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The hour for the free folk to retake their freedom has arrived. Warriors are donned in their war paint and traditional braids, and each has made their peace with the world. ( If they are to die, they believe they will join the stars as vibrant heroes. ) While some were left behind in the encampment outside the walls, the majority haven taken up arms. They know the plan: to serve as a distraction as the Rivers family and company — Neilson, Illias, Orell, Olena, and Helena — are let inside the city by Pierce Sommers and Arthur Belfast and then let into the Keep itself by Galen Vance.
In their determination to find the Vitellos, they may come across a few knights who remain loyal to the royals. How will they react in this direct confrontation with war? As they find other lords and ladies in their hunt, they bring them forward as well, shepherding them all into the throne room to await judgement, although some do not come easily. For all the speeches and words the free folk cling to, it is now that the rest of the world learns who they really are.
“The tree of liberty must be refreshed from time to time with the blood of patriots and tyrants.”
Theo’s braids whipped savagely around her head at the sound of movement. Being left out of the battle was a harsh enough punishment for being a blind little thing, but Theo, camped far up in a tree, was no nurse. The Free Folk knew how to care for themselves, and Theo wouldn’t help whatever injured bird was stumbling their way.
Then- A vision. The world spun around, pulling them from where they were, a grey place, not quite dark, not quite light, occasional images flashing across the nether, death, blood, death. But this, this was something different. So much red, and a man, decked in gold that did not belong to him. A thief.
A thief was headed this way.
A thief who didn’t know the dangers of the woods, the dangers of little bats in big big trees.
They dropped out of the tree, landing silently on the solid earth, carpeted with leaves. Their feet were bare and skirted across the uneven terrain, Finding the dark shade, away from the hot afternoon sun that danced through the leaves, making some patches of ground hot as summer sands, and other spots like a cool breeze.
The footsteps came closer, this was no wildling, the steps were erratic, Things where falling from their grip, from their arms, falling to the ground with CLANG and feet crunching loudly through the branches and leaves.
Did this person know what danger came with the woods? Theo could smell the musky scent of royalty on the man, the harsh scent of inside fires and cooked foods and heavy perfumes. It was disorienting, but it cleared the noise, the nonsense away.
They were nothing, a ghost.
Theo calmly pulled the heavy dagger from their cloaks, Olena’s dagger, that they had stolen to kill the stupid boy. This was no stupid boy, but a dirty thief who smelt like money.
The dagger came down fast and easy, sinking into fat and skin and muscle. There was a scream and Theo reached out, finding hair, pulling harshly, down, down, down, further onto the blade that they twisted around, pulling out, before stabbing again.
By the time Theo stopped the up and down motion, the twist and pull of the blade their hands were soaked and their cloaks were wet, their throat was raw from screaming, They hadn’t even realized the screams they heard were their own.
Gore surrounded them and they did not care.
Theo ran their fingers through the thin braids around their face, pushing them back into the thick band that restrained most of their hair.
It was time to stop waiting; this was a war, was it not?
