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Sibling rivalry spills over in Second Saturday Stories.

“What I noticed.” Everitt started as he threw his weight into the bale while lifting, finally upending it. “Is that our brother is still missing and you’ve been absent more and more. At first I thought maybe you were searching for him without me. But I’ve been asking around and nobody’s seen any evidence of you around the village these nights. Now? Now I don’t know what to think.”
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The castle library was deserted. Shadows cast by flickering candlelight danced and swayed among the rows of bookshelves arranged like tombstones in a graveyard. The Queen was silence in obsidian as she seemed to materialise through the shadows. Myrra walked with purpose knowing there were at least six of her assassins roaming ahead of her, spectral in camouflage. 

Myrra always felt at home in libraries. The sense sharpening silence, the labyrinth of shelving one could lose themselves in, and the smell of the ageing pages that reminded her of the colour yellow somehow. It was safety, she supposed, as to why she chose to meet her contact here. 

She spied the flickering orange glow of a lantern set on a table in the ecology section. Myrra stopped short, crouching low in the darkness. Her stop had been a force of habit, like a prey animal heading into a clearing she had learned to survey her surroundings first before heading for a moment of opportunity. It was something she’d gleaned from a life of slavery, something she had seen demonstrated in the pits. Lesser women hadn’t headed the second sight of intuition and their blood had soaked the dirt faster than she could shut her eyes.

She could almost feel the physical presence of her assassins around her. Some carried throwing knives, others brandished the long steel Kabal daggers traditional to her guild. Myrra herself had an array of weapons tucked under her ebony cloak. She abhorred unpreparedness.  

She heard nothing but the soft flip of pages progressing through one of the castle tomes. Myrra upturned her lips in a rueful smile: the girl hadn’t waited for an invite to delve into one of the castle’s books. An act punishable by the rope had she attempted under the watch of anyone else. This one was picky with what warnings she heeded, Myrra noted the defiant spirit. It was a skill worth exploiting. She moved swiftly into the lamp’s glow before the girl could conceal her act. 

The Queen had mastered unfolding from darkness, relishing in the paralysed fear she saw on her would be victim’s faces. When The Reader realised who was standing before her she reflexively shoved the open text sliding across the glossy finish of the tabletop. Myrra caught the book as it travelled into the void between her and her contact, twisting her wrist to read the cover first before marking how far the girl had read. 

“‘An ecological history of Pneumwood.’ Tell me girl, what do you seek in these tomes from the past? Surely you have other interests than that of the decades before your birth.” 

The girl sat at the table as though she were an elm struck by a bolt of lightning. The whites of her eyes reflected a filmy orange glow from her lantern. Myrra’s anger stirred, she had no time for this one if she was going to behave as an invalid. Any grace the girl had accrued by breaking the library rules was being eroded by her refusal to stand by the decision. 

“Speak, girl. Fate may not see fit to take your tongue, but I've been known to permanently silence those who commit to wasting my time.” That shook The Reader enough that her fright departed and she found her voice. 

“I was merely trying to find a reference to Burnbrush your grace, perhaps a map. As I’ve said my brother.-” 

“Ah yes, the wandering one.” Myrra spoke as she walked to replace the book among it’s neighbours. She noted the infinitesimal shift of the spines surrounding it. Myrra was impressed her contact had pawed through those in the time she had been waiting. “You won’t get that lucky. Greytusk cartographers have been trying to map the region for years. Some come back with hardly enough sense to spout words let alone chart maps, most don’t come back at all.” She punctuated this with a small roll of her eyes before going on “a small matter. The region will be mapped by year's end, the King wills it.” 

“Of course, your grace.” 

The Reader spoke in a small voice. She was curious to learn more but abided by the Queen’s warning that she waste no time. She held her breath as the queen eyed the other books she had read in waiting. Of course she knew the rules on clouding the mind with uninvited knowledge, but she couldn’t resist searching for anything on Burnbrush. The queen moved on from the book shelf and The Reader let out a breath satisfied her thirst for knowledge had gone unnoticed. 

The reader was emboldened by having her scheme successful. She pressed on, confidence overtaking her nerves. “Now, your majesty, the reason you’ve summoned me.” 

Myrra kept her face a mask of impassivity. Here once again was the precociousness that was so rare from those who faced her. This young one measured her steps to be sure, but she had heavy footfalls. “Direct and thorough.” It was neither question nor compliment, simply fact for the young one to mull over. “A summoning would indicate I had something solely to bestow to you, do you forget, child, that it is barter at the core of our meeting?” 

The Reader’s face clouded over. “The council remains at a standstill. Many out of village hopeful woo them for candidacy in the tournament. They bicker about who can cast proper representation. They overlook the representation sitting at their very table.” The Reader worked hard to keep the venom from her voice but Queen Myrra heard it just as well. 

“You think yourself to be this representation?” 

“I’m the best.” it was a fact spouted with as much confidence as Myrra had heard from The Reader since their meeting started, heavy footfalls indeed. 

Myrra remained silent. Her thoughts envisioned dozens of scenarios, all the working parts that could line up. Her mind worked through every possibility that left her as much insulation from detection. Myrra stood at the crossroads of fate, wrapped in her black cloak like a raven seconds away from taking flight. Finally a plan crystallised in her mind and she spoke in the clipped tone reserved for handing orders to her assassins. “Have it. You will represent the Caulderwilde Council in this contest. You will win. But your earnings will not be for the council to dole out. That will be left to me. Should you fail, it will be two siblings the eldest Ironcraft mourns. -Oh come now girl. Did you really think the Queen of Cuts would invite you to her web without listening for a few whispers?” 

