Chapter 47: K.1: Kinslayer

The night was growing colder outside, but the warmth and light of the Rayes manor’s great hall could almost make me forget about it.

Jasmine had dragged me here against my half-hearted protests. I’d been slipping in and out of sleep on our way here, and I’d barely processed what was in the hall before I had fully fallen asleep on a sinfully comfortable couch.

It had still been dark when I had woken up just a few minutes ago to the sound of footsteps in the hall. I’d seen Jasmine and a couple others—her parents, maybe?—pass by the massive double doors leading into the great hall, but it had just been a quick glimpse, the group disappearing from sight within moments.

Footsteps were coming from the entrance of the great hall again, and I snapped to attention. I was still a little woozy from sleep, but I got to my feet immediately, my magic mostly spent but still usable. I recalled a conversation half-heard from when Jasmine and the other adventurers had saved my life back at the Alzaq manor. Something about this night being a cause for war.

I didn’t think that House Rayes would fall so early, but it never hurt to be ready for the worst case scenario.

“Relax,” I heard Jasmine say, her lithe figure entering my field of view. “It’s just me.”

“You knew I was awake?” I asked, falling back into the couch. It really was a nice one - soft, with the finest cloth cushions Tayan had to offer.

“Caught a glimpse when we were passing by,” Jasmine said. “Sorry if I woke you up.”

“It’s fine,” I said, gesturing for Jasmine to join me.

She did, sitting right next to me so that our legs made contact. The close contact was nice to have—I would’ve been lying if I said I disliked the warmth of her body on mine.

“I’m sure you want to know what’s going on,” Jasmine said, turning to look at me.

“I do,” I replied, and I turned to look at her in turn. We were close enough that I could almost feel her breath on my face. If I leaned in, I could rest my forehead on hers.

You could kiss her right now, that traitorous part of my brain told me. It would be so easy.

I put that part of myself away for the time being. I could figure out that kind of thing after addressing the immediate concerns we had going. Yes, it was a nice position to be in, but if there were tidings of war, that would always be our priority.

“It’s been four hours,” Jasmine said. “Around an hour past midnight, I think. I dropped you off here because you were about to fall asleep on the battlefield—sorry about that, by the way, I do not know if this was to your preference or—“

“This is great,” I said, cutting her off with a soft smile. It had once been a rather unfamiliar expression, but being around Jasmine had gradually gotten me used to it. “Don’t worry about it.”

“That’s reassuring to hear. Alright then.” Jasmine pushed herself up on the couch, fixing her posture. “After I dropped you off, I returned to the ballroom. The situation there had already developed, since Alex, Lukas, and Kyle got there first. I am… to be honest, I’m also not too clear on the particulars, since I withdrew once I was able to secure my mother and father, but it looks like there will be a conflict.”

“Between who?”

“William Alzaq is dead. Orchid is the new patriarch, and he didn’t want to push it further,” Jasmine grimaced. “I feel bad for the kid. Lost his father, even if that father wasn’t the paragon of nobility. Still, it looks like House Alzaq might still get involved, because the new matriarch—”

“There wasn’t a matriarch already?”

“No, the previous one was assassinated last year. According to Orchid, the former Lord Alzaq’s instructions were to make Camellia the new matriarch once William passed. Camellia seems to be a lot more like the old Lord, because she was urging Orchid to take action. They haven’t formally raised a conflict with any other House just yet, but I think it’s only a matter of time.”

“Were there true conflicts declared?”

“House Tempet reacted poorly to the death of one of their own, even if he was a traitor. The new Crown Prince had shown her face to the ballroom by the time I got there, and she had a whole retinue of Crown officials. She allowed them to raise conflict, so they did. They have raised conflict with House Rayes, Alzaq, Varga… and Byron.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, air whistling through clenched teeth. If I hadn’t been fully awake earlier, I was now. “They know?”

“They have an idea,” Jasmine nodded. “They don’t know who you are, but there were some images in that communication spell you cast that left… impressions. Not everyone believes them, but not everybody has to.”

“Fine,” I said, dreading the answer to my next question. “And the Crown? What was their reaction to all this?”

“Conflict rules apply,” Jasmine said. “Standard clauses. No destruction that would cost more than four thousand suns to fix, minimize civilian casualties, no direct attacks on the Crown.”

“No, I know that,” I said. “What did they say about House Byron?”

“They do not believe it,” Jasmine said, and the dread left me in an instant. “Though the Church did, and they said something about heresy? I was already on my way out at that point.”

“The Church,” I stated, not quite asking a question. “That’s some interesting timing.”

“They’ve been looking for an excuse for conflict with nobles for years,” Jasmine sighed. “I suppose we do look rather weak now, and they are taking it as an opening.”

