"Don't dance so much on your toes," Oberon said to me four days later as we spent the unusually warm afternoon in the sparring ring. "Feet planted, daggers up. Eyes on mine. If you were on a battlefield, you would have been dead with that manoeuvre."
Nolan snorted, picking at his nails while he lounged on a bench. "She heard you the first ten times you said it, Oberon."
"Keep talking, Nolan, and I'll drag you into the ring and see how much practice you've actually been doing."
Nolan just continued cleaning his nails—with a small dagger, I realised. "Touch me, Oberon, and I'll remove your favourite part. Small as it might be," he said teasingly.
Oberon rolled his eyes as he let out a low chuckle, as if this was a regular encounter between both of them. Standing between them in the sparring ring in the Estate of Elanor, a dagger in each hand, sweat sliding down my body, I wondered if I should find a way to slip out. Or perhaps to at least get out of their way, and provide them with the privacy they might have needed.
Four days of this ever since Phoebus's reignited offer—training with Oberon, and occasionally with Nolan, spending most of my time trying to figure out what sort of labyrinth the black milkweed may be located in while dodging Phoebus all the same. Unsurprisingly, I made more progress with the former.
The constant stressing and thinking hadn't done much to help my sleep either. I hadn't decided if that was a good thing. I had only but a good guess of where this 'labyrinth' might be but decided against it. It was too easy to find—almost as if it had been there the whole time waiting to be discovered. That was without considering that the attacks were closing in towards the Estate of Elanor, and seemingly moving faster than anyone could've imagined. Nolan and his sentries continued their attempts at slowing the attackers, but to no avail. That he hadn't managed to do so yet made him quieter than usual—colder. I shook my head.
Nolan's pine green eyes flicked up from his nails. "Good. You can play with her."
"Play with who?" said Kallistê, stepping from the shadows of the open hallway.
Oberon's nostrils flared. "Where'd you go the other night?" he asked Kallistê without so much as a nod of greeting. "I didn't see you by the western border." Near the camp of Elanor's armies.
They'd gone off two nights ago—away to discuss what could be done about the attacks. I'd spent most of my time in the study then, poured over a pile of books about the architecture of the Estate of Elanor, labyrinths and mazes in Asteria as well as anything else which may help me with deciphering the Alger's words. But other than those sleepless nights, Nolan, Oberon and Kallistê had kept me company, Nolan in particular. Nursing my wine, I'd usually talked over Kallistê and Oberon's bickering with Nolan, who had constantly arrived content to brood, but reluctantly joined me in observing the war of words between those two. Kallistê had joined us only a mere four days ago, when she found out I had been training with Oberon—and the commander and I made a game of betting on who, exactly, would win each round.
Unsurprisingly, Nole won every round. But at least he was smiling by the end of the session.
Kallistê had won every round by far, though that didn't stop Oberon from admitting defeat. And it certainly hadn't failed to amuse Nolan and I.
Nolan, it seemed, came to the sparring rings more than anyone else—practically lived there, actually. Kallistê shrugged at Oberon's demand and another bench like Nolan's appeared. "I just went ... out," she said, plopping down.
"With whom?" Oberon pushed as Nolan visibly tensed.
Kallistê chuckled. "Last I was aware," she said, leaning back in her chair, "I didn't take orders from you, Oberon. Or report to you. So where I was, and who I was with, is none of your damn concern. Besides, I felt dark magic used against the eastern border and decided to closer inspect the situation. It's why I returned here again today, to remind you to send one of your troops down there."
"You didn't tell Phoebus, either."
I paused, weighing those words, Oberon's stiff shoulders. Yes, there was some tension between him and Kallistê that resulted in that bickering, but ... perhaps ... perhaps Oberon accepted the role of buffer not to keep them apart, but to keep his colleague from losing himself in the hole of guilt he had dug for himself. From losing his friend to the guilt which should have been his.
Oberon finally remembered I'd been standing in front of him, noted the look of understanding on my face, and gave me a warning one in return. Fair enough.
I shrugged and took a moment to set down the daggers and catch my breath. For a heartbeat, I wished Alistair were there if only to see them go head to head. I hadn't heard anything through eavesdropping about the attacks moving closer to my village. I wondered if it would stay that way for much longer.
"Why, exactly," Oberon said to Nolan and Kallistê, not even bothering to sound pleasant, "are you two here?"
Kallistê closed her eyes as she tipped back her head, sunning her golden face. "Phoe is coming in a few moments to give us some news, apparently," her eyes flicked to me, "though maybe not including Eleena. Didn't Nolan tell you?"
"I forgot," Nolan said, still picking at his nails. "I was having too much fun watching Eleena evade Oberon's tried-and-true techniques to get people to do what he wants."
Oberon's brows rose. "You've been here for an hour."
"Oops," Nolan said.
Oberon threw up his hands, "Get off your ass and give me twenty lunges—"
A vicious, unearthly snarl cut him off.
But Phoebus strode out of the hallway, and I couldn't decide if I should be relieved or disappointed that Oberon versus Nolan was put to a sudden stop.
He was in his fine clothes, his claws nowhere in sight. Phoebus look at them, at me, the daggers I'd left in the dirt, and then said, "Sorry to interrupt while things were getting interesting."