Bronwyn Ironcraft felt elation mixed with shock as she grappled with being given what she wanted at the price of knowing one of Myrra’s whispers had been watching her. At least one. The thought of one of the queens mute assassins watching her both thrilled and galled her. Her eyes panned the impenetrable darkness and she swore she could see the ripple of the black-clad assassins, but it could have been a trick of the lantern. She was brought back to herself by the queen using that same barking tone she had adopted earlier.

“Our barter is concluded.” Bronwyn began to protest that she'd not been given anything, so the queen continued “You’ve taken as much information as you’ve given this night. A fact I’m willing to overlook, unless you continue to press my patience.” 

Bronwyn eyed the bookshelf longingly, she should have snuck one into her satchel when she had the chance. She had just gotten to the good part. 

Myrra followed her gaze and smirked. “Secure me the prize wealth and I will guarantee you access to the books on Burnbrush and it’s intricate cave systems. For one night.” Her eyes shone with knowledge and Bronwyn tried to read deep into them. 

In an eyeblink Myrra seemed to evaporate into shadow in an explosion of fabric that threatened to extinguish the lantern flame. From all sides Bronwyn heard the dry breeze sound of the whispers, nearly silent footsteps combing through the bookshelves after their queen. 

An hour later Bronwyn stood in the scrub of dirt behind Ironcraft Hearth watching her brother. In the dying light of a lantern Everitt was dragging a hay bale across the dirt, his knuckles white with strain as he poured sweat through his flannel overalls. He struggled to lift it on it’s end but when Bronwyn acted to help he waved her off in frustration. 

“I’ve got it!” Everitt breathed 

“Well no, you don’t.” Bronwyn shot back. 

“I can do this, I just -I need to catch my breath.” 

“What are you even doing out here? It’s pitch black I figured you’d be asleep.” 

“You mean figured you’d be able to sneak in from wherever you’ve been unnoticed.” 

Bronwyn took a step back “is it any matter to you? You likely didn’t notice anything with your head in the hay.” 

“What I noticed.” Everitt started as he threw his weight into the bale while lifting, finally upending it. “Is that our brother is still missing and you’ve been absent more and more. At first I thought maybe you were searching for him without me. But I’ve been asking around and nobody’s seen any evidence of you around the village these nights. Now? Now I don’t know what to think.”

“You are right, you don’t know. As a matter of fact. I have been looking for our brother, and since you pry, I have a very strong lead on where he may be.” 

“You. have a strong lead. From who? Nobody’s seen you!” 

“I-I shouldn’t say.” Bronwyn knew how feeble she sounded and it brought a burn of embarrassment to her cheeks. Her brother barked a note of incredulous laughter. 

“Come on Bronny, I doubt whatever mead soaked yarn you got wrapped in holds any truth in the sobering light of scrutiny.” 

Bronwyn felt the blood course through her face. After everything he still treated her like some stupid little kid. She had just faced the Queen of Cuts for her family, and he scoffed at her as if she’d been nosing around some pub. Bronwyn stood her ground as a breeze whisked through the corridors of the nearby houses, fluttering the lantern flame and throwing errant strands of hair around her head like a blonde halo. 

“I told you to stop calling me that, I am not your baby sister anymore. I’ll have you know my contact is someone quite high ranking in Greytusk. Furthermore she’s allowed me access to parts of the castle otherwise closed off.” Bronwyn accented her disdain with an accusatory finger pointed at her brother. Embarrassment turned to anger. “You know, every night I worry sick about Bishop, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to find him. I’m doing everything in my power and even things outside of it to find him, more than you can imagine. What is it you’re doing eh? You’re hardly capable of lifting a hay bale, and you think yourself capable of finding your own flesh and blood? If you ask me, that’s the yarn you shouldn’t get wrapped up in.”

She knew she’d overstepped even as she was turning to leave, her footfalls pounded across the scrub yard and back into the house. She felt the burn of tears wetting her cheeks as she rounded the corner into their shared room. She would have to confront her brother at some point, but for now she just needed to be alone in the cool darkness. 

Bronwyn either dozed or missed Everitt’s steps when he came in. When he spoke his voice was soft but she was still startled enough to jolt on top of the bough stuffed mattress. 

“I’m frustrated.” He started  “Our Father’s please to the king have fallen on deaf ears. You haven’t earned my grief but you’ve inherited my burden. I know you are looking for Bishop as hard as anybody, and if you’ve made some contacts within the castle that’s a welcome grace. The king will not stop this tournament any more than he will disperse the winnings to those who truly need it. Even a quarter of it would help us spread word of our missing kin to the farther reaches. But if Rygeer won’t listen to reason then it’s force we must abide by.” Bronwyn heard him take a deep breath and struggle to make his point the war between pride and reason raged familiar. 

“Tonight I- the hay it’s-It’s for target practice. You will be our contender. I’ll see to your training. Maybe during the tournament you can sneak off to find out more from this contact. Maybe when this is all over this house will feel like a home again. Anyway. We start in the morning. There’s chicken and beans, you should eat.” 

Bronwyn didn’t so much hear her brother leave as sense his absence. A few minutes later she heard a rock striking flint. The familiar sounds of the New Gods bringing heat to their house. Guilt and dread whirled around her like angry banshees shrieking turmoil and indecision, how could she compete for her brother and the queen without one of them losing out? 

Her thoughts painted a grim picture of what The Queen of Cuts would do to someone who baulked on their word to her. Bronwyn’s stomach felt as if it were folding over itself. She tried to tell herself it was just hunger but at that moment she wanted to run from bed and tell her older brother everything. The way she used to when they were small. 

But those times were long ago now, and the warmth between them had cooled enough that Bronwyn simply sighed and got up to eat. Later she changed and soundlessly shuffled back to bed, settling deeper under her wool blanket, and letting the crackle of a blazing fire lift her into sleep.