“Anything else?” This was all good information to know and was probably going to be necessary to know in the coming days, but I wasn’t in the mood to talk shop at the moment. Now that I’d confessed perhaps the most important secret I held, I found myself bursting with stories, ones that I desperately wanted to explain to Jasmine.

“Not much. Orchid looked like he’d witnessed his father’s death himself, so he didn’t put up much resistance to some of his captives being freed. From his reactions, it would appear that a handful of them were truly agents of the rebellion, but the ones he targeted in his power play were allowed to go without question. That’s about it, though I’ll update you with more relevant information as it comes.”

“Thank you for the updates,” I said. “Please do.”

I wasn’t quite sure how to approach the subject of my past. It was a hard subject to broach, even now that I had told Jasmine about the family I had been born into.

“You look like you want to say something,” Jasmine said, quirking one end of her lips up in a half-smile. “Would you care to share?”

Thank you for opening. “You took that revelation pretty well. Why?”

“Why what?” Jasmine asked, blinking slowly. “What were you expecting me to do?”

“Fuck, you should know as well as I do the horrors of House Byron,” I said, recalling her own past. Hadn’t someone she cared about been killed by us?

“I do, and I will likely never forget,” she said softly. “But you’re you, and you lived. I know how the Crown works, and I know that unless a child of a traitor House was truly against that House, they never would have survived past the end of their name.

“And on top of all that, you have been nothing but good to me. I… you are more good than bad, Lily, even if you still will not admit it to yourself.”

I didn’t have a response to that, and I could feel my cheeks growing hot as Jasmine continued staring at me earnestly. I averted my eyes, forcing myself not to smile.

“And that’s enough?” I asked. “Enough for you to just let the fact that I was hiding a secret this big go?”

“I’d like to hear more about your past,” Jasmine said. “Besides, you were never the most discreet with hiding it.”

I winced. “That bad?”

“There’s a number of giveaways,” Jasmine chuckled. “You don’t need to worry about it, so long as you are in the company of friends.”

“I—okay, thanks, acknowledged,” I said. “You’re truly okay with this?”

“Of course I am,” Jasmine said. “Unless you’re about to go to sleep?”

“Huh? No, of course not. Why does that matter?”

Jasmine blinked. “We have plenty of time before the sun comes up and we begin planning for our problems in earnest. Unless you would rather not share?”

“No, that’s fine,” I said, inhaling deeply. “Alright, this might take a while.”

Jasmine leaned into me, pressing her side into mine, and I began talking about my childhood.

---

13 years ago

“Again!”

Lord Wilson Byron glared down at his daughter, but from the disgust in his gaze one would think that he was eyeing peasant trash.

“Father, please, I—“

“You are failing,” Lord Byron said. “Should you fail yet another session, I will be forced to increase the quantity you attend.”

I bit my tongue, stopping myself from saying anything dumb. I knew better than to try talking back to him. The last time I’d tried that, it had earned me more beatings and a week of doubled training.

“Yes, my lord,” I said, staring at the ground.

Eight years. Eight long years, I’d been in this family, and for as long as I could remember, I had been training.

Wake up at the crack of dawn. Physical conditioning. Literacy class. Combat training. Lunch, sometimes. More combat training. More classes, so many and so frequent that they’d begun to blend together. Dinner, which doubled as etiquette class. Training or lessons after, the brand of which varied through the days. Literature reading to end the night, then one of the magic men—no, oathholders, I had to start using that word—would come over to do something that made the hurts of the day go away and make the dull parts of my mind sharp, and then it was an uneasy sleep until the next day started.

Eighteen hours a day without any true breaks, seven days a week, ever since I had learned to walk and talk. I hated it, but I was but a child. What could I do about it?

The few times I'd raised the question—with servants less volatile than my father, of course—the answer had been clear. You are not a normal child. You are a Byron, and you must act like one.

I was somewhat aware that my life was an unusual one, but the contrast had been made painfully clear on one of the rare occasions where I had been allowed a day to go to town with my mother and father.

The commoner children my age could barely even speak full sentences, let alone fight. I’d watched from our carriage as a group of kids my age had tumbled by, laughing and kicking around a deformed ball of some kind. I’d poked my head out of the carriage to ask them what they were doing, and they had barely strung a reply before we passed them. I hadn’t believed my father when he’d said that most of them couldn’t even read yet, but one glance at those innocent, uncaring children and I could see where he was coming from.

“Do not disappoint me again,” Lord Byron said, hefting his steel-tipped cane.

I flinched.

Mistake. I realized it even as I instinctively shrank in on myself.

