed several shops, their awnings still popped open, weavings in display. A number of vendors tried catching her attention to their wares, displaying switchable lamps that never run out of oil, walking sticks engraved with varichria magic designed to keep disturbing spirits at bay (that's a Banshee's job, by the way), and an occasional trailwhisperer. Reeca wrinkled her nose seeing that most of them were fake or altogether weak.

Reeca swerved past a rimmon tree whose trunk was as thick as a graspel's body. She craned her neck up to an alfalea's third-tier branch. Aunt Orkin's tavern. and looked up. She flapped her wings, ignoring the flash of pain by her eyes. Her teeth ground against each other as she angled her body to soar parallel to the tree's trunk. The hair on her arms were an inch close to the rough, tan bark running past her as she rose higher and higher.

The tavern loomed closer. With a grunt, she tucked her wings. Another round of pain shot from her shoulders. She dangled in the air for a second before she lunged and touched her feet on the porch, steadying herself. Not a great landing but it would have to do.

Reeca lowered her head, a hand pulling her hood lower. Don't get seen. Don't make a noise that would get people to see her.

She sighed in a feeble attempt to steel her nerves. The smell of freshly-cut leaves and scented oil common to the air in Oaksham still brought back the memories she fought so hard to forget. No matter. She had come here for a reason. Best to see it through.

Reeca walked past a wooden porch that creaked under her soles and straight through a cubical room where Aunt Orkin's tavern truly sat. Most structures in Narfalk were void of doors. Reeca used to scoff at the concept of putting blockades on the entrances. How would people feel welcome if there was a door to their faces?

Some practices just didn't make sense.

Hushed talks filled the tavern, mostly from intoxicated customers lamenting over lovers or something just as bland. Reeca sauntered in with what's left of her authority in Narfalk. Which was nothing, by the way.

She noted how humid and cold it was at the same time, with the wind blowing through the windows a mixture of hot surface moisture and an occasional night breeze passing through the trees.

The tavern itself was a four-walled structure with a roof made from rimmon wood. Tables crowded more than half of the space, while the counter stood like a sentinel on the far corner. A lone woman polished a mug with a cloth behind it.

Aunt Orkin was not Reeca's aunt at all. That's just what people call the barmaid in this part of Oaksham. Her tavern was the most populated, especially on the Day of Weaving where she even had to haul wasted bodies off her shop by dousing them in akrise urine before kicking them off the ledge, literally.

No heads turned when Reeca sauntered inside. As it should be. Aunt Orkin's customers were habitual drinkers, drowning in Rosado and exuding strong dawnberry scent until the wee hours of dawn. Usually, they flock here around the final hour of the third quarter, right before the sun goes down. They must be here awhile.

From behind the counter, Aunt Orkin placed a glass cup down, stared grimly at Reeca. Reeca pursed her lips and did her best to look inconspicuous. The barmaid's green eyes followed Reeca as she wove through tables before settling into an empty one by a window looking out west. Reeca put her hands together and rolled her shoulders. She looked out of the windows passively until she felt Aunt Orkin's eyes tear off her back.

The moonlight blinded her through the window. She moved to examine her wings, cursing at the tavern's dim light. She dropped it. Instead, she cradled her chin on her palms propped against the table and stared unseeing into the window.

Her wings fluttered, and like an itch, Reeca whirled and tried to check again. Smooth, cloth-like surface greeted her fingertips as she caressed her wings. Her eyes strained hard to find what's wrong.

"What are you doing?"

Reeca jumped, registering the voice. She dropped her wing and settled back into her chair, hands folded on her lap.

Her brother, Rhys, dropped into the chair across her, his eyes heavy on her. "What's wrong with your wings?"

Reeca shook her head. "Nothing."

She clenched her fist underneath the table, willing her meekness to subside. No, she wasn't afraid of her brother. Far from it. She just didn't want him to worry more than he needed to be. If she showed him that she was hurt, he would freak out and keep her by his side at all times. He would forbid her to be on her own.

Reeca could feel a scoff building on her throat. She could take care of herself. She didn't need Rhys worrying about her.

Also, what's up with Rhys treating her like a fragile flower that could be crushed in the storm? She was strong—far stronger than he thought.

