Sins of the Father: Chapter Twenty Two (Patreon)

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Chapter Twenty Two

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Airn stared at the author of one of her favorite books, a woman who must have known the great blue dragon herself. She struggled to parse together exactly how someone like that came to be selling fish in the city of Illandra. She suddenly felt as if she was trying to assemble a puzzle with only a scattered handful of its myriad pieces.

 “Erased you?” Airn tilted her head, her eyes narrowed in thought. “What do you mean?”

Amira slowly stood up, releasing Airn’s hands. “You know, your friends must be getting awfully worried about you. And I really should be getting back to my kitchen.”

“My friends will wait, and your kitchen has an assistant.” Airn held her hand out towards the bench in silent plea for Amira to retake her seat. “A few moments ago, you looked crushed, as if all the weight of the world had suddenly fallen squarely across your shoulders. If you’ve something to get off your chest, I’m willing to listen.”  

When Amira hesitated, Airn looked around, her eyes soon lingering on the half-open gate in the fence. Deg was there, his hand upon his hammer. His questioning gaze was as comforting as his presence. He was here to protect her, but he also knew well enough that she didn’t always need protecting. She smiled at him, and gave him a knowing wave, just to let him know she was alright. He returned it, and soon vanished beyond the fence again.

“And now my brother knows I’m fine.” Airn leaned forward, and patted the bench. “So, please. You must have summoned me back here to tell me something, and I doubt it was your real identity.”

“No, you seem to have sussed that out just fine on your own.” Amira settled back onto the bench. “I’ll stay a few minutes longer, but I’m afraid you’re going to be costing me money, now.” She chuckled to herself. “If only because I’m going to have to pay poor Melwyn double for covering for me while I’m back here chatting like a gossipy schoolmarm.”

Airn smirked. “I’d hardly call this gossip.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Amira smoothed her hands down her apron. “This is more conspiratorial whispering.” A dangerous edge crept into her voice. “I should warn you, my lovely. What we’re discussing? It’s the sort of knowledge that could cause someone to vanish, if you catch my meaning.”

“That’s just daily life, for an urd’thin.” Airn’s voice grew cold. “I’m no more afraid of Death in the Night or anyone else than I am of the city guards. And anyone…” She leaned forward, a snarl twisting her words. “Anyone who attempts to harm me, or my family will swiftly grow to regret that decision.”

“Quite admirable, though…” Amira pursed her lips. “I fear you may not quite grasp the threat you’d be up against.”

Airn only offered a cold smile. “Neither do they.”

“Perhaps not.” Amira leaned back on the bench, appraising Airn. “And to think, I first thought I’d bring you back here to warn you. And now I see, you need no warnings at all.”

“Warn me?” Airn tilted her head. “About what?”

“The duplicity of Death in the Night.” A scowl twisted up Amira’s face. “Towards you, and your people.” She waved her hand. “And I was going to caution you that they were watching you, while you were.”

Airn bowed her head in thanks. “I appreciate it, but you’re right. You needn’t offer such warnings. I assure you, I’m well aware that Death in the Night is watching me.”

“I also suspect they’re tracking you elsewhere in the city, too.” Amira drummed her bony fingers against the bench. “They’ve eyes everywhere, you know.”

Airn scowled, her muzzle twisted. “That they do. I wasn’t sure about that, but I’m not surprised. I’ve smuggled things for them, you know. Valuable things. And after a while, they realized I was so good at it…” Airn trailed off, her frown shifting into a smile. “You probably know exactly what I’m going to say, don’t you.”

Amira nodded. “They sought to recruit you, and you turned them down. That was the other thing I sought to warn you about.” She lifted a hand, staring at it. Her fingers trembled, ever so slightly. “They don’t like being told no. And they don’t give up easily. Once you start working for them, in their minds, you’ll always work for them.” She leveled her gaze with Airn. “You understand?”

“I understand how rebel armies and organized crime rings operate, yes.” Airn tilted her head, studying Amira. “You worked for them too, didn’t you? You must have, if you wrote that book with Kylaryn. Did you try to quit? Is that why they…” She licked her nose. “What did you call it? Erased you?”

Another dark cloud drifted across Amira’s face. “You’re just going to keep pulling at that threat until you’ve unraveled me, aren’t you.”

