Bianca and Billid arrived at the northern wall of the gate, trailing around the edge using the stone as protection from the wind. Her squire was silent, thinking about the strangers they met at the top of the mountain.

  “I can’t believe Miss Runaya is truly gone,” he said. “It’s not right. It’s not just.”

  “Nothing in this world is just,” Bianca sighed. “It’s exactly like Stroke said to me… we are the only heroes.”

  “Am I a hero, Miss Bianca?”

  She ordered her horse to a stop and looked at his innocent eyes. Bianca didn’t know what a hero was anymore. She forced herself to smile but couldn’t push out a lie.

  “What do you think makes a hero?” she asked him. “Is your horse heroic for riding you all the way here through the storm with no complaints? Is the king heroic for creating safety for Vatanil? I let the prisoners go, despite the orders of a king. Am I heroic?”

  The squire looked down at his horse. This was his steed’s first ride out the city with him, and he hadn’t yet named her. He picked her for her contrast, a golden mane and tail against a coat of black. He thought on the question, then leaned forward to kiss his horse’s ear. “I know you’re a hero, Miss Bianca. One day I want to be just like you and my brother Arrid. I’m no hero yet, but I hope I’ll be one of the greatest in Valan’s history books! I’ll name this steed Hero, to remind myself of my goal. What’s your horse’s name?”

  Bianca’s horse was nothing special. His palette was a standard coat of brown against black hair. She’d called him Hoofer, and she was more attached to the beast than she’d like to admit, considering it was previously the horse of Cander, her drowned lover.

  “Heroes are defined by the memories of others,” Bianca said. “I’ll never know if I’m a hero. I can tell myself I am, I could hear thousands of voices say it to my face, but what really matters is the whispers once you’re gone. The things people say about you when you’re not there, the lengths one would go to defend the honour of someone who isn’t there to fight. I’m no hero, Billid. Runaya was tormented by false rumours that she’d laid with the whole of Keep Blacksteel’s servants, both man and woman. I never believed them to be true, but I never voiced my beliefs loud enough to the people of Vatanil. I didn’t fight hard enough for her. I’m no hero.”

  “I think heroes should be honoured while alive. What’s the point in being a hero if no one notices you?”

  “If attention is what you want then this path is wrong for you.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Billie said sheepishly. “I meant the songs. I’d like a song wrote about me one day. I’d be upset if I were dead when the taverns sing it.”

  “Can we have this conversation another time? I need to think how I’m going to bring this news to Prince Stroke.”

  Billid decided ‘another time’ was exactly ten seconds later.

  “Miss Bianca, I think I can help you. When my mother feels the weight of her work, she’d hum songs. They were always new, never the same, my brother Arrid loved hearing them but hated that she’d only grace us with them when stressed. Arrid worked until he could afford a harp. He’d make my mother’s tunes sound so beautiful, and he’d let me think of the lyrics. You could try that, Miss Bianca. Try humming a song, see if it helped

  “You should let me hear some of the songs you made.”

  “I don’t have a harp.”

  Bianca laughed. “I meant by humming.”

  “Oh, gods no. I sound like a dying cat.”

  They began to move on the horses in silence. Billid felt he’d upset her, holding his head low as they travelled. He didn’t like to sadden those he cared for. He wanted to make things better; he just never knew the correct words to say.

  My mother used to hum a song to put me to sleep when I was a baby, Bianca thought. I think I remember the tune. It was one I’d never heard before. Hm, maybe he will put a voice to her song.

  And so she set a brave example for her squire, humming the tune despite never singing to another soul before. Billid’s head bobbed to the rhythm of her whistles and hums, finding spaces to fit the rhymes brewing inside him.

  The voice he sang with surprised her; his awkward tone struck a confident note, deepening into a warm voice that felt soothing to listen to.

  “There once was a lass who was so right and just.

  She travelled with a squire and did whatever she must.

  She fought with a hammer, and her hair was autumn red.

  I’d hate to be her enemy, ‘cause I’d be surely dead.

  Young yet wise, a golden smile, and a pair of pretty eyes.

  She’d say failure didn’t matter, what matters is you try.

