Rozzy: Want more?
Reezzy: YES :-D
Reezzy: or i'll be forced to bring out the shovel!
Reezzy: *growl*

I REPEAT
Reezzy: or i'll be forced to bring out the shovel!

man...geez...you're so good!@#$%
honestly, if i could create such a strange and perplexing atmosphere like that, i'd be in awe of my self. as you should be, because i think you're going bloody great with this story. i'm fully re-reading this 3 times so i can try and work things out (er yeah im a retard, we all know...) for myself...(oh btw, if you havent noticed, they're all compliments )
*sighs with envy*
GO ROZZY GO
WRITE MORE GO
OR THE SHOVEL WILL GO
FLYING OVER TO YOU, SO GO!

Wow that's great! ^_^ I was a little confused at the beginning, but I figured it out... I think. I can't wait to read what happens!

It's good! Kinda got confused, but I really like it. Please write more!

See if I got this right:
The real Kalasin was kidnapped and replaced with an ugly fake one, who is helping someone kill the king and his family.
The real Kalasin escaped her captors and met up with King Lagne, who suspects that the fake K. is a fake and that the real K. is the true princess.

But I'm confused about the mirror. And the ending. Can someone explain?

His gaze was pulled to the shaking rags in the corner. Roughly, he grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her to her feet.

"Don't," she begged. "Leave me alone, anything, I'll do-" She choked on the last word, voice trembling.

"You'll do anything?" he asked, eyes glimmering with excitement.

Kalasin gulped. Oh gods, this could be over for her now. No more... Her scattered thoughts collected briefly, and her breath caught in her throat. "No," she said firmly. "I know what you want, I know who you want. No."

"Oh, my pretty Kalasin," he mocked, reaching out to wind a raven lock around his finger. "You think this all revolves around you." He pulled out his knife, and chopped the hair off. "It doesn't."

"You're insane," she accused, drawing back.

His face darkened. "Don't say that!" he screamed.

"YOU'RE INSANE!" she shrieked back.

He took the knife in his other hand, and lowered it just over her heart. "What did you call me?"

"Insane," she wept.

He brought his blade next to her neck, breathing heavily. "I'm sorry?"

She screamed.
*
"Insane," I whispered to myself, hugging my blankets around me. "He's insane, she's insane, I'm insane." I repeated this again, for effect.

"I know."

I sat straight up, eyes searching the room for the speaker. "What do you mean, you know?"

Liam pushed the door open fully, letting me see it was him who had spoken. "I know," he said simply.

I glared at the boy, who was supposed to be my younger sibling. "What do you mean? Nobody knows! I mean, he knows, I know, I'm pretty sure that she might, but you?" I finished feverishly.

Something flickered in his eyes as he came to sit on the edge of my bed. "I know what you are."

My eyes widened with fear.

"You're not her, are you?"

"How do you know I'm not Princess Kalasin?" I asked, trying to keep a steady tone, and failing.

"Because you just told me," he retorted, and fled the room.

My mouth dropped open.
*
"Is there something wrong, your Majesty?"

Lagne's thoughts were interrupted by the servant. "Hmm? No, not... not really."

The servant nodded, and collected the cups.

The Gallan King held up a hand to stop him. "I think I'd like to return to Corus. I have something of my royal cousin's."

I don't get it. *scratches head*. i can be a bit slow sometimes.

That...was...BRILLIANT!!!!!!

The threats scared me enough to leave my revision.
*~*
Tossing and turning, tossing and turning...

Too hot. It was too hot. She was too hot. Suffocating... She couldn't breathe. She was suffocating. Where had the air gone?

She sat up in bed. This wasn't her bed. She didn't belong in here. What was she doing here? Here, where she had no place. Here, where her name wasn't hers.

Her eyes swept over the room. Not her room. She didn't have a room, not anymore. Nothing was hers.

Hot. Too hot.

What was wrong? Usually she was too cold here. Tonight, it was too hot. Far too hot. Burning. She was burning up. Too hot.

She crossed to the window, and opened the shutters, letting a rush of icy air cool her. He'll be coming soon. She leaned further out of the window, taking in the frigid air in huge gulps. And I won't be ready.

She laid a hand on her forehead. Far too hot. She could go and wake somebody. But what would be the point?

What would she say? What healer would rush to her aid?

I'll go back to bed, she decided.