Airn leaned closer. “If you had any idea what your book meant to my mate and I? You’d understand why. He…” She faltered. Airn could almost feel Vakaal’s warmth against her, the softness of his fur beneath her pads, the dramatic flourish of his voice holding her enraptured. “He used to read it to me. Before I lost him.”

Amira swallowed, looking away. “I’m ever so sorry for your loss, then.”

Airn managed a smile, wringing her hands. “Thank you. That’s…” She took a slow, uncertain breath. “Probably one of the other reasons they watch me.”

“What’s that, then?”

“Oh?” Airn perked an ear. “You don’t know about my mate, hmm? I suppose I’m not surprised. I didn’t start all…” She gestured at the city around them. “This. This working for Death in the Night business until he was gone. Funny, we both sort of…forbid each other from dealing with them. But after I lost him, I felt like it didn’t matter anymore. I had to do something to help the Warren.” She folded her hands into her lap, sighing. “I’ll tell you what. How about a proposition? A secret for a secret. You tell me about being erased, and I’ll tell you what my mate did.”

“A trade of information, eh?” Amira fidgeted with her apron, considering it. Finally, she flashed Airn a playful smile. “Just like the old days.”

Airn tilted her head, idly tapping a sandaled foot against the earth. “You were a spy, or something?”

“Among other things. You see, well before I was born, my mother had already taken to working for the dragon and her associates.” Her hands stilled upon her apron. “Mother had helped the dragon’s son, you see. Not realizing just who his mother was, or what she was getting herself wrapped up in. And wrapped up she was. By the time I was born, mother was fully invested in the cause. And so, after I grew up, was I. Mother knew just who to put me in touch with, and I became what my handlers called an information broker. Sometimes, they meant bringing Death in the Night secrets I’d cleaned from Illandran agents, or stolen documents.” She lifted a hand, waggling a finger with a little smile. “Other times, that meant slipping Illandra information that wasn’t entirely accurate. Sometimes I stole, sometimes I sabotaged, and sometimes I…” A pained look twisted up her face. “Sometimes I did worse things. But mostly, mostly it was information.”

Airn reached out to gently pat Amira’s knee. “We all do whatever we must, for the people we are about.”

 “That we do, my lovely.” Amira gave her hand a little squeeze.

“So, information broker?” Airn grinned. “That still sounds like a fancy term for a spy.”

“Close enough, anyway. It wasn’t my only trade, mind you.” Amira looked away, memories roaming behind her eyes. “In fact, I really was a writer. Stories, poems, and the like.” A wistful sigh escaped her as she flourished a hand as though scribing with a quill upon the air. “I always loved it, the feel of putting quill to parchment and creating something. I was never that successful, but I sold a fair enough number of tales and poems throughout both our old homeland, and the new.” She glanced down at Airn. “Mother, like many Aran’alians, settled just outside her homeland, for a while. A place called the Forest of Ghosts. Although, by the time I was born, she was living and working back in Aran’alia proper, for a while. I was raised there, in our home. But the time I joined in the work, I was operating wherever I was needed. So in my off hours, I wrote, and peddled my tales wherever possible. I was successful enough for word of my stories to make their way up through the hierarchy. Eventually, I was approached by one of her deputies, about the idea of writing something with her.”

“Her?” Airn blinked, then gave a little gasp. “Her, her? The Wind?”

“The one and only.” Amira ran hand back through her gray hair. “Now, I’d met her before, through mother, but this was different. As it turned out, she’d actually read my writing! Can you just imagine my excitement to talk to her about my stories?” She laughed, a happy, musical sound.

Suddenly, the back door to her stall opened. An angry, red-faced younger woman stormed out, glaring knives at Amira. “Are you coming back in, or not?”

“Sorry, sorry!” Amira held her hands up. “I’ll be just a few minutes more. I’ll see you duly compensated, I promise.”

“Very well, but just remember. I can’t go buy more fish and cook everything at the same time.” The other woman turned and went back inside, slamming the door behind her.

Amira glanced back at Airn. “I’m afraid our time is quite limited, so really I shouldn’t bore you with all these details.”

Airn smoothed her dress across her legs. “I’m happy just to listen to anything you’d like to tell me. And, for whatever it’s worth?” She smiled. “Under different circumstances, I’d be absolutely ecstatic to meet you. Truthfully…” She laughed and shrugged. “Part of me still is.”