"Fortunately for Oberon's balls," Nolan said, nestling back in his bench, "you've arrived at the right time."
Oberon snarled half-heartedly at him.
Phoebus's face remained impassive, and said to none of us in particular, "They're breaking through my wards."
Silence, and then-
Oberon flinched. The entire of Phoebus's court flinched. Kallistê said, "How?"
"I ... I don't know. It was ancient, dark magic which burned its way through the wards—like acid—but it's impossible. Who or what could've gained access to such power and magic?"
But weren't Oberon's sentries positioned there? Oberon seemed to have the same thought, his expression blank as he crossed his arms and faced Phoebus. "My troops may need guidance and extra support," he stated. "I need to see them."
"For the Mother's sake Oberon, get your head straight," Nolan advised. "They might already have broken in for all we know. And we're not sure of their numbers too. You may be caught in a bloody fight." He turned to Phoebus. "When did you receive this news?"
"Two days ago. I've managed to patch up some of the holes they've made but quite a number have managed to cross. There was a brawl and a few dozens were slaughtered on both sides. I'd only arrived after it stopped." Phoebus looked at his commander—no, his friend—and said quietly, "I'm sorry Oberon."
Pain—real pain, shone like diamonds in Oberon's eyes, though his expression betrayed nothing. I could only fathom how it felt to feel the guilt of abandoning your brothers at heart. Nolan was frowning too—no doubt feeling as much pain as Oberon was feeling, if not more.
Kallistê rubbed her temples. "If they've broken through, where are they now?"
"Elanor's army has managed to hold them back. Long enough that I was able to seal and reinforce the wards—"
"I need to see them, visit their families—"
"And," Phoebus cut him off. "Considering the fact that the last time they had attacked, none of us had been prepared, they might as well be hiding in whatever hole they had crawled out from, waiting for the right time to attack again."
That could be anytime. At the slight chance of Elanor's defences lowering, the attackers would surely take the chance.
"It could easily be a distraction," Oberon pushed. "Who's to say that battle was to prevent us from looking at whatever else they're doing?"
"That is also why I need you and Nolan to return to the war camps," Phoebus said simply.
Nolan's frown deepened—tense and agitated.
Phoebus said too casually, "Retreat if the wards break again. We cannot risk losing any more sentries, especially if Morana refuses to help."
"Shit," Oberon said, throwing up his hands again. "Really, Phoe? It's bad enough that you had to patch up the wards, but leaving the city unprotected—"
"Phoebus does have a point," Nolan said. "It is unlikely that the attackers will go for the city. I have a feeling they would strip Elanor of its power first, only then will they seize control of the city. Very well, Phoebus—I'm in."
No better than a loyal commander obeying his king's orders. Kallistê gave me a secret, subtle look that conveyed the same thing, and I swallowed a wince.
Oberon started to object again, but Phoebus said quietly, "I will need you—not Kallistê or Nolan—to lead your men. If anything goes wrong at all, or if you sense something which should not belong in Elanor, warn me immediately and return. To do something without knowing what their intentions are could lead to more trouble than it's worth."
I stiffened as a sudden gloom hit me. What I had to do—I had to complete it soon. Eleena the Baphomet Slayer ... and assassin.
"Just cool your heels, Oberon," Nolan said, eyes a bit glazed—as he no doubt pictured the best and worst situations they could face. "As long as we don't do anything stupid, things shouldn't go too out of hand. If anything, we can call down more troops from the eastern border to assist if needed."
Oberon's hands twitched, but Kallistê chimed in, "And I've augmented the enchantments around the city. They should hold for much longer now."
Oberon's hands settled again. He jerked his chin at me. "Eleena, though. It's one thing to have her here—where the attackers could pass by if they're looking for what we all have our guesses about. It's another that she is mortal."
I grimaced. Hopefully, I would be long gone before that ever happens.
But Phoebus was done. He inclined his head to Nolan and strolled for the open hallway. Oberon lurched a step, but Kallistê lifted a hand. "Leave it," she murmured. Oberon glared, but obeyed.
I took that as a chance to leave as well, the warm darkness of the shadows in the hallway blinding me. My mortal eyes adjusted slowly, but for the first few steps down the narrow hallway, my feet started their journey on memory alone.
It was too much to take in. The camps, the attackers, the deaths ... it was all too much. The headache I already gained these past few days from trying to decode the Alger's words doubled at the thought. Without thinking, the familiar tang of roses filled my hazy senses and I came to an abrupt stop.
Of course I would. Of all the places in this estate I had come to the garden, no less my favourite place to think ever since my encounter with the Alger. Sighing, I sunk down on a garden bench facing the entrance of the towering maze. It was where it all started—my assumptions of where the black milkweed may be located. Frustration built up in me as I ripped out a rose from its bush—not caring if its thorns drew blood or if its petals matched the exact shade of crimson now running down my arm—and threw it on the ground in front of me.
When my hand was stinging and bleeding profusely, I burrowed my head into my hands.
Please. Help me.
Then in the silence between prayers and tears, something came. Not even a thought. An impulse.
I lifted my head.
The answer to the Alger's words looked right back at me.