On the way, she glanced in the mirror. And stopped. She stared, blue eyes widening. It's her.
*~*
A man sat in darkness, the only light glinting from two green puddles in front of him.

"Not failing me, are you, pretty?" he asked what at first seemed to be empty air.

"I think you are," he continued, watching one of the puddles, which was formed from his own Gift. "I think you've lost faith. I think you're slipping."

He sighed, eyes flicking to the other green pool of fire. "And Kalasin of Conte. I could kill you right now," he informed the image of the sleeping girl. "Right now, in your sleep." The mage reached toward her, and then withdrew his hand. "But I won't. Not yet."

His teeth glinted in the dim light as his mouth curled in a cruel smile. "It wouldn't be painful enough."

He reached out a hand, as if to caress the sleeping girl's head. "And I like painful." He let out a sigh. "I might have let you live. If you had helped me. But you didn't, did you? So you see," he carried on intently, crouching, and leaning over the pool, "I have to kill them all. I won't leave anybody alive. Not even you. And it's all your fault."
*~*
All my fault.

Kalasin of Conte shot up in bed, hair mussed, and eyes alight with fear.

Kill them all.

"Nobody left."
*
Me thinks Kalasin has an identity crisis
*~*Rosie*~*

The small girl stumbled up the hill. Tears slid down her cheeks, mingling with crimson blood, and stung where they met open cuts.

That walk would stay in her mind for years to come, each slow, steady, painful step of it. Eight years, in fact, because at the end of them another change in her life would appear, it meant that all his promises for her would be fulfilled at last, and she would get what she deserved.

Nobody had recognised her at first. She remembered feeling like a small ghost wandering the halls as if she were dead, because nobody made eye-contact with her, or spoke to her. It was as if she wasn't there. But why should they recognise her? She'd never met them, they'd never met her.

She had felt the weight of many disapproving gazes on her, but whenever she turned to look at the watchers, their eyes were always busy elsewhere. It was something that she had had time to get used to; very few people found it easy to talk to her without the scars marked carefully on her drawing their attention.

Eventually, her feet had led her to a large brown door. She had set her small hand on the handle...
*~*
That was where I stood, as an eighteen-year-old. Outside the library, ready to greet the man who thought he was my father, only on this occasion, it wasn't the first time that I was going to meet him, but the last.

Knock or not? I wondered, fiddling with my 'enchanting' sapphire-blue gown that, far from bringing out similar shades in my fascinating sapphire eyes, turned the mild blue into a wishy-washy colour.

'But that looked so good on you when you were young!' had been the astonished words of the equally astonished dressmaker, who had been amazingly astonished to return from a decade in Tyra, to find that Princess Kalasin was the promising swan who had turned into a duck. Obviously, it hadn't occurred to her that I wasn't who she thought. My reaction had been one of the ones that I am most proud of. I should have been a Player, the performance was that good. I had burst into tears, screaming about devilery, and how she was one of them, coming to take me away.

I don't think she'll be the royal dressmaker for much longer. Oh well, that's just the first life that I'll ruin out of many. Second, I corrected, remembering Princess Kalasin.

That brought my attention back to the present situation. I pushed open the door, and found him sitting exactly where I thought he would be, reading from a scroll.

"Father?"
*~*
Bleurgh, I lost the plot.
*~*Rosie*~*

*blinks at bit*
rozzy..
why do you do thissss!!!!!!! you cant torture us all like this! im begining to change my mind...i think this is my fave bit now its damn good..kinda creepily good, i think...your style is so interestingly vague i looooove it!
i really hope you post some more soon, for your sake, of course >)))

*gasp* ROSIE!! You haven't updated in a looong time!! *threats are heard*

Do you have writer's block? Cuz if you do, that's ok!

:-) I really liked that post more pleas

The innkeeper hadn't seen the girl before. His eyes passed over her, interested, before lowering to examine what rooms were free. He lifted two keys off their hooks, and handed them to her, swallowing a gasp as her hood slipped back, and his brown gaze connected with her blue one.

She tucked her hair behind her ear. "Thank you," she murmured in a low tone, sliding one of the keys into her pocket. Her mouth curled into a warm smile, before she turned. "Master Salmalín? Our rooms are ready."

Now the innkeeper was very interested, having just seen the shadowy man. This must be the WildMage, the only female that Master Salmalín cared to be seen with these days. Only, he mused over a tankard of ale later that evening, she hadn't looked like the WildMage was said to, and she had no animal friends about her. Perhaps now the black robed mage danced to a different tune.