“Thank you for that, my dear.” Amira offered an exaggerated bow. “Perhaps someday, we’ll have time for a more pleasant chat.”

Airn quickly nodded. “I’d like that.”

“As would I.” She rose from the bench, and returned to the water pump, and the basins of dishes. “I may as well make myself useful while we talk.”

“Can I help?” Airn hopped off the planter, following her.

“Certainly, my lovely.” Amira pulled a plate from the soapy water. “These have been soaking in soap a few minutes, so they should clean easily enough. Can you work the pump to rinse them? Otherwise, we’ll switch places.”

Airn went to the handle, reaching up to grasp it. “I can certainly try.”

Amira scrubbed at the plate, her face twisted into a grimace. “The long and short of it is, The Wind wished to collaborate with me on a number of books. Inspired, apparently, by the lingering memories of the poetry and words of an old hero, of ours. So over the ensuing years, while I continued my work, I also began to meet with the Wind, in our shared downtime. We developed a good rapport. Sometimes I simply dictated what she told me too. Other times, I wrote stories based on her ideas. Before I knew it…” She glanced up at Airn. “Water, dear.”

“Oh, right. Sorry.” Airn grabbed the pump handle and both hands, and pushed it down. It was built for human sized arms, and the effort made her grimace, but she put her weight into it, and water soon flowed from the spigot. “How’s that?”

“Perfect.” Amira turned the plate over in the stream, then set it aside when it was rinsed.
“Before I knew it, I was whispering Illandra’s secrets not into the ears of some Handler, but to The Wind herself. I’d report to her and her deputies, they’d confer, and then when business was concluded, the Wind and I would work on our stories.”

“That’s…” Airn stared at the woman, half in awe. “Quite incredible, actually. It’s…not completely unlike the turns my own life has taken, if I’m honest.”

Amira only smiled as she scrubbed another dirty plate. “The wind that carries us, eh?”

Airn quickly nodded, her tail swishing. “Oh, yes. I always loved the way that sounds.”

“I do wish I could take credit,” Amira said, holding the plate out for a rinse. “But that really is an old dragon saying.”

“Oh, I realize that.” Airn worked the handle a few times, grunting. “And I know she took her name, from it.” She giggled a little. “It’s in the book, after all. But that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy the sound of it.”

“Indeed.” Amira rinsed the plate, and swapped it for another. As she started scrubbing, she stared down at her own hands, wistful. “I wish I could take credit for more of that book, if I’m honest. Now, The Dragon and the Village?” She put a hand across her chest. “That was almost entirely my work. But, The Uncaring Sky was almost entirely her.” Her hands stilled, and she looked away. “It came from a desire to let the world see her at her all, as she put it. You see, there was a time in which did not trust humans. Did not believe them worthy of her trust. Of her friendship. Of…” She faltered, just a little. “Of the love of her people. And she spoke of the moment when all of that changed, and she realized how truly wrong she’d been, about us. When the people of Aran’alia opened their hearts, to her.” She trailed off, then smiled at Airn. “I suppose I needn’t tell you all that. You’ve read the book, after all.”

Airn simply nodded. “I have, but all my means, please go on.”

“Very well,” Amira said. “The Uncaring Sky was born of a desire The Wind had to open her heart, for all the world to see. Not just for Aran’alians, but for anyone who would dare to believe a dragon worthy of the same love, and respect as anyone else. She sought to send all her pain, and heartache, all her love and loss, put out into the world in the hopes it might change just one mind. One heart. That…” Her voice shook. “That there would be one less person she was forced to fight. You see, when she decided to write that book, she was at a crossroads, of a sort. She still hoped that her efforts to free our homeland would not come to…” She scowled, a sneer in her voice as she waved a soapy hand at the festival beyond the fence. “Whatever all this is. Whatever her operatives are doing.”

Airn flattened her ears. “Recruiting anyone dumb enough to fall for it.” She worked the pump with angry, forceful motions.

“Quite clever, my lovely.” Amira rinsed another plate, and set it aside. She picked up one of the last remaining plates, scrubbing it firmly. She paused, taking a slow breath. “I fear she’s no one left to whisper reason into her ear. Only poison. No soothing balm to heal the many wounds upon her soul, only…” She snorted, balling up a fist. “Only anger and hatred, ever fanning the flames of vengeance slowly burning through her heart.”

Airn shook her arms out, trying to ease the lingering ache. “You sound as if you used to try and tell her otherwise.”

