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CHAPTER 28

A Familiar Stranger

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He had nothing coming into this world. An empty board with not a single piece to his name. How was he expected to play?

His earliest memories were all from the orphanage. Memories of limited food and harsh punishments. The kids would play games among themselves to determine who got to sleep on a mattress or get an extra meal. He won every single time. Not for the security it brought, but for the boredom it relieved. After all, what was there to fight for if you had no convictions? No dreams. No goals.

It was when he watched the others squabble over the bread he threw that an attractive couple walked into the play yard. The orphanage mother was there too, gesturing to the lot of them.

These people are at the wrong place, he thought. They were well dressed and clean. The earrings on the woman alone could afford them all a year's worth of food.

Why would such a couple come looking for a mongrel?

He wiped his face with his sleeve and stood tall. Fighting the hunger pains, he walked over to the couple with empty eyes.

"Don't waste your time with the others," he said.

The woman raised her brow.

"You're awfully rude."

"Just time efficient," he replied.

The couple smiled.

He often wondered in the years that followed if he made the right choice that day. What would he be like if he stayed in the dirt? He was given a life of luxury, but he was only allowed to have it in the shadows, and it all came with the price of blood.

The couple already had two children. Spoiled brats. He suspected he was only taken in to encourage them to work harder.

His blood boiled every time he thought about being a pawn. But if he would be but a piece, he would be the best they had. He would make sure he was better than those brats could ever be. He studied every aspect there was to the Dynast. Fighting, racing, hacking, deceiving. He crafted himself a selection of masks and made each superior to his peers.

He was in the living room, playing a game against the eldest brat, when their cyng walked in.

"Sterling's offering a daughter," the man announced. "Their first kin is open to proposals on behalf of Trebor."

"What's it got to do with us?" the eldest brat asked.

Their cyng narrowed his eyes.

"This is an opportunity we can't waste," he said and turned to the boy that kept quiet. "You will personally deliver our proposal."

"What? No! Don't send him. I won't marry some weird girl I don't know."

"You will do what is expected of an heir."

"Well, Father, if we need them that much, why don't you make him the heir and marry her?"

He remained quiet. He had on a woven mask of submission that day. That of a playmate, a willing lamb ready to do anything.

"Blood is what builds a kingdom, son."

No amount of protesting budged their cyng. But those words stuck with him. He was handed a letter and sent to the city. It was nothing new, delivering messages to people who might be inclined to send a message back. In a body bag.

"Ah, a letter from one of the big four in Tygerwel," Robert Marigold said upon receiving him.

The boy kept quiet, noting reactions he could report.

"Wait out here while I write a reply," he said and disappeared down the hallway. The boy stayed perfectly still. Watching. He could not have gotten this far, learned as much, if he did not get good at observing and listening.

Power was what commanded armies, but knowledge was what swayed a war.

Trebor.

That was what Sterling's anonymous cyng went by. The boy could not help but notice that spelled backwards, Trebor became Robert. This first kin of Sterling was not as clever as he thought.

A hint of dizziness came over the boy, and he went to lean against the wall. It had been a day since he last ate. This whole situation just cemented things. He was no one. He could crawl out from the dirt he started in, but he could not get rid of the filth in his veins. He was as expendable as any other piece for these bloodlines.

"Don't be sad."

The boy looked up, startled, and met with large eyes bearing into him. He had not even heard the girl sneak up.

"Here, take some," she urged and held out a bag of candy.

The boy was taken aback. Had he looked sad? He was sure his expression remained indifferent. How did this brat read him?

"I'm fine," he said and pushed the bag away.

"No, you aren't."

"Yes, I am."

She pouted down at her sweets and took out a piece of candy with a bright red wrapper.

"My dad says that a person is only as good as their word." She took his hand and put the candy in his palm before bolting down the hallway. "I'm not talking with bad guys!" she yelled as she disappeared around the corner.

What... was that?

"You're waiting for Rob's letter?"

The boy heard the woman's footsteps approaching before she spoke. He turned and immediately recognised her by her blond hair. Stepping away from the wall, he gave a polite bow.

"Missus Marigold," he greeted.

"I have my husband's reply here," she said, handing him the envelope. "I'm sorry about her," she went on, her head inclining to where the girl ran off. "My daughter's a bit spirited sometimes."

The boy lifted his brows. That's Sterling's prized daughter? And with what he knew about Robert, it made her Sterling's heir.

He looked down at the candy. She snuck up on him successfully and saw right through his mask. It made sense now.

"She's rather young," he commented. "For marriage talk."

"Oh, she won't be married for a while still. But finding the perfect match will take years." She was not looking at him. "I know we're limiting her options. We're forcing a future on her she has no choice in. But we're still parents. And we still want her to be happy, regardless of our cruelty. I wonder if one day she'll hate us for it."

He looked at the woman and felt his mask slip. What would life have been like if he had parents who loved him like that? If they did not leave him? But what if it was not a matter of their choice and rather their circumstances? These were the questions he could never answer.

"Love itself is cruel," the boy said, surprising himself. "It can make you abandon those you cherish; imprison those you hold dear. It can turn the purest of saints into monsters and the coldest of beasts into men. But it will always make everything worth it."

It was the most he had spoken in years, and the woman's smile made him look away.

"Maybe finding someone won't be as hard as I thought."

He offered a bow.

"This humble messenger shall take his leave."

With a straight back and a light air about him, he left the house content. Only once he made it down the pathway and got to the front gates did he feel compelled to turn back one last time.

The girl from earlier was running around the yard, getting chased by maids demanding she go to her lessons. The two of them locked eyes, and she had the biggest grin when she waved him off.

For the first time, a smile was wrung out of the boy. He waved back, only just noticing he still had the candy with him.

"I promise life will be worth it for you," he whispered and had the thought that he wished that for everyone. Truly, he did.

But of course, wishes were just that. Wishes. If he wanted them to come true, if this truly was the purpose he searched for, he had to turn them into his convictions. His promise.

"They will consider it," he said, handing his cyng the letter. Travel had left him weary and jet-lagged.

"How could you actually deliver it?" the eldest brat cried, hanging on to him. "I thought you were my friend."

"This is good news," their cyng nodded. "Good job."

That was how he spent the years that followed. One good job after the other. Honing his skills. Growing his convictions. But peace was not something that lasted long in this life.

There had been something evil brewing in silence for a while. Whispers, rumours, and odd coincidences quickly became bold schemes. Murders and cover-ups. He thought he was the only one who could see it all happen and took it upon himself to put a stop to things before they went too far. He was the boy with a thousand masks up against an enemy without a face.

News of the attack on Sterling was a shock, even to him. He failed. For the first time in years, he was too late. Too slow.

But it was not all lost.

The girl who inspired his convictions all that time ago was still breathing. She was still in the game. And she was heading straight for the town where she was the most at risk.

Unknown
Hello, Marigold.
16:04

He made a choice that day. He would use everything he could, wear every mask he had. No matter the cost. Even if it meant using her, he would keep the promise he made all those years ago.

A person was only as good as their word after all.

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