"That man thinks that you're after my innocence," she told him in a low tone when they were out of earshot.

His lips parted in a grin. "I wouldn't dare to try." He held open the door for her, and closed it behind himself. Suddenly, a judder of pain shook his whole body, and he gasped for breath. She was by his side in an instant, worry setting into her face.

"Master Salmalín?" she asked cautiously, careful not to touch him just yet, in case whatever hurt him passed to her.

His dark eyes found hers, wide with mixed emotions. "It has begun."
*~*
"It," I sang out happily, wiping the blade clean of blood, "has-"

A gloved hand muffled my next word. The owner pulled me into an alcove. I raised an eyebrow at the woman who had interrupted my happiness, wondering where best to plunge my dagger. I named myself a silly fool for not recognising her, but it became apparent why I hadn't. Her long brown hair had been hacked off, and stuck out at odd angles, and thin red lines marked her heart shaped face. A beautifully soft mouth trembled with fear, but her eyes glittered with cold rage.

"He's back."

I wasn't sure what I was supposed to have concluded from those two words. Frankly, they just begged a lot of questions, questions that I didn't have time to ask. I had my own master to answer to, and couldn't waste time chatting with a commoner. Unfortunately, my shrugging her off didn't go as well as planned, because I felt a sharp pain in my abdomen when I tried to push past.

The brunette was having some trouble shaping the words of her fear. "He's back," she repeated, edging her blade away from my stomach. She took in a couple of shaky breaths. "This is your doing," she hissed, cold anger making her voice echo in my mind. "This is all your fault. If he kills, it will be your fault!"

I stepped back from her, pressing my back against the wall. She was so silly, did she think that her words would stop this? It was set in place, and nobody was going to stop it. Nobody was going to stop me. "No," I whispered. "It will be your fault, yours and everybody else who lives in this castle, for accepting a traitor into your midst! You can't tell an impostor from your own princess."

"Your poison means nothing to me," she rapped back, eyes flashing with fury. "You spout pretty venom, but it means nothing." Her hand shot out to fix around my throat, squeezing very slightly. I gasped for air. "You are going to tell me everything."

After I had, she drew back a little, but still managing to block my exit. "So," she said slowly, rubbing her hands together. I couldn't read her expression, which was contorted with emotions, and this irked me. "It has begun."
*~*
Voila! Actually, I'm curious as to how you're going to make me post next. You've tried threats, praise and hypnosis. I wrote up the next chapter, and you can have it if you have an inventive way of forcing me to post it. And don't kill me, dammit, you don't get more if you kill me!

And I'm blushing now, I don't think I deserve compliments. Neither do my teachers, because I'm doing this instead of my homework. Ah well.
*~*Rosie*~*

*snickers at yukimi sama's last post*

I'm in mourning. I lost the chapter TWICE. First, I wrote it out, and lost that, and just now, it vanished. So... je suis desolee! I'll try and work out a passable chapter asap!
*~*Rosie*~*

Don't faint on me now Anyway, many, many, many apologies for being so slack on this. I did pass my exam, actually. I just got the PM from yukimi_sama, (like a month late ) so here's an update! The first couple of paragraphs might be a little disturbing, and may trigger cutters. The second paragraph is worst, but perhaps skip all the italic section if you don't like that sort of thing.

*~*

He hadn't been able to resist. She looked so defenceless as she slept. None would have known her as the stubborn WildMage. Then man who usually slept beside her, or swept her away for a night of star gazing, was suspiciously absent, but that didn't worry him. The time would come soon enough when theh two would meet again.

The knife was his faithful companion through everything. Idly, he wondered what tales it would have to tell, if it could speak. It would remember the first death, that mage student, then his lovely imposter's mother, then those wonderful years with the Tortallan princess. It would recall tasting her flesh again as he killed her and the Gallan. This knife had journeyed with him since the beginning, and it would travel with him until the end.

She awoke, long lashes beating against her lower lid as she focused on the figure. Suddenly, her eyes rounded with fear. "You," she choked.

He came to sit beside her, ignoring the mask of disgust that rippled over her beautiful features. "Did you miss me?"

Fury intercepted any other emotion. She whipped around. "No," she hissed. "You're not real." She still had that wonderful foreign taint to her Common tongue.