“That’s where I was going with all this, actually.” Amira chuckled, turning the plate over to wash the other side. “But in case you hadn’t noticed, my lovely, I seem to have gotten quite old somehow.” She chuckled to herself. “Sometimes my mind skips a page or two.”

“That’s alright,” Airn said. “Mine does that too.”

Amira shook a soapy finger at her. “Just wait until you’re my age. You’ll find it starts to jump across entire chapters.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Airn rubbed her hands, then grasped the pump again. “Ready when you are.”

 She held the plate out for a rinse, then added it to the basin with the clean dishes. “Anyway, I grew a bit sidetracked there. Between my information broker duties, and my work writing stories with The Wind, I soon found myself rising through the ranks of her inner circles. I was not only given more important missions, but granted my own underlings to send on operations of their own. Increasingly, I was asked not just for my thoughts and advice with respect to the books we wrote…” She picked up one of the last plates, studiously scrubbing it. “But about all her doings. I don’t think I’d realized just how high I’d climbed until the first time I looked around a room, during a meeting, and I saw only The Wind, and her Deputies. Her Advisors. And then I realized I’d become one of them.”

Airn leaned against the pump, her jaw hanging open. This old woman, she thought, selling fish from a crumbling stall, in the middle of the city of Illandra, once advised The Wind That Carries? She pointed to one of the distance banners, depicting the great blue dragon. “You advised her.”

“I know, Dearie, I know.” Amira snickered to herself as she worked on a piece of dried-on sauce. “The crazy old fish-lady used to be important? It is hard to fathom.”

“It’s not that, it’s…” Airn scratched at the base of a horn. “Well, alright, it’s partly that. The part about secretly being a semi-famous author, I could believe. But…”

Amira glanced up with a wry grin. “But advising a dragon is too much?”

Airn laughed, shaking her head. “Not exactly, but…” She waved a hand. “Well, just earlier, you were bragging to me about how you served your fish to the Dragon Warden as if it was the highlight of your life. And we’ve talked before. You’ve always been ever so kind, but you just seemed so…” She flicked her ears back. “Naïve, I suppose, to what was happening here.”

Amira paused her work, staring down into the washbasin. “You know, my lovely. I have lived this life, for so long that I’ve almost forgotten I ever lived another. I’ve worn this mask for decades now, and it’s very nearly become me. Every day, I come to my stall, and I sell my fish, and I pretend that’s all I’ve ever been. Just another refugee from home. And like all the others, I’ve done my best to make a good life for myself, here. Our people have known a lot of dark times here, and so have yours. So I always greet my customers with a smile, and some friendly chatter, in hopes of bringing a little light into their lives. The desire to brighten their daily lives? My belief that everyone deserves kindness? It’s very real. But my naivety is a mask, dearie. I just…” She turned her head, staring at the festival just beyond the gates. People danced, and sang. Amira watched them in silence for several long moments. “I’d almost forgotten I was wearing it, until…”

“Today?” Airn tilted her head.

The older woman chuckled. “I was going to say, until I met the Warden. But, I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t realize who she was, when I met her. I should have. Why else would they be watching her so closely? But my spy-craft is out of practice, I suppose. Honestly, I think I started truly remembering myself the night the dragon escaped. But I like you, dearie, so let’s go with today.”

“You know, looking back? When I saw you slumping over, earlier?” Airn put a hand over face, then slowly dragged it down. “I could almost see that mask sliding away.”

“Do remind me to put it back on, before I return to my stall.” Amira’s eyes wandered the fence, beyond the stall. “You know, every day, I serve people food under banners of The Wind, and I pretend I don’t know who she is.” She mimed presenting a platter of fish. In a blink, Amira was a changed person, all happy smile and shining eyes. Even her voice took on a new, casually interested inflection. “Yes, I did see the new flag! What a pretty dragon, dearie! Wouldn’t it be something to actually meet one? That’ll just be three of the Queen’s coins, please.”

She dropped her hands back down, her smile gone. “I watch the crowds, and act as though I don’t see Death in the Night, consuming this place from the inside out.” Amira’s face darkened. “Like a rot. And I lie through my smile, and tell people, things have gotten so much better around here, lately.”

Airn rested against the pump, her arms crossed. “They haven’t?”

