"Youlden," Phoenix said the name like a foreign word and shrugged. "Samson, Youlden, Castor, Altair. I don't care. What's the difference?"

Bainon cleared his throat. "Normally, family drama doesn't bother me much, but considering what this street looks like," he gestured to the sheets of ice and the damaged building, "we may want to get inside out of sight."

Maverick shot one last look at Altair before nodding and following Bainon, one arm around Phoenix to bring her along. As the passed Eric, Phoenix reached out and pulled him in. The three of them walked united down the street, surrounded by those that were both friends and enemies, depending on the day.

They walked until they reached a large, crooked house. Bainon and Finny didn't pause before entering, and Phoenix and the rest followed. In the long, dark, hallway, they couldn't walk more than two across, filing into a large sitting room with a roaring fire and a nervous looking man.

"Your Majesty," the man said to Bainon, bowing. "Your Highnesses," he said to Maverick and Gwen. He hesitated when it came to the others, but noticed Altair right away. "The Great Altair! What a pleasure sir. We will always be in your debt."

It hit Phoenix then, and she turned to him. "You're the Ancient who kept the town from collapsing--that was you. Why didn't you just say?"

"There's a lot he hasn't said," Maverick growled, arms folded as he stood by the wall opposite them. "I think it's time we clarify a few things."

The owner of the house gave a squeak of a laugh. "I'll--I'll go see about refreshments. I'm sure my housekeeper is nearby. If you'll just--" he vanished, and Gwen frowned after him.

"Why is he so jumpy? Isn't he the man in charge around here?"

Bainon cleared his throat, shifting his weight from side to side. "He, uh, had an unfortunate run-in with my wife last year. She wasn't always as...gracious...as one would hope." His expression darkened and he fell into contemplation.

"All of which is beside the point," Maverick said, his whole body tensed. He snapped his fingers. "Find a seat or stand, I don't care, but it's about time all of you come clean." He pointed at the Ancients and Bainon. "I'm done being lied to."

"Would you have traveled with me if you knew who I was?" Bainon asked.

"Bainon didn't have much choice," Finny said. "He--"

"No." Maverick held up a hand. "If I'm mad at anyone, it is most of all you."

Finny's eyes widened, and she straightened in her chair. "I beg your pardon, Maverick Knight? At what point have I done anything but watch out for you."

"That's rich," Gwen said with a grin as she plopped down onto one of the sofas. "I mean, you're great, Finny. I love you, but if there was a chart to show who lied the most, it'd be you."

"Me?" She glanced around the room. "How me? I told you exactly who I was ages ago--your Watcher. These two have been the ones keeping secrets." She gestured to Altair and Castor.

"Way to throw us to the wolves," Castor mumbled, leaning against Eric's chair. "We did what we had to do. Narissa would never have let me near Eric if she knew what I was."

"True," Bainon said, nodding.

"You knew who he was. All those times he came to Treywick with the Army, you knew exactly who and what he was," Maverick said to Finny. "Just like you knew who Bainon was. Just like you knew who Youlden was. You knew all along and never told us."

"Why are Youlden and Castor's identities so important?" Phoenix asked with a slight raise of her hand, sitting in the chair opposite Eric. "It seems very important, but I don't know why."

"Did you do something to her?" Gwen asked Altair, pointing at Phoenix. "Did you make her forget? Because even I'm upset and I barely knew you as Youlden. She'd been traveling with you for months before we met."

"He didn't do anything," Castor said. Phoenix noticed that he would look everyone in the eye except herself. In fact, he'd hardly looked at her at all. "Her rebirth damaged her memory. She doesn't know who we are outside of our roles as Watchers."

His words were tinged with bitterness, faint, but still present. She wondered why everyone cared so much that she have perfect memories. She remembered Maverick and Eric--what more did she need?

"How can she not remember?"

It wasn't Maverick, this time, but Eric. He sat with his elbows on the arms of his chair, his fingers pressed together in a steeple as he studied her.

"She remembers us. She made me remember. I've known who you are," Eric waved a hand in Castor's way, "and I'm still angry."

"You don't seem angry," Gwen observed. Eric offered her a sly smirk.

"It's a slow burn."

"More like a frost," Castor said, earning another smile from Eric.