"I beg to differ. Perhaps a pinch to tell you it's not a dream?" He had to prove his point. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, but she'd given him no choice. Pain was a beautiful emotion, raw and natural. It was displayed on her face now, as she tried to fight the screams from erupting out of her throat.

*~*

My eyes flickered over his figure as it shaped in front of me. He had obviously been a good-looking man in his prime, but there was no telling what a year or so in a Stormwing body and death would do to you.

"Princess!" he greeted, a smile wrapping around his unpainted lips.

I kept the scowl from my face with an effort. He called me 'princess' because he had forgotten my birth name, the name given to me by my mother. But I didn't forget. I couldn't.

"You're late," I accused, standing straight and locking my hands behind my back. "You went somewhere else, didn't you?" I knew he had. It was just fun to play with him, fun to watch the guilt fly across his expression.

He hesitated, forming a lie in his mind quickly. I watched him steadily, faintly amused by this so-called powerful man's attempts to keep in the favour of an eighteen-year-old child, whose only claim came from stealing somebody else's places in the world. "I was... detained," he came up with, deciding that I would not dare to question him.

"Where?" I asked coolly, determined to drag this out. So long as it kept his attention from his precious Veralidaine, it worked for me.

He shifted from foot to foot, eyes skipping across the room, trying not to connect with mine. Inevitably, they landed on the crouched WildMage, and I cursed silently.

"What's this?" he asked, tone stern. I didn't answer, just plastered my face with pretend shock. He strode over, and pulled out the Gallan.

She had been prepared for something like this. "Master," she whispered reverently. "Master, what can I do to serve you?"

He dropped her arm, a smirk crawling over his features. "You want to carry out my wishes?"

"Oh yes," she lied, blinking up at him innocently. I hated her, hated that she won his trust so easily, and crept into his mind without question. I despised her for knowing what to do, and for getting away with it. "I... I only hid so that your sight would not be tainted with my worthless presence." She dropped her gaze, and brought a faint blush to her cheeks. I swore at her in my mind, viciously, and begged for looks to kill.

Arrogance twisted his face. She played on his pride, made him feel omnipotent. "How did you know I was here?"

I felt a dim sense of foreboding uncurl in the pit of my stomach, as she pointed at me. "She wants to betray you, Master. She thought that I would help bring you down."

As his amber eyes fixed on mine, I gulped down fear. He would see through her transparent act. He had to.
*~*Rosie*~*

God, this thing is addictive. I just spent a half hour reading it. Extrememly good although I was confused. Maybe I accidentally skipt one or two while I was looking through them!

OMG! That is awesome. You should write your own books not just fanfiction because your writing is GREAT! And I don't give compliments lightly so this means that I really do think that you are good and that I am not just saying this to get you to type more of the story. So. I think that you should start writing your own book right away and then get it published (believe me, if it is as good as this is it will be published VERY quickly-or at least it should be!). Your stuff is really good. AAAHHHH!!! I'M REPEATING MYSELF!!!
~Shimmearl~

*Death Glare (TM)* Just WHEN are you going to update Rosie??

The swarthy man paced the fire nervously, concern glinting in his dark eyes. "You're sure?" he pressed a third time.

She nodded, not a trace of her exasperation visible as she watched him prowl like a panther before her. She idly fiddled with a lock of blonde hair, hoping he'd calm down soon.

Her hopes were in vain. "I have to go to her," he said immediately, and made for the door.

She blocked his exit, well-bred distaste flickering on her otherwise expressionless face. "Master Salmalín, all due respect, but I fear that you will do more harm than good, and I will not thank you for deserting me."

"I can't stay!" the mage exclaimed, running a hand through his hair.

She was immovable, chin upturned, light-coloured hair sliding from her face. "You must," she said firmly, in the tone of one that expected to be obeyed.

He turned eyes that burned with scorn and fury on her. "You wouldn't understand," the Tyran hissed scathingly.

Anger flashed in her own eyes at the distainful tone, and she stiffened. When she spoke, her voice was clipped and icy. "I beg to differ."

The black robe was about to shove past her regardless, when she continued, in the same frosty accent, "Master Salmalín, I command you to stay. Furthermore, if you escape, I will either have you imprisoned, or magicked to my side." Her eyes dared him to disobey.

Passing up the challenge, he conceded, grumbling about the unfairness of it all as he sat. "What do you propose we do now?"