Showing weakness in front of him would reset her hard work of changing her brother's image of her back to the first notch. So, Reeca pursed her lips, ignored the throbbing pain in her temples, and shook her head again. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

Rhys's eyes reflected her own, amber eyes rigid against her teal-and-purple ones. She hated how she lost all her bravado when she was with her brother. It's like his presence was large enough to diminish her own. She shrunk into her chair unconsciously.

Her brother nodded, his dark orange hair bouncing against his forehead. It was such a stark contrast to Reeca's blond locks.

"What have you got?" Rhys leaned his elbows against the table. His tone was soft but Reeca could tell he was a bit annoyed judging from that slight clip.

Reeca swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth and forced her tongue to loosen. "I assume you know what happened at Cardina?"

Rhys raised both of his eyebrows; the corners of his lips pulled into a smile. "Tell me everything."

So, she did. She recounted her days in the Commons, the Temple, and the nights she spent snooping or eavesdropping. When she got to the battle at the castle, she pursed her lips before she could blurt out that she was almost eaten by a graspel. She remedied it by saying that she and her allies won.

"What's more," Reeca smoothed her hands on her trousers. Why was she even speaking fast? She kept a wary look at the people idling around them. None seemed interested in what she was saying. "I discovered interesting things."

She proceeded to tell him about the thrones, the Sovereign and Synketros, and the heirs.

"Also, the shard fairy explained things," Reeca nodded, remembering their conversation back at the Temple of Magic. "She said she and her four generals are part of a group called Synketros. She said that they were dedicated to protecting Umazure from danger and that Cardovia is their enemy. They are willing to do everything for Umazure's protection, even going as far as infiltrating a castle and uprooting royalty."

"They must be connected," Reeca concluded, tapping her chin in thought. "But I don't know how and that's a problem."

Rhys bobbed his head when Reeca raised her head to look her brother in the eye. He cleared his throat. "You won't like what I discovered, then."

She narrowed her eyes. Her stomach churned in an uncomfortable swirl. "What do you mean?"

"It's something I overheard," Rhys crossed his arms, leaning back against his chair which gave a small squeak. "I was disguised as a story-teller in Thenaserine and I happen to hear rumors of a war against the High Queen. Apparently, more and more people are losing their trust in the Imperial government. The High Queen does all she can to restore her authority—campaigns, brainwashing students at the School, pressuring the other territories to pledge loyalty. You name it."

"How is that connected to the thrones?" Reeca knitted her eyebrows.

Her brother raised his eyebrows like he does when Reeca was being impatient. "The High Queen is losing her hold on the territories. The Sylkrana bloodline is weak as it is. No one even knows where the heir is. If the Imperial Queen loses her power, with all the differing opinions out there, there's bound to be factions. And when there's factions..."

Reeca bit her lip, her insides twisting harder than ever. "There's war."

"Exactly. This war may not just be focused on refining the system. It's going to be an abolition of the government. You say that there are two players already in action? Well, there's bound to be more. They're not just looking for a way to topple the Imperial rule, they may be trying to establish a new sovereignty," Rhys put his hands together and rested his chin on his thumbs..

Reeca dropped her gaze on her hands atop her lap. She didn't like this one bit. "What makes you so sure?"

"Think about it," Rhys leaned forward again, waving a vague hand at Reeca's face. "You said the Prince-general is clamoring to be the heir, Cardovia is uprooting royalty, and Synketros is organizing a Rebellion. What do you call that if not a declaration of war?"

Reeca crossed her arms and leaned away. "I still don't see why they would go after the thrones, or the heirs. They're not even legitimate rulers. We aren't."

Rhys didn't blink at that sentiment. Of course, they both haven't forgotten who they were. Prince and Princess of Narfalk. Banished but heirs, nonetheless.

Rhys shrugged, not even peeved that Reeca just insinuated their connection to this whole conflict. "Who knows? Maybe they wanted to seize the kingdoms so they could start a proper war. They needed resources and fighting a war with none is suicide."

"The heirs may be the key to get to the thrones. I'm not entirely sure. There's so many things we don't know. From what I gather, the Rebellion in Cardina is just the start," Rhys cleared his throat before rubbing his chin.

Reeca pursed her lips. She didn't like where this conversation was going. "Where are you going next?"