  The strongest knight of Valan, honour can’t be bought with gold.

  Though none were quite as honourable as Ser Bianca the Bold.”

  “What a terrible name for me,” she said. “But a good song. I’m honoured. I’d say my hair is more orange than red, though.”

  “What about See Bianca the Beautiful? I can think of a few rhymes for it… dutiful…uh—that’s all I can think of.”

  “That name is even more horrid.”

  “What about Ser Bianca the Kind?”

  Bianca liked that one. “You were holding out on me,” she said to her squire. “Never knew you could sing that well. We’ll get you down at the Leaky Knight, get some girls swooning over you.”

  “Girls? You’re giving me reasons not to go.”

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  ————————————————————————

  Stroke sat in his chambers, a rare moment where the servants actually knew where to find him. His room was bare. No bed, no bookshelves, no paintings on the walls—just a desk, a chair, and a handful of candles to light the room. His desk faced toward the view of the city through the window. He was enjoying the stork, writing several letters to Dastane and Roshishi alerting them he was going to war with Kan Lumi, recommending that they stay clear of the nations while he battles.

  Stroke left his door ajar. He heard footsteps stop outside and put down his inked quill, waiting patiently for a knock from a servant.

  What came instead was Fiasco’s voice. “May I come in?” she asked shyly. “The sweepers said I’d find you here.”

  The prince invited her in with a smile, offering up the only chair for her to sit in. He gave her a blanked from a drawer under his desk, making sure she was warm.

  “How are you, are you well?” he asked. “Is it urgent? Is Harren in the hallways threatening you?”

  “I’m safe,” she assured. “I wanted to thank you for what you did for me. You didn’t have to do that.

  “Do what?” Stroke chuckled. “Oh, you think I lost to Harren? I’d never lose to him. I’ve felt the eyes of the Sentinels watching me and making me unable to use my gifts. I had to know which of my brothers were watching me. The Sentinels stayed blue the whole of the battle. If it were Godwin who stalked me, it would’ve gone red. It also proved my brother is too focused on his fighting that his tiny brain can’t throw a punch and use the Sentinels at the same time.”

  “Either way… thank you,” she squeaked. “Harren is a scary man at times. I thought he was going to kill me.”

  Stroke agreed but denied it with a laugh. “How is your back? May I see? An odd request, I know, but I’ve seen whippings during my time in Naveen. I can tell you if they’ll heal well.”

  She stood and undid her shirt. She felt comfortable around the youngest prince, barely remembering to cover her chest as she took it off. Stroke, however, turned his back to her and slowly closed the door to his chambers, locking it shut and advising her to cover her chest with the blanket should anyone be peeking in through one of the windows.

  “The storm is heavy, no one will see.” She covered her breasts with her hand and knelt on both knees, showing him her bare back and telling him he could look.

  Her back was scabbed deep at each lash, purple and yellow bruising around the edge of the wounds. He touched the bruising, hearing her squeak from the tenderness of her own skin. All were fine except the longest one, which showed signs of early infection. He bid her to stay naked, rummaging around in his desk’s drawers until he found a small vial of glowing blue slime. It was cold on her skin, like snow, and eased her pain the moment he rubbed it on her whole back.

  “This is sourced from a forest outside of Sekoi. Have someone apply this to your wounds at the end of each day. It’ll prevent any infection and will even stop the scarring.”

  Fiasco hugged him, then awkwardly shuffled away, reminding herself of her bareness and apologising while putting her shirt on.

  “It’s fine,” Stroke assured. “I didn’t see a thing.”

  “You are too kind, my prince,” she whispered. “But I’m afraid I have more to ask of you, if you’d listen.” She rested one hand on her stomach, the other taking his hand in a desperate gentleness. “I’m in love, Prince Stroke. I—I’m—I’ve been married in secret to Captain Quinn, my prince. I did so without Godwin’s permission. Check my pocket.”

  The prince reached into her pocket and pulled out her wedding ring. He smiled at it, putting it back where he’d found it. “Godwin won’t listen to me if I ask him to make your marriage official.”