*~*

Thayet the Peerless, Queen of Tortall, was afraid. She hadn't had cause to be scared in a long time, and she hated herself for showing such weakness. She glanced over at Buri, and shuddered. Fear lay behind Buri's brown gaze, too, no matter how hard the woman tried to hide it.

Indeed, they both had good reason to be terrified. Nothing of this magnitude could ever have been anticipated, possibly not by ten Seers.

Her beautiful, precious daughter was most likely dead. The half-Kmir breathed in shakily, holding back the tears. How could they have been duped like that? How could the gods have allowed it?

She rubbed her temples tiredly. Always so tired lately. Sleep beckoned to her, invited her with long, welcoming arms. It would be nice to sleep, she thought idly. So nice to just lay down and rest. Dream through this whole nightmare. Reluctantly, she shook herself out of sleep's longed-for grip. She had a country to protect. A country that was already falling into chaos.

Buri crept closer to her Queen, and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It'll be all right," she whispered.

Thayet flinched at the human contact, and glared at her friend. "Don't lie to me," she hissed back. "How can it?"

The Commander withdrew a little, disliking Thayet's tone. "I don't know," she replied truthfully. "Maybe Numair..."

"Is dead?" Thayet suggested helpfully. "Maybe they're all dead. Jon, Daine, Numair, that Gallan king that vanished-" Her voice broke slightly on the last name, but she forced it out anyway - "Kally. Maybe they're all with the Black God."

Determination flooded Buri's face. "Alanna, then."

Thayet laughed harshly, a hollow, empty sound. "Oh, yes, the mighty Lioness, who storms off whenever she gets offended. She's a wonderful Champion, have I ever told you that? Such loyalty must surely be unsurpassed anywhere. It's truly admirable."

Buri brushed off the sarcasm. "You're not going to let him take over." It was a statement, an order. The familiarity touched a smile to Thayet's lips. Nobody had ordered her around for years. The last person to have issued her an order was probably Buri. "We'll get your country back." Her eyes were fierce, and she clamped a hand to her sword.

Thayet briefly wondered what comfort these warrior women found in weapons, and wished she had been able to keep up fighting with the Riders. Buri's view of the world was how she viewed battle. Something to be won. Right now, Thayet could use that perspective. Right now, Tortall could use it.

"I won't let him take over," she said, tasting the words. She smiled slowly. "I won't let him take over."
*~*Rosie*~*

Not only the same month, but the same WEEK.

Hold on tight, 'cause here we go.

*~*

Alanna impatiently brushed her vibrant hair from her eyes. She slid her sword away, adjusted her footing, and thrust forward quickly, aiming for her opponent’s heart. She dodged an imaginary swipe at her side, and stumbled, foot catching on a loose rock, and tripped over, throwing her hands out to take most of the fall. She then proceeded to sneeze several times, and glanced up for their source, blinking away threads of fiery hair.

“Great Mother,” she breathed reverently.

The dark-haired Goddess wore an almost frown. “You deserted your post,” she pointed out, in her voice not suited to mortal ears.

The Lioness turned away, embarrassed, and resisted the temptation to clamp her hands over her ears. “It was necessary. How can I serve, when-”

“I thought I needn’t worry about the other side of things,” the Goddess sighed. “But now I find that you-” She stopped herself, emerald eyes as unreadable as always.

Alanna hung her head, slightly ashamed. “They can do without me,” she insisted.

A derisive snort came from behind her. A young man leant against the wall, one foot picked up, the flat resting on the brickwork. “This is my protection?” Distaste was written into his expression.

What might have been annoyance flickered over the immortal’s face. “Yes.”

Alanna staggered to her feet. Her amethyst eyes flicked to examine the Goddess, and hardened on the boy. “What?” she croaked.

The stranger sneered at her. “Some Champion,” he muttered. “Wanders off when the fancy takes her.”

The Lioness clenched her fists, nails biting into her palms. “Don’t make assumptions of me, boy,” she hissed dangerously. She was not a force to be reckoned with.

He thrust her a bored look, taking his foot off the wall. “I will do what I want.”

Alanna scowled at him, remembering her company before she made a retort straight from a soldier’s mouth. Not that it would probably be unfamiliar language to him; his clothes were torn and of cheap material, and he walked shoeless. A commoner, to be sure.

“Alanna, I have a task for you,” the Goddess said gently. Alanna turned her face eagerly towards the Goddess. She needed a task, her feet were getting itchy around the palace. “I need you to get Josua to the palace in Corus.”