“Oh, they have in some ways. Credit where credit is due, they have improved our infrastructure.” Amira pointed towards an old housing complex, across the plaza. “They’ve repaired the old buildings, they’ve fixed up the streets. They’ve partly repaired our old aqueducts.” A hint of sarcasm crept into her voice. “Why, they’ve brought in a police force to bring down crime, and train the locals.”

Airn’s ears twitched. “Brought in a police force?”

A smile twitched at the corners of Amira’s lips. “You didn’t think all the guards with the silver daggers and blue dragons on their shoulders were locals, did you? Those units were the first Death in the Night soldiers they snuck in, and stationed here. Then the Silver Axeblades. Now, those are harder to discern, because they intentionally resemble the silver raindrop patches they give the locals. Those wearing actual raindrops are the local people from the district, who volunteered to join the guard force. They’re good people, who just want to protect their families, their friends, their neighborhoods. They just don’t realize who’s really training them, or what they’re truly being trained for.”

Airn flattened her ears back, her belly sinking. “You’re talking about a rebellion, right? I’ve…heard whispers, seen a few communications.”

Amira’s shoulders slumped, just a little. “Airn, my lovely, I wish I knew for certain. Sometimes I dread they may have something far more insidious in mind. But whatever it is, I cannot say. I was cut out of that loop and cast aside a long, long time ago. In fact, that’s how I ended up here.” She lifted the last dirty plate, only to stare at it as if held some great mystery she struggled to unravel. “I served as one The Wind’s advisors for several years. We continued our writing during that time, but…I could sense a shift, in her. She’d always had…” She waggled the plate. “Vengeful ideals, but…something in her heart, was changing. Maybe it was just sinking in that…retaking Aran’alia was simply out of their grasp. Maybe it was watching her daughter grow up angry and bitter without his father…”

Airn cringed, deep inside. Unconsciously, she slipped a hand down, brushing her fingers across her belly. She could only hope her own daughter wouldn’t… Wait, she thought. Her daughter? Airn smiled to herself. As if she had any way of knowing. And yet, for a moment, she was suddenly quite certain she was going to have a daughter.

Amira went on. “Whatever the case, plans were increasingly…” Pain twisted her face. “Bloodstained. I think part of it were the whispers in her ears. A few of us, myself foremost among them, sought to balance them out, by offering a more reasoned voice. That violence was not the only answer. That there were other ways to promote our cause, and free our people. But we were outweighed by the ever-growing calls for vengeance. Kylaryn called the idea, blood for blood. Spoke of it as if it were the only choice a dragon ever had. Eventually, her younger, more bloodthirsty generals won out. Those of us who advocated for a less violent solution were seen as too weak.”

She held up a finger. “Not by The Wind herself, mind you. But the larger her machinations grew, the more gears were ever turning all around her. And the easier it became to find yourself caught up within them, without so much as her ever even knowing it. And so her assassin-generals decided to have me sent here.” She waved a hand at the city. “To Illandra. To see how our people suffered still at their hands. The thought was that if I forced to live here for a few years, to watch our people suffer, and toil. That if I was made to suffer, and toil with them, that I’d come around to their way of thinking.”

“And…obviously…” Airn glanced the way Amira indicated, towards the city beyond her fence. “You didn’t.”

“No. No, I did not. I saw many things, in those early years. I saw our people downtrodden, pushed into the slums, and the margins. I saw us looked down upon, discriminated against, beaten, denied opportunities. Everything I was told to expect, I saw. And yet…” She took a slow breath, idly scrubbing the wooden plate. “I also Aran’alians doing exactly the same thing to the urd’thin. I saw a cycle of cruelty. The Illandrans heaped it upon the Aran’alians, and the Aran’alians heaped it upon the urd’thin. Like scapegoats, for their own misery. And so…”

She stretched her hand out to Airn. “I offered them my hand in friendship, instead. I invited them to eat my food, to sell me their wares, to sleep in my house. I called your people friend, when no one else would. And I made an example of myself. Soon, others did the same. I did the same for the Illandrans. It was not easy. It was never easy. But when I finally secured a contract with a Illandran fish monger, I knew it was working. I saw hope, here, in our city. And in my heart, I knew I was right. We could find common ground. Friendship. We did not have to choose violence, again, and again. And when at last Death in the Night made contact again, to see if I’d changed my perspective? I told them the truth. That I had. And then I told them that I had realized that violence, would only ever lead to violence. And that I couldn’t be part of it, anymore.”