  “That’s not what I ask, my prince. I came to Vatanil to serve my king and this nation… I don’t want this city to be where I die. I want to marry, I want a family, I want grandchildren. I can’t have any of that here. My children deserve to grow in sunny fields; they don’t deserve to be raised under the fire of the Sentinels.” She moved their hands to Stroke’s chest. “Please, my prince. I would never ask this of you ever, but it is either I swallow my shyness and beg for help, or I wait for another punishment that could be my last.”

  “Godwin would never allow you to leave.”

  “Yes, my prince. Now you see my torture.”

  She looked into his eyes for an answer to a question she’d forgot to ask. Stroke knew what she wanted, and nodded slowly.

  “Love is a rare thing to across twice,” he told her. “You served this city the best you could. Love him well, love him hard, have the family you want… and so soon Arcyril, not this broken city. Wait until Bianca’s return, I’ll discuss it with her. You have our voices. When I give you the order, leave under nightfall, Bianca and I shall defend your decision and never allow them to chase you—if they send Killian Entrail after you, I’ll kill that brute the second he steps outside the view of the Sentinels.”

  “Thank you, my prince.” Her eyes swelled with tears and his chest became her tissue. “I can never repay you for this.”

  “Love does not need repaying,” he promised. “I’d never deny a heart’s desire.”

  ————————————————————————

  Harren marched to the throne room with an angry strut. His brother was in the middle of hearing the plea of a peasant. The prince grabbed the speaker by the scruff of their neck and tossed them aside while ordering the crowd to leave.

  “I am the King, Harren, not you,” Godwin snarled. “Guards, take the civilians back into the city, I will listen to their problems later. My brother looks likes like he’s about to piss himself.”

  Harren waited until the room emptied then roared out his claim in anger. “Stroke conspired against us! I want him executed at once, his chambers shall be turned into a sauna and latrine for my usage.”

  Godwin leaned forward in his chair, giving a curious look to Zishang, who had his spear ready for combat against the agitated prince. “Steady now,” Godwin told the captain. “Harren wouldn’t harm me in my own throne room.”

  Zishang rested the spear at his side. “Yes, my king.”

  Godwin urged Harren to continued.

  “A servant overheard Stroke’s treason. He intends to weaken our city by allowing one of Bianca’s Bastards to leave.”

  “A snitch?” Godwin scoffed. “Bring the servant who listens to the conversations of their masters and they’ll be executed. Unless you want to admit it was you who was spying on him.”

  Harren confessed it through gritted teeth.

  “If you want our brother dead, why not kill him during your little battle in Vatanil’s streets?”

  “There were too many people watching.”

  Godwin stood from his throne, dismissing both Zishang and the remaining Valan guards. He waited until no ears listened, then walked the steps down to his brother and ordered him to kneel.

  Harren’s knee fell easy. “You punish the wrong Valan,” he growled. “I brought you news, and you intend to humiliate me?”

  “I can’t humiliate you in an empty room. I’m reminding you who you are. I am the king. You are the prince.”

  “You are the king. I am the prince.”

  “Look around,” Godwin ordered. “Not an eye in sight. If you’re going to battle Stroke a second time, it should be in a place where none can see your crimes.”

  Harren’s eyes filled with wonder and love for his king. “So, you finally agree… our little brother needs to finally die?”

  Godwin thought of Runaya. “I do,” he declared. “He mustn’t find about what happened.”

  The doors burst open again. Killian Entrail stood solely at the end. “My king,” he called. “Bianca has entered the city. Bollo found her at the gates, she is being escorted here without anyone seeing.”

  “Does Stroke know she’s here?” Godwin asked.

  “I think not, my king.”

  “Don’t be swayed by that whore,” Harren snarled. “I heard a whisper that she was bringing back Runaya… we both know why that can’t be true. She is a bitch. Bianca is not a Valan. She knows her fate, and she will try to convince you to tell our little brother. Don’t succumb to her manipulation. You should kill her.”

  Godwin flinched at the suggestion. Although it was Harren who spoke, he heard the clear words of Mara through his lips.

  “Begone, Harren,” he demanded. “I will listen to what she has to say… and then I will make my decision. Wait in your quarters, I will come to you when the meeting is done to let you know what I have decided to do.”