The boy who was apparently called Josua fixed her with contemptuous blue eyes. “Is she up to it?”

Tortall’s Champion’s lip curled. “Of course I am!” she snarled indignantly. “I can easily get a brat to the palace.”

Josua said nothing, merely raised his eyebrows in response. Alanna’s famous temper was rising, and she breathed calmly. She could teach him a lesson or two on their journey.

“Secretly,” the immortal continued. “You can’t let anybody see him, or you. Do you understand?”

Secretly? A dim sense of foreboding stirred in Alanna’s stomach, and she fixed the Goddess with a questioning glance.

It was Josua who answered. “Tortall’s been invaded.”

*~*

Daine pressed her fingers to her lips, not entirely sure whether they were going to turn up or down, as he turned on his little helper. She watched quietly, knowing that one less to fight against might tip the scales in their favour... That didn't stop the swell of guilt in her stomach. Her freedom, her life, hung by a knife's edge. The girl she might have condemned to death was a traitor. She had betrayed all that Daine held dear. Didn't that mean she deserved to die?

No. She'd been acting on Ozorne's orders, that was all. Daine herself knew how persuasive the old Emperor could be.

She heard the clank of beads from his braided hair as the man drew closer, watched the girl's eyes widen in fright, and tightened her mouth. She had to save herself, if only to warn the others of the danger. At least now she had bought Tortall a little time.

Daine closed her eyes against the quick, soft breathing of the false Kalasin, and spread her magic outside of the room. A quick jolt brought her back to the present. Ozorne stood before her, face twisted with an expression that she couldn't place.

"Can't find them, can you?" he sneered.

Her mouth fell open in shock as she watched the traitor stand next to Ozorne, face devoid of fear. "What-?" she managed.

"I was waiting for you to come to me. I took the liberty of emptying the palace of animals."

The girl smirked. "I picked the right side," she commented lightly, eyes shifting uncomfortably away from Daine's fierce gaze.

The WildMage clenched her fists, sending threads of her magic out, searching for animals. A smug smile curled on her lips. "Are you quite sure about that?"
*~*Rosie*~*

More more! I love your story! It is the best ever! It is *almost* as good as the great Tamora Pierce's writing More or...I will do evil things. Just not sure what.. You should go into the writing business and write a story that is not a fanfic! Pleeease?


Yes I steal other people's quotes. If you want me to take yours off, just tell me.

I'm an angel! Honest! The horns are just there to keep the halo up straight!

Of course I'm out of my mind! It's dark and scary there.

Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons, for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup

Anybody interested in an update?

I apologise, I had Ruby visiting, went on holiday myself, and have been working on summer, but have a day off tomorrow to get my exam results. If anybody's still wanting updates, I can get one up tomorrow. Well, might do one even so
*~*Rosie*~*

Floating. She was floating on a misty cloud. Tendrils of smoke curled through the air. She reached out towards them, but they simply danced out of reach, still winding their way through the room.

It was nice here. Nice and quiet, no thoughts reaching to crowd her in their complications. She couldn't remember what had been filling her mind, and didn't know why it was so empty now, but what did mere details like that matter in a world where colours were not so stark against each other and blurred together as friends? Nothing seemed so harsh. Or cruel. She remembered cruelty, remembered its bitter tang, and the desire for revenge, to curse the afflicter with the same pain. No, she was better off without that.

She couldn't quite work out what she felt. Anger? No red-hot rage sought to devour her from within, to soak her in its fiery blaze. She didn't need anger. Happiness? Not that either. If she had to put a name to her emotions, she would label them 'peaceful'. Nothing bothered her. Nothing occupied her mind save her searching for something to occupy it. But there was something else, something that she couldn't name as she stumbled around the room, attempting to find something whole, that stayed in the same place that she could hold onto. The mixing of colour into colour was starting to confuse her. Where did one thing end and the other begin?

She fumbled about like an elderly, blind woman for a few minutes, and then she saw it. She couldn't understand why she hadn't seen it before. It was a sharp image against the blurs of the rest of the world. A moment or two passed before she recognised what it was.

A horrified scream tore out of her throat. It didn't sound like her voice. Neither did the terrified shriek of, "SNAKE!"

*~*

I couldn't believe it. Absolutely typical.

I'd worked for the man loyally, unquestionally (most of the time) for eight whole years, and how does he shower me with thanks and gratitiude?

