King of the Seditious

“What?” Sebastian asked, baffled.

Who the hell is that?

“His Seditious Lot call him ‘My King.’ And the Weldons just described the bunch.”

“The boy running the Blue Lark Guild?” Bast’s brow knitted. “Why would he-”

“I don’t know.” The Nauvree cut him off urgently. “But there’s a method behind everything he does. He did it for a reason.”

Bast shook his head in confusion as he returned to the Weldons. “Well, whomever it was I doubt they got the things you love imported from the Isle. So have your pick and we’ll be on our way.”

The elderly couple wound hands and hobbled to the carriage to peer inside. They selected a few items, and the sailors carried them inside for them.

“Sebastian?” Ms. Weldon’s soft voice rose again.

He paused to look at her, waiting.

“Could you take our extra goods to that Boy. To give to the others.”

“The Boy that brought you the Goods?”

“Yes. He says there’s more in the Blue Lark. Plenty more so we should take whatever we wished.” She frowned. “I don’t know what the Blue Lark is.”

Still shaking his head, Bast hopped back atop the driver’s bench and reined the horses.

Why?

Why would an assassin give to the less fortunate of Ardae? It made no sense. That’s not what assassins are about…

They sat circled around a fire, eating dried driter meat.

“So…” The Nauvree said. “It appears, Bast, you’re no longer the only one caring for the paupers of Ardae. How are you taking

that?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not certain….”

“What do you suppose has inspired someone else to do what you do?”

“I haven’t the faintest.”

“The King of Assassins, of all people…He has some end game intended.”

“He must.” Bast agreed.

“Well,” Boy drew their attention. “I for one, think it a good thing. Someone trails your step.”

“Isn’t that what you’ve done?” The Nauvree countered.

Boy shrugged in acknowledgement. “He’s saved my skin more than once.”

Sanctuary Island

DIMURAH

Dimurah was pacing the castle agitatedly.

Rosemary stood watching her veer from one end of the room to the other, quietly. “What is wrong now?”

“It’s been months.” Dimurah said. “I haven’t seen him for months. How could he just leave me here? We’ve hardly been separated since I was thirteen. Only for short bouts when he went on ventures.”

“You miss him.” Rosemary said in her rather bland way.

“Of course, I do! How could I not.” She tossed her hair back over her shoulder.

“Does he know you love him?” Rosemary said softly.

“Of course, he does!” She stopped to stomp. “He knows everything I think or feel. He just isn’t so kind as to share the same.”

“He’s a difficult lad, from the little I know of him.”

Dimurah tossed her a sharp look. “How did you two know each other?”

“He is a friend of the fey realms.” She asserted. Unwilling to explain more.

This castle was a massive fortress that nearly consumed the island. Shrouded in almost constant fog and dampness. Icy to the touch at all times.

Making her yearn for sweltering summer days in the Blue Lark.

“Who is doing trades in the Guild?” She expostulated. “What if it’s all falling apart while I’m here?”

“Why don’t you say what you really mean?” The woman with salt and pepper hair asked. Her expression patient.

Dimurah’s blue silk skirts swished as she spun around again to stalk the other direction. Her riot of red curls was brushed to a gleaming hue and pinned back on the sides. Leaving a few loose tresses to frame her feminine features. High cheekbones and lush lips had made her a favorite on the Island.

“How could he leave me here!” She cried. Fists working.

“For your safety.”

“I’d be safe if he just kept me with him.”

“Who knows where he was going?”

“Precisely!”

Rosemary frowned.

“I can’t stay here, Rosemary. Can’t do it.” Dimurah was shaking her head.

“It might be easier if you at least made some effort to make friends. There’s plenty that would like to be.”

“Those village boys?” She blinked in horror. “I’ve known a man. I’ve no interest in boys.”

Rosemary openly gaped at her crudeness.

“What?” Dimurah tossed her arms. “Is that not what you meant?”

“Not really.”

“I don’t want to be around any man but mine.”

“How about women?”

Dimurah jerked to stop to eye Rosemary. “Have you truly not spoken to me at all? Do I seem like one well suited to being

around female company?”

“No.”

“Exactly.” Dimurah nodded emphatically.

“You’re more like a barely leashed little animal.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Days went by and Dimurah was no less restless.

She would often head for the doors to get out of the stronghold but when the men at the tower ordered her to identify herself, and she did, they’d refuse to let her out.

Not even in words.

They’d simply not do it. Which only aggravated her more.

“Please, Rosemary...” She pleaded late the next night. Her lovely red curls pooled over one shoulder and a cream gown perfectly brightening her tanned skin and vibrant hair. “Let me go for a walk.”

Rosemary gave her a sympathetic look. “I feel for you, My Girl. But don’t think for a minute, I don’t know what you’re about. The second I let you out, you’d be trying to cross the land bridge into Sourthern and head straight back to Dread Country and your Blue Lark.”

Dimurah instantly looked guilty.

“I promised your man I’d keep you safe until the offering of crowns for your head, dies.”

“What if they never do!”

“Then you stay here!”

“I won’t!”

Rosemary’s face went stern. Making it clear she wasn’t about to give the younger woman any ground.

Dimurah huffed and stalked away. Becoming more determined each day to get out.