Airn worked the pump, when the plate was ready to be rinsed. “I’m guessing Death in the Night didn’t like that.”

“No, my lovely.” Amira held the plate out. “They did not.” Darkened clouds of sorrow drifted across her eyes. “They decided to make an example of me. They excommunicated me, so to speak. Told me if I liked the Illandrans so much, that I would stay here with them, for the rest of my life. And then?” She set the clean plate in the basin, her eyes wandering across old memories. “They erased the woman I was. All the tales I’d written over the years, and all the stories I’d worked on with The Wind? They were all written by her, now. I wasn’t to use my own name, or talk about my tales. My name became her legend. They’d say, do you know who Amira Brightcloud really is?” She swept her hand across the sky. “There is no Amira Brightcloud.” Amira dropped her hand back down. “Like a code phrase. Or a test. It became a pseudonym for The Wind. Hell, most of her younger officers these days probably believe it’s the truth.”

Airn cringed, her ears flat. “That’s horrible. You must hate her.”

“The Wind?” Amira arranged the clean plates in the basin. “No. Truthfully, I doubt she has any idea what her generals did to me. And that was decades ago, anyway. Although…” She paused, pursing her lips. “I do sometimes wonder who’s still publishing copies of my old tales, we wrote together. Hell, for all I know, she’s writing her own, without me. It might sound strange, but I think I’d like that.”

Airn stepped away from the pump, rubbing her arms. They ached from the exertion. “That’s a good outlook. I think my mate would have been proud of you. He would have liked to meet you, I think.” She glanced down, her muzzle twisting. Had Vakaal ever met her? Surely, she thought, Vakaal knew Amira was here, though she dared not speak the reason aloud. Then again, when he’d traveled after they read the book, Airn was fairly certain he went to visit the Wind herself. Perhaps the perspective of the dragon herself been more important to him than that of the story’s co-author. After a moment, she lifted her head to smile at Amira. “I’m sure you would have liked him, too.”

“Oh, you know me, my lovely.” Amira lifted the container of dishes and set it atop a nearby storage bin. “I like everyone.” She moved the basin that previously held the dirty plates under the pump. Airn moved to grab the handle, and Amira gently shooed her aside. “No, no, that’s alright. You’ve surely worn your poor arms out already. I can handle it, but thank you for your help.” She pumped a few bursts of clean water into the basin, then returned to it to swish it around, rinsing it. “I suppose that concludes my tale, as it were.”

Airn clambered up onto the bench Amira sat on earlier. “How long have they held you prisoner here?”

“Prisoner’s probably not the right word for it.” Amira scrunched her face in thought. “But it’s not necessarily the wrong word, either. And in truth, I’ve not entirely sure how many years I’ve been here, at this point. Over thirty, I should think.” She emptied the basin, then stood and walked around the pump to fill it once more. “For the first decade or so, they watched me like a hawk. Monitored who I talked too, who I interacted with, where I lived, where I shopped. It was as if they really were afraid I was going to betray them to the Illandrans, or something. Mind you…” She leaned on the pump handle, chuckling. “There wasn’t a whole lot to have betrayed, back then. And I’m quite certain the Illandrans knew they were smuggling people and goods into the city. I think they just didn’t really care. Too arrogant, I suppose, to imagine the Aran’alians were plotting anything worse than mass tax evasion, let alone capable of carrying out any kind of long-term rebellion.”

She pumped a bit more water, speaking between moments of effort. “Eventually, Death in the Night stopped watching me so closely. It wasn’t that they forgot about me. No, they made it quite clear they haven’t. Rather, I think it was just that they believed I was getting too old and too settled into the life of a fish vender to bother causing them any trouble. Or perhaps…” She wiped her brow, trailing off into quiet thought for a few moments. “Perhaps they weren’t any better than the Illandrans. Just as they believed there was no way Death in the Night itself could ever operate undetected in their capital city, so too did Death in the Night themselves believe nothing could possibly happen here without their knowledge.”

Airn grinned, her held tilted. “What did you do?”

“The same thing I’d always done. I opened my eyes and ears.” Amira walked around to the basin, then crouched down to swish the water around in it once more. “As it turns out, I was not alone in my beliefs. There were others like me, who believe that continued violence is not the answer. Some of us don’t want to choose sides.” She tipped the basin over, emptying it. “Some of us just want to live.”