"Do you remember," Eric began, looking at Phoenix, "the day we met in the mountain pass? I was thinking to kill you in order to free myself from the bond we shared. I didn't understand it. This one--" he pointed at Altair--"came barreling out of nowhere and knocked me to the ground. He would have killed me to save you if Samson--Castor--hadn't put a knife to your throat to bargain for my life."

Phoenix frowned. The memory sounded familiar, but as she tried to grasp it, she found it to be blurry and distant, muddied and disjointed.

"When we were younger," Maverick said, drawing her attention, "the four of us used to sneak off to go into Fangralee. Samson never participated. He'd only ever be the lookout."

"The Watcher," Eric agreed, shaking his head.

"And Youlden," Maverick's face split into a reluctant smile. "That first day of training, when they asked what we could do. You kept insisting you weren't a Guardian, no matter how much they said your markings meant you had to be." He chuckled, shaking his head, "I guess that was for her benefit, yeah?"

"She would have known if I were lying," Altair said, glancing at Phoenix. "And I'm not a Guardian. Never have been."

"But you look so young," Gwen said, shaking her head. "How can you look so young and have watched over them their entire lives?"

"With Adonai, there is no time, no such thing as age," Castor said, staring down at his feet.

"We age only on earth. I'm far older than Castor, him being the youngest of the Ancient Circle. I've spent many years here, and he's spent just over two decades--when he was assigned to Ares. I've gone back, regaining my youth, but Castor hasn't."

"Why lie?" Phoenix asked Altair. "It makes no difference to me, but you've upset them. Why didn't you tell everyone who and what you were when you first met?"

"We're getting nowhere," Finny said, folding her arms. "You can ask us all you want, but we don't have to divulge anything to you that we think you either don't need to know or won't understand. The truth is, most Watchers don't tell their charges who they are--it keeps us and them safe. In case you've forgotten, one of our own is out to make trouble. Whoever it is could kill us if they knew who we were."

"You mean you don't even know who each other are?" Gwen asked. "How is that possible?"

"Our earthly forms are different than our heavenly forms," Altair said. "We don't know each other down here unless we've revealed ourselves. Finny has generally been open about who and what she is when we meet."

"I thought it might draw out the traitor. If they knew my face, they might attack. But it hasn't worked." Finny slouched back, looking like a grumpy old lady, despite her middle-aged face. Phoenix had a sudden flash of seeing the woman much older, and memories came with it. She blinked, clearing her mind to catch what was being said next. Gwen had asked a question that she'd missed.

"The Ancient Circle is only ten Ancients. There are thousands of stars in the skies. We were the first. Both the oldest and the youngest," Finny gestured to Castor. "Centuries have passed here while time has stood still above. Some of us have traveled through Braskey's history, and others have observed."

"But you're certain the traitor is one of the ten and not one of the other thousand?" Bainon leaned in toward Finny, intrigued.

"It has to be," Altair said. "Only an Ancient can kill another Ancient, and only we knew what Helix and Tremaine had gone to Braskey to do."

"Who?" Gwen glanced at Bainon, who opened his mouth, but Finny cut in.

"Tremaine--the first king of Braskey. He fell in love with a mortal woman. Their children were the first Guardians. Even after she died, he remained, watching over his progeny as they led the kingdom. Helix was his pair and remained by his side, watching as well. Together, they kept Braskey safe."

"Then there was an uprising," Castor said, his voice low as he stared into the fire. "One that can only be created by an Ancient working for their own purpose. The country fell into chaos. Even the other lands were affected, wars between them growing more fierce each passing day."

"Helix and Tremaine went to war, joining Tremaine's family to try and keep them safe." Altair sighed, passing a hand over his face. "We don't fight. It's not who we are. But after years on earth, Tremaine and Helix felt they had too much loyalty to their kingdom to stay out of it. They met the traitor on the battlefield and were slain."

"And no one saw who the traitor was? Weren't you all up above, you know, watching?" Gwen asked, brows arching.

"Do you know what the opposite of a star is?" Castor asked, meeting her gaze. Gwen shook her head. "It's a black hole. When we want to hide our identities, we radiate light so you can't see our faces. When the traitor went for Tremaine and Helix, the land was covered in an immense, impenetrable blackness."