“Lily!” Lord Byron’s voice came out as a shout that an army drill sergeant might use, harsh and biting. “What have I taught you? How many times must I break it into your imbecile brain?”

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“Never show weakness, my lord,” I recited, trying to inject as much enthusiasm into it as I could muster. “Never flinch in the face of foe or friend.”

“And what,” he said, towering over me with death in his eyes, “Did you do?”

I met his eyes, doing my best to still myself. What had that tutor said again?

Recollect yourself. Assess the situation. Breathe deep, but do not breathe loud. Never show weakness.

I breathed in through my nose, keeping the airflow low so he wouldn’t answer it—

“Merciful gods, did I birth an invalid?” Lord Byron sighed long and deep. “Answer me!”

“I flinched, my lord.” Admitting it was a defeat, but not admitting it would be a battle. I was exhausted, having barely managed to escape a brutal beating at the hands of the trainers, and I didn’t want to take that fight right now.

Pick your battles had been another lesson that had been drilled into me time and time again, but knowing that this was the less bad outcome of the two didn’t make the flash of disorientation and stinging pain that came with his slap feel any better.

“Again,” Lord Byron said, his voice half resigned and half threatening. “I have wasted all too much time. Guards, you have permission to deal lasting harm so long as it is curable.”

“Understood, my lord,” the four guards said in unison, their timing so perfect that they could have joined the choir. I would’ve found it a little creepy, but I’d heard them far too much over the course of my life to be put off by it anyway.

It was understood, my lord or yes, my lord or any of a thousand ways to be agreeable. They never changed when they were around my father.

Speaking of the man, Lord Byron had exited, not even bothering to observe me. I was glad that he wouldn’t be there to berate me for every little mistake. I was… rather less glad that the trainers were going to stop holding back as much. They always refrained from going too hard when my father was watching, though Lord Byron usually compensated for that with his fists or his magic.

“Little girl,” one of the guards said, twirling around the long staff that they all wielded. “Father dearest isn’t around to protect you anymore, eh?”

I didn’t know where they got the impression of protectiveness from my father, but then again it didn’t matter. This scene had played itself out enough times for me to be familiar with the drill. These guards had some complex with attacking children like me, I was pretty sure, and I supposed that they weren’t able to satisfy those urges when they were at an official result. A lot of pent-up aggression, there.

Alright. Lessons learned from countless hours of tutelage and pain flowed through my mind, memories clicking just where I needed them. My family’s magic me—oathholders had done a pretty good job on my brain.

Assess, plan, execute.

Four guards, each of them armored in simple leather and wielding long steel staffs that were taller than they were. They were spread out in a rough line formation, evenly spaced with enough room to swing their staffs around without hitting each other.

Terrain: grassy. The fields outside the Byron manor stretched on for a while, and this training facility—a fancy name for four sets of walls and a glass roof—had the same flat, green terrain as the rest. There were spots on the other side of the facility where there was more complex terrain, some small buildings mocked up as cover, but that was a good thirty or so meters from us. I’d be fighting on flat ground here.

Equipment: a rusty flail and a dagger barely sharp enough to break the skin. They were two of the worst weapons in the entire Byron arsenal, and they’d been all I received for today’s combat training. To “keep up the basics,” allegedly.

Sure thing, if the basics involve not winning a single one of these bouts ever.

I readied myself, dropping to a fighting stance and drawing both weapons. The guards were, thankfully, giving me time to set up with their banter.

“Aw, look at her,” one of them cooed. “She’s so spunky!”

“I’d love to see how much of that remains when her ribs are broken,” another one of them replied, his tone so natural that one would think he was talking about the weather.

Plan: I wasn’t strong enough to take all of them at once. I wasn’t strong enough to take on one of them head-on, which meant getting tricky. Fighting dirty. Aiming at tendons, sensory organs, and fingers.

The far left one looked the most pumped up, almost bouncing on his feet with excitement.

Disgusting. It was times like these where I could share Lord Byron’s disgust for the common peasants. The only reason these pieces of human trash weren’t rotting in prison was because we had hired them, and they still took this much pride in beating a child?

I would hit him first.

“Everyone ready?” one of the guards asked. Second from the right.

“I—“

I dashed forward before anyone could respond, closing the four or five meters between us in more time than I’d like. Stupid immature body.

I arced the flail underhand, striking in a long arc from the ground up. I didn’t have the reach necessary to aim high, so I didn’t.

My weapon might have been rusty and dull, but it was still of noble make. Surprised by the sudden aggression, the guard didn’t have his staff up to block yet. I hit him between the legs, the impact reverberating nicely through my arms.

“Ow, you bitch!” he shouted, dropping his staff and keeling over at the waist, hands going to the point of impact. His next shout was incomprehensible.