Airn sighed, leaning back against the bench. “I know the feeling. When it comes right down to it, that’s what most urd’thin want. A chance to just live our lives, however we choose to live them. We don’t want to be thieves any more than we want to be someone’s sacrificial soldiers. And yet…” Airn’s gaze drifted back towards the festival.

“And yet, you’re rarely allowed to make that choice.” Amira carried the empty bin to join the other one. “There’s always someone pushing you to take sides. To not only fight their battles, but fight them the way they want them fought. That’s part of the reason I started my own little…” She waggled her fingers. “Network.”

A crooked smile crossed Airn’s muzzle. “You started your own spy ring?”

“Spy ring is such a militant-sounding thing.” Amira stacked the full basin in the empty one. “I prefer the term gossip chain. It’s far more befitting a talkative old lady like myself.”

Airn giggled to herself. “And what’s this gossip chain do? Counter-balance Death in the Night?”

Amira shrugged. “Not exactly. We try to keep each other safe, mostly. And offer our support and occasional protection to those few local leaders with the courage of character to refuse Death in the Night’s poisoned chalice.” She sighed, her gaze growing distance. “Not that it’s likely to do us any good in the long run, but…it’s nice to try and imagine that someday, we’ll have a meaningful leadership alternative. People who are willing to offer our district all the betterment that Death in the Night has brought, but without the bitter blood oaths and the brainwashing to prepare them to kill Illandrans. Instead, every time one of our local leaders makes overtures towards the Illandrans, whenever someone with a chance to succeed at convincing the rest of the city to see us as their equals rises high enough? Death in the Night comes along, and…” She swiped her hand through the air, curling her fingers into a fist. “Scoops them up. And before long, the overtures are over, and all that once-promising figure preaches now is hatred, and vengeance.”

Amira took a slow breath. “If not for Death in the Night, I cannot help but feel that our people would already have made far more progress here. Instead, they’ve stoked the embers of hatred for decades, and coaxed forth flames from ashes rightly should have long since grown cold. The truth is, all the good that Death in the Night has done for the local populace is simply a shroud to cover up all the rot they’ve spread. You can bandage an infected wound, and on the surface, it may look better. But the infection is still there, spreading out of sight.

Her face darkened. Something angry and sorrowful crept into her voice, word by word. “In all the time I’ve lived here, I’ve seen riots, oppression, and brutality. I’ve seen crushing poverty, and cruel famine mere streets away from opulence and feasts. I’ve seen the heartlessness of wealth and inequality firsthand, and yet…I’ve never felt this district to be a truly dangerous place, until now. I’ve never seen so much anger, roiling just beneath the surface. Friendly gossip has turned to conspiratorial whispers. Tavern-side grousing about difficult lots in life has turned to calls for bloodshed, and revenge. Doors that used to be open to all are suddenly closed to those whose loyalty to Aran’alia is questioned. It’s far too easy to find yourself on the outside looking in, simply because you don’t believe in the same violent rhetoric they do.”

Airn growled under her breath. “I hate that I know exactly what you’re talking about. Even just coming here today, there’s more open propaganda on display than ever before. They’ve got soldiers everywhere handing out flyers to urd’thin, calling us their friends just to try and recruit us!”

“Friends now,” Amira said, scowling. “But they may soon have other words for those who refuse to join them.” She turned, waving towards the plaza beyond her fenced in grounds. “You know, all those banners out there used to celebrate our heroes. When I first came here, there were banners of our greatest leaders hanging in the plaza! There were statues, commemorating people like Amaleen, out where everyone could see them. Now they’ve all been shuffled off to isolated memorials, where it’s easier to forget their ideals. That violence was our last resort, not our first call. The only thing their banners celebrate now is suffering, and destruction. They want us to forget that Amaleen was a healer long before she was a warrior.”

“I’m sorry, but…” Airn smoothed her dress, her ears splayed in sheepish confusion. “I don’t know who that is.”

Amira shook her head, waving Airn off. “Oh, think nothing of it. She was one of Aran’alia’s last leaders, before they were conquered. One of their best leaders, too, but…” She ran a hand back through her hair. “These days, I imagine even the average Aran’alian would be hard pressed to tell you much about her.” Amira waggled a finger. “But, students of our history, and those long-invested in our cause will tell you that Amaleen made such a fine leader precisely because she wasn’t out for blood, or power. She was a healer, by her trade, and by her heart. She only ever chose violence when it was forced upon her. I’m confident that she would have wanted these old wounds to heal, by now. But Death in the Night knows if Aran’alia’s wounded soul ever truly mended, there’d be no one left to help them take their revenge. So, they push the truth of our heroes aside, and substitute their own.”