"We saw nothing," Finny said, shaking her head. "We couldn't see, but we knew what was happening. Turning on your own kind and Adonai for your own gain is the worst evil an Ancient can commit. We knew what was happening, but couldn't get to them to save them. By the time the darkness lifted, it was too late."

"They were gone," Altair finished.

"But this was centuries ago," Gwen said. "How can you not know who the traitor is by now?"

"It's only been one century in your time," Altair said, "and for us, it's been much less."

"Seventy-three years," Finny said, tapping her chest.

"Forty-two," Altair said, gesturing to himself.

"Twenty-three," Castor said with a flick of his hand.

"But how--"

"Time doesn't pass up there," Altair pointed at the ceiling. "Only the time we've spent on this earth has passed for us."

"And in that time, the traitor has remained hidden," Finny said. "But I think it's safe to assume that--as it wasn't Narissa--whoever they are is in league with the Militia." She pounded her fist into her hand. "I would have thought my presence there would have drawn them out."

"But you didn't tell anyone what you were," Maverick said. "They knew you were wise and otherly, but you don't have the markings." He gestured to her hands. "How would they know you're an Ancient?"

"Hmm," Finny glanced down. "That's a good point."

"Why don' you have markings?" Maverick asked. "Neither of you do, but Youlden does."

"Markings are a sign of our gift," Finny said with a sad smile. "Wisdom knows better than to display itself."

"I have markings," Castor said, drawing everyone's attention. He arched a brow. "What?"

"I've known you most of my life," Maverick said. "I've seen you without gloves and without long sleeves. I would have noticed."

Castor tugged off his gloves, revealing his pale white hands. Everyone except the Ancients and Eric leaned in for a closer look. Phoenix saw it at once. His hands looked scarred, as though he'd been cut into along every finger and down his hand.

But they weren't scars.

"Your marks are white?" Maverick said in surprise. "No wonder we never noticed."

"Those are markings?" Bainon grunted. "I just thought you'd had some sort of accident. Your arms are all--but of course. I should have realized."

"Shouldn't the traitor have markings, too then?" Gwen asked. "Wouldn't that make them easier to find?"

"If Tarvril had succeeded in killing all of the Guardians, it would have," Finny said. "But as many survived and new ones were born," she gestured to Phoenix. "There are many walking the streets with markings of one kind or another."

"Then what do we do?" Bainon asked. "How do we get rid of the Militia and set things right without people being killed?"

"We've started an uprising," Gwen said. "That should--"

"That isn't enough."

They all turned, and Phoenix realized Canya and Trey were still with them. Canya appeared even more frightening and wild in the firelight, her eyes darting around the room.

"What do you mean, it isn't enough?"

"They key is the only trick. The lock is tight. The one who lies is magnified. The people will follow."

"What?" Gwen glanced around. "Did anyone else get that?"

"She said I'm the only way to defeat the traitor," Trey said, tugging Canya closer to the group. "Aundreya's lies will make people forget what you told them."

"But she can't reach everyone," Maverick said. "What are they going to do, cart her from town to town?"

"The amplifier has chosen a side. The darkness grows inside," Canya said, closing her eyes.

"There's an amplifier?" Finny said. Phoenix noticed all three Ancients suddenly looked afraid. "Who?"

"Noelle," Trey said. "She's been left alone more than six months in a dungeon. She's learned to use hate and anger to..." he frowned, glancing up at Canya. "I don't know."

"Her power grows through hate. Bitterness fuels her. She becomes more like her sister with each passing day." Speaking in intelligible sentences seemed to be a real struggle for Canya, who gritted her teeth. "She's chosen her sister's side. She will help spread the lies."

"Noelle would never," Maverick said, paling. "She wouldn't. She couldn't!"

"She is, though," Trey said. "There's darkness in her now."

"No amplifier can ever learn to use their power through hate," Finny said in a low voice. "Just as anyone with a powerful gift mustn't. It turns inward and eats at the soul."

"Then we have to save her," Maverick said, turning to Gwen. "We left her there."

"I guess," Eric said, catching Phoenix's eye, "it's time to build an army."

Soooooooo hopefully you have some questions answered.

And now we get ready for war.

TO WAR!

Except that's like, the end of the book, so we've got a long ways to go.