I didn’t let up, striking out with my knife. I went for the back of his ankles, looping around him as he writhed in pain. It took more effort than expected to cut him, but I got the job done in the end.

Not big enough. I hadn’t committed hard enough. I came for another pass, aiming for something more important this time, and then I was lying facedown in the grass with a flash of pain in my back that I knew was going to bruise badly.

Agh. My whole back felt like one massive ache, and every little movement I made added to that ache.

Need to get up. I heard heavy boots stepping over towards my prone body, and the promise of more was the only thing that got me to roll over and get back to my feet. My stance was still sure, but that hit had taken a lot out of me. It wasn’t the first, second, or even hundredth time I’d been hit in one of these “exercises,” but although it got easier to deal with, I could never fully shake it off.

The boots, though, those I feared. The last time I’d been in a situation where I’d gotten stomped on… two weeks ago now? Three? Whenever it was, I could still remember the body-wracking pain clearly, the brutally wrong way that things were breaking and shifting inside me. It wasn’t something I wanted to repeat, though that wasn’t always my choice.

Alright, first person was temporarily incapacitated. Number two had just hit me and was within melee range of me, while the other two seemed content to stay back and watch, ready to join in if and when my defenses were broached.

“You’re an awfully fun little girl,” the guard said, hefting his staff. “How kind of father dearest to give us the opportunity to play with you.”

At once, he struck out, and I barely managed to sidestep the blow in time. The guards were on a rotating schedule, and their face-obscuring masks meant that I could never tell who was who. I would never be given the chance to memorize their attack patterns.

This one was a sudden attacker, sacrificing power for speed. I would need to keep that in mind as—

I threw my head to the left, following with the rest of my body in a roll a moment later. The staff whizzed through the air right above where I’d been at an angle, slamming down into the grass hard enough that dirt flew on the impact.

Sacrifice power or no, that was still a tough blow. If it hit me in the head, I would be down for the count.

The downside of it still being a hard hit was that he’d gotten it stuck in the dirt for just a second. Good to know.

I sprinted towards him again, readying a feint with the flail. This man had observed what had happened to the first guard, apparently, because he made to block the underhand swing even as I made it.

That was fine. I pulled the flail back before I could fully commit to the swing, then immediately dove to the right.

He attacked in a downwards angle that aimed to my left, this time, predicting me to dodge in the same way I’d done the first time.

My opportunity was open. The staff was embedded in the ground for a precious second, and I sprinted in.

The guard made to kick me in the chest, and I sidestepped the kick. Almost sidestepped the kick, that is. It clipped me in the shoulder, and it was enough to induce pain, but pain was a good friend of mine. So long as it didn’t eclipse that and enter agony, I could tough it out.

I gave a kick of my own, aiming for the same spot that I’d hit the first guy in. A full front kick, since I had enough room to do that given the height difference.

The kick had much less of a pronounced effect on this guard, and I winced as my foot hit something hard and metallic. A piece of armor down there that the first man hadn’t been wearing?

He was still off-balance, and I had to capitalize before his friends came to get me off.

I rolled forward, easily clearing the gap between his legs, and I grabbed onto the back of his armor.

The leather armor the guards were wearing wasn’t perfect, I knew, loose pieces hanging off of it in places and it allowed for easy grappling.

I didn’t grapple. Couldn’t. If I tried, I would be laughed at and wrestled to the ground in an instant.

Instead, I climbed, ascending the meter-eighty man’s back like he was a wall. I had more than enough experience with that, and I quickly got myself up with my legs wrapped around his chest and one arm around his neck. With my other hand, I raked his eyes, digging my fingernails into them to try to gain purchase. I made contact, feeling a moist, stiff sphere, and I squeezed. Liquid oozed out between my fingers and the guard screamed, shaking to try to throw me off. My grip was firm, unfortunately for him, and I stayed on.

I put the knife to his throat, not sure I believed what was happening.

They’d gotten overconfident. Usually, they attacked as a group, but the promise of being allowed to do anything to me had made them sloppy.

I had gotten into a winning position.

Clenching my legs, I drew my knife across the guard’s throat.

This is a bad man, I told myself. He deserves to die.

Despite that, despite having stood by while my mother executed peasant after peasant, I hesitated.

And then I felt an impact to the back of my head and my world was pain.

I fell off of the guard’s back, the world spinning around me at a nauseating rate. Hitting the floor was almost a relief.

In the brief moments while I lay there, unable to move, I saw my father, not quite all the way out of the facility.

Even as far away as he was, even as quiet as he spoke, something in his voice carried, and I heard him speak one word before the guards were upon me..

“Disappointing.”

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