Airn’s eyes wandered the garden. Her tail flicked against the bench. “At least you have heroes to remember, and argue about.”

“I suppose that’s one way to look at it.” Amira brushed her hands off on her apron. “Though I’d be quick to confess I probably know more about her than the average Aran’alian. Death in the Night does like to talk about ancient history. Even if they also like to twist it to suit their own ends. But, hell.” She frowned towards the gate in her fence. “Most of the youth out there partying and dancing probably wouldn’t even know who Amaleen was.”

Amira turned back towards Airn. “And I’d be quicker still to confess that as honored as I’ve been to offer your people my friendship, I know embarrassingly little about your own cultures, your heroes, your legends and the like. So please, don’t feel the least bit down about not knowing mine.”

“I’m afraid that with urd’thin, there’s nothing left to know,” Airn said, bitterness tinting her words. She idly rubbed the handle of her dagger. “All our legends are long gone, swallowed by the darkness of our lost history, and…” She snarled, thumping her fist against the bench. “A populace vanished into Illandra’s prisons. And our heroes are…well, we’re all heroes, just for surviving another day. The mother with nothing who finds a way to feed her hungry pups? She’s a hero. The father who vanishes, trying to find a present for his child? He was a hero. The friend who stays behind to face the guards, so his companions might escape? Another hero. But we’ll never have…” Airn swallowed, leaning her head back against the bench. A sigh escaped. “A hero like the ones you commemorate. We’ve no one to weave into tapestry, or carve into stone.”

Amira walked over in silence. She knelt down before the bench, and gently took Airn’s hand in hers. “My lovely, that is a tragedy all its own. And for whatever my words may be worth, to you. I ever so sincerely hope that changes.”

“Thank you.” Airn smiled, her ears perked. She rested her other hand atop Amira’s. “That…” She swallowed, her throat tightening slightly. “That actually means a lot.”

“You’re welcome, Dearie.” Amira released her hand, but sat down alongside her on the bench. Seated next to each other, the woman was nearly twice Airn’s height. “I know you promised to tell me a secret about your mate, but don’t feel obligated. Truthfully, you’ve given me a great gift, today.” She smiled, staring out over her own garden. “Every morning, I come out here to pick my herbs, to harvest my vegetables, and prepare for the day’s work. And every time, my wanders back to the life I used to live, before all this. Not the spy work, not the dark things. Not even whispering my secrets into the ears of a dragon. No, I think about my youth, and the time I used to spend, hunched over a desk in a cramped room, just…” She waved her hand. “Writing. And the kind things people used to say about my words. How much that used to mean to me.”

She swallowed, lifting a hand to wipe a tear. “Of all the things Death in the Night took from me? That is what hurt me the most. That I could never again tell people that I was Amira Brightcloud. The Amira Brightcloud. I never once cried about being excommunicated, about being trapped in a hostile city. I shed few tears at being cut off from my aging mother, from my friends. But having my name taken away? Knowing I could never again talk to someone who cared about something I created? That almost broke me. I sobbed into my pillow every night, for years. But today?” She sniffled, rubbing her eyes. Her voice trembled. “Today I spoke my own name aloud, for the first time in thirty years, with someone who read my stories. And I think it’s…” She sniffed again. “Only just hitting me. I will cherish this talk, my lovely, for the rest of my days.”

Airn set her hand atop Amira’s, gently squeezing. “I’m so glad to hear that. But a deal, is a deal. Now, I’ve no grand story to tell you, which I’d wager is for the best.” She waved her free hand at the stall. “Given your poor, flustered assistant in there.”

Amira managed a smile, through the tears she scarcely held back. “You’re not wrong, my lovely. The short version, then.”

“The short version, then,” Airn said. “Perhaps you’ve heard of the mysterious disappearance of a nobleman named Lord Asterbury.”

“I have.” Amira quirked her brows.

“Then let it be mystery no longer.” Airn folded her hands in her lap, a cold smile upon her muzzle. “He’s dead. And my mate is the one who killed him.”