Rhys's amber eyes darkened in the moonslight. "I'm off to this Synketros thing to gather more information. Then, I will infiltrate Cardovia. You may not hear from me within a month or two. We'll meet here again once I gather sufficient knowledge. We can continue with the plan, then."

"Are we even following that plan?" Reeca reasoned. She clamped her jaw hard when she saw a flicker of defensiveness on her brother's expression. "You said so yourself—there's too many things we don't yet know," she amended. "It might not be wise to continue with it now. We don't want to make more mistakes."

Rhys sighed. "Knowing that Synketros and Cardovia might be targeting more than just the Virtakios and are now moving towards the thrones to start a war is enough. You did a good job in Cardina."

"Besides," Rhys continued when Reeca didn't speak. "You said Synketros are the good guys, right? Protecting the island and all. Maybe once they see how our goals align with them, they'll want to tell us more."

Reeca's stomach knotted at that suggestion. "I don't trust them. They have too many secrets."

"Sister, we all have secrets to carry," Rhys smiled at her for the first time, his grin somewhat dark. He never really called her "sister" unless it was important. "Are you worried for me?"

"No," Reeca shook her head. That's a lie, though. "If you're captured and killed, I'll have no one by my side with this mission.

It'll be lonely without you. Reeca wanted to add but decided not to.

She cleared her throat. "There's only the two of us now. Ever since Mother died..."

The lines in Rhys's face deepened at the mention of their mother. "She lived an honorable life and protected a secret far bigger than the both of us will ever have to carry," he reached across the table and patted Reeca's arm playfully. He had a goofy smile on his lips. "Let's live by her name and prove ourselves worthy of important secrets."

Reeca didn't return his smile. It was no time to be foolish. She folded her arms across her chest. "I'm still not convinced that Synketros is good. Why would they send humans against their own kind? It just doesn't make sense."

"That's why I'm off to investigate," Rhys withdrew his hand to his side and returned to clasping them together atop the table. "I'll send you a whisper once I confirm they're pure in their intentions."

Reeca eyed him. Her throat constricted. "Be careful."

"And you?" her brother jerked his head in her direction. "Where are you off to?"

"I'm going to Asopus," Reeca's gut swirled with dread as soon as she said it aloud. "I need to investigate Kymalin Iaro."

Rhys nodded. Reeca might have told him everything on the way to Aunt Orkin's tavern. "The banshee that stole your flintlock?"

"Yes," Reeca said. "I need to know why she did it and how it ended up in the Human Queen's hands. I need to flush out the remaining models out there, too. It's too dangerous in the wrong hands."

Her brother regarded her. "Fine," he said. "While you're at it, gather what force you can in your travels. Persuade them to enter our cause. Make them listen."

"I'm not good at convincing like you," Reeca looked down at her hands again. Had her armor been this dirty? Her cheeks felt hot.

"Then show them," Rhys's grin made Reeca glad he was her brother and not an enemy. "Show them what it means to refuse."

Reeca pursed her lips. That didn't convince her the least bit.

Rhys blew a breath and moved to stand up. Then, he paused. "Also, can you dig for more information about the thrones?" he blinked at her, waiting for a response. "I think it's time we know what they truly are."

Reeca tousled her hair. "Isn't that a bit obvious? The thrones are where the royals are seated while they rule their people."

Rhys's eyes were dark against the crimson moonlight. "Something tells me this is something deeper. Just give me the benefit of the doubt and start asking around."

Reeca nodded. "Fine."

Rhys' sighed, his shoulders relaxing. He drummed his fingers against the table in a discordant tune, eyes trained at the tavern's entrance. "I should go."

"Don't die, Rhys." Reeca called as Rhys moved to stand up. For once, she meant it.

Rhys smiled at his sister, for once with a sparkle in his eyes. "Torlin trails live on, you know?"

Reeca snorted softly but she reflected her brother's smile back at him. She remained in her seat while his brother's figure leaped out of the tavern, spread his wings, and soared into the horizon. It wasn't long when he was nothing but a speck on the darkening sky.

Chatter filled Reeca's ears as life inside the tavern continued on around her.

She squared her shoulders, taking a deep breath as she followed her brother's footsteps towards the tavern's porch. Here goes nothing. She launched herself into the sky for another days-worth journey on her wings.