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@rose-colored-fancy

OOOOOH MY GOSH I WAS NOT EXPECTING THAT!!!!

Oh my…

I frankly have no clue how she’s going to respond…

I was eavesdropping, but as long as I wasn’t caught it was just listening without being noticed.

This nearly killed me. 😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂😂

@emily-waldorf

Dahahaha, I forgot Locran. @denali-christianson you shouldn’t have trusted me: I forgot Locran.

I knew we were missing someone. I knew it… Man. Oh well…

I think it would depend upon who he’s supposed to hurt. If it was one of his friends, or Yila, probably not, but if it was one of the newer guys, he might.

Speaking of which, @irishcelticredflowercrown WHERE ARE YOU?????

 

Yila

Never before had her headspace been this jumpy.

One second she was thinking about arrow-fletching and the next her mind was interminably locked on the image of her dead father and the man she had killed.

All the people in this cave seemed to be getting along, and the new girl had joined Niarok and daddy-assassin-look-alike. She was busily consuming a ration packet, her eyes darting back and forth across the room in anticipation of an attack.

Yila almost admired her. By the looks of her clothes, she was some sort of peasant or street-urchin, but her sharp eyes and firm frame seemed to say she had plenty of fighting experience.

Yila opened her backpack and pulled out one of her own rations. She ripped it open and stared at the dried meat and other less than appetizing substances. She’d lived solely off of rations for years of her life and she was sick of it, but at this point there weren’t any other options.

She tore off a piece and chewed it.

There was a crackling noise.

She fought the urge to choke as she leapt to her feet and grabbed a knife. She wasn’t sure who she was going to kill first, the castle or the castle.

“Now that you all know who the others are, I think it’s time to make some enemies,” the metallic voice said, and it was edged with disgusting glee. It sounded like the voices of so many Shadows who enjoyed killing. Yila had always hated those people, and she hated the castle for it.

“I now know none of you have any problems with shedding blood, so let’s go with that, shall we?”

Yila barely resisted the urge to snort. If by “problems” it meant incompetence, then no. But if it meant heartlessness, well, that wasn’t true of everyone.

“Here’s how it works. Each of you must injure one of the others, otherwise you will face consequences,” the castle stated, the metallic crackle in the background sounding almost like a chuckle.

Yila’s stomach turned, although in the back of her mind she was thinking no problem. Niarok can fix them.

“No,” Aydin snapped.

Yila glanced at him. It was the first time she’d been able to separate Aydin from the man who had killed her father, and even though it only lasted a second, she felt a tiny thread of bitterness disappear.

“I wasn’t giving you options,” the castle hissed.

Aydin leapt up from where he was sitting and strode to the center of the room. Niarok’s eyes followed him, something like admiration in his eyes. Yila almost smiled. Aydin had impressed her brother.

Evie was staring after Aydin too, although her eyes were completely unreadable.

She was clearly practiced in the art of hiding her emotions.

Aydin snapped his knife out of its sheath and shook down the arm of his tunic. Yila gasped. His right hand was completely… dead. It was curled into a loose fist. Permanently.

And yet he didn’t seem to care that they’d seen the weakness.

He took his knife and slashed the back of his right arm deep enough that it bled.

Again Yila saw him as separate from the assassin she’d killed.

The anger dissipated more.

“Satisfied?” Aydin snapped, his voice strong. Yila raised an eyebrow. This was getting interesting.

“Are you deaf or just stupid? I said someone else,” the Castle practically yelled. Its voice dripped with contempt so strong Yila almost dropped into a spring.

Aydin didn’t flinch. Just glared.

“Then the answer is and remains no.”

He sheathed his knife with finality.

But the castle wasn’t done.

“Was I being unclear when I said consequences?”

“Obviously. What are you going to do, kill me?”

“Let me see… for you, how about you get to reexperience your worst injury? How does that sound? I’ll see what I can do for the others.”

Yila raised an eyebrow. Oh, it was going to do this to all of them.

That meant it was going to do it to her too.

As long as it wasn’t going to make her hurt Niarok or Lorcan, it was fine.

Aydin swayed, his face pale.

Niarok was standing now.

He had that stone face he always got before he stepped in front of a weapon for someone.

He always survived it. Somehow.

Yila considered it a secondary power at this point.

There was a tense pause.

“No,” Aydin said, his voice far less fearful than his face.

The castle remained silent.

For some reason that made Yila angry.

Come out and fight, you coward!

Aydin spun suddenly to face Yila.

She stared.

He raised an eyebrow and held out his right hand.

“Care for revenge, sweetheart?”

What?

Looking directly at Aydin’s face reminded her of his lookalike.

The two images snapped together and she felt the cold Shadow rage boiling in her veins. She took a step forward, and then another.

Somehow, despite the anger, she remembered just the hand. Don’t take his head, just his hand.

She looked straight into his eyes, her hand gripping the hilt of her deadliest, longest knife.

They were steady, but fear lurked in the depths.

She glanced both ways. She had an audience.

Her eyes caught Niarok’s, and her brother looked like he was about ready to either pull her back or plead with her not to do it.

She’d seen that look before.

She could deal with it.

But as she turned back to the assassin the voices that had haunted her for years and years crowded back in.

Murderer. Liar. Blood-thirsty.

Heartless.

She shook her head and took another step closer to the assassin.

A new voice weighed in on the clamor.

Coward.

She pulled up short.

She saw as if from a distance what she was about to do. She was going to hurt an innocent man because he looked like a guilty man. Who was dead already.

Aydin’s face came into focus, eyes fixed on Yila’s knife that was just inches from his hand.

Yila squeezed her eyes shut and pulled her hand away.

“No,” she whispered. Her voice was hoarse.

She turned away.

She couldn’t tell if she’d just lost herself forever or redeemed herself forever.

 

I was nooot expecting that. I was sure she was going to chop his hand off or slice his hand in pieces or something but nooooo…