By locking me up the minute some stupid pox-rotted commoner blinks twice at him, and then screeches 'snake' in my face. She'll be his undoing. I did warn him. I did try, but he is blind and deaf to anything that he sees as a slight on his precious Veralidaine Sarrasri.

Honestly. I expected a smile, perhaps small praise, something for blowing that powder in the WildMage's face and stopping her from setting that wretched dragon on us. A few years ago, I stumbled across a hedgewitch living in squalor, somewhere in Corus. In exchange for a little money, drink and thanks, she bestowed me with gifts of poison, powders to addle the mind and a dagger. I treasured them all and kept them carefully until now. The man appreciates nothing. Nothing at all.

I decided that Ozorne would be very fortunate if he were not on the receiving end of one of my more fatal, preferably slower acting potions, ignoring the fact that it was unlikely that I'd get out of here in the near future. I might, however, forgive him if he came on bended knee and offered me half the kingdom.

As the night drew on, it became increasingly obvious that he was not going to come, on bended knee or otherwise. I huddled myself against the cold into as small a ball as I could with regard to my bonds, and waited some more. Always waiting these days. Waiting for somebody else to take charge, to complete their move.

Well, perhaps I was tired of waiting.
*~*Rosie*~*

A small girl, curled up in a bed much too large for her. She is lost beneath the covers, drowning in this finery that chance brought her. Yet, she is all alone. No friend to laugh with, no brothers and sisters to tease, no mother and father to hug. Only those that she stole from another care for her now. She wraps the covers tighter around her, as if their warmth will stop the cold sweeping its path through her heart. They don't. She remains all alone. No mother, peering round the doorway to check that she sleeps. Even her stolen mother doesn't care, is dancing below, smile gracing her beautiful face, dancing, swirling, leaving her daughter behind.

She whimpers slightly, all alone in this plot of intrigues and lies. Nobody to care for her.

Almost as if she can sense the boy watching her from miles away, she sits up, allowing the covers to fall away, and their gazes meet. Hers filled with longing and loneliness, his with loss and tears.

Slowly, like her covers, the scene drags away. She cocks her head slightly, but it is not her that the focus is on any more.

A young boy sits on a throne. He is uncomfortable, and longs to run outside where he knows all the young children are playing. His duty confines him, duty that came to him at the price of death. This is his throne by right, but he doesn't want it.

His mother is somewhere behind him, and he wants to turn, and see comfort lingering in her blue gaze, but knows he will not find any. Nothing has been in her eyes but agony, and the beginnings of madness for months.

Without a mother's reassurance, he turns his steady gaze to the front, searching for somebody to rely on. He finds nothing at first, and then a pair of sparkling blue eyes swim before his vision. His head, weighed down by the crown upon it, snaps from side to side, looking for their owner, before he realises that the eyes no longer sparkle, but plead for the release of pain. Those eyes are bloodshot, yet firm, and he holds the gaze to him. When the court scene begins to fade, he doesn't notice, so intent is he on those eyes.

A hand shoots towards him, and he becomes himself again. The hand is not for him, it is for the little girl, shrieking with pain, and begging to be left alone.

The man is unrelenting in his determination to have revenge on the girl who is an innocent. Revenge was supposed to taste so sweet, but not for the girl. His revenge tasted like blood at the back of her mouth, hunger in her stomach and tears in her throat.

All she wants to do is be left alone. Alone is what the girl in the large bed despises, and alone is what the young boy feels. In truth, they are all alone, yet surrounded by people. But, in truth, they are all together. Forever.

*~*

A boy stirred, Josua by name. Sleepily, he blinked, eyes slowly beginning to focus as they found the Champion, asleep beside him. He snorted at what she had been reduced to, at what they had both been reduced to. The dream lay at the back of his mind, probing him gently. He could not find himself in that dream, and hoped that no one else would.

Slowly, he pulled himself into a sitting position. They were a day's ride from Corus by his reckoning. His thoughts turned to a girl wistfully, wondering what had become of her.

*~*

The girl at that moment sat, twirling her long, blonde hair idly. "I had another dream," she remarked to the man lounging opposite her. Interest kindled in his eyes as he sat up straight. She held her hand up against the bubble of questions she knew were coming. "There were three children. A boy, and two girls." Carefully, she rubbed her arm. "They were young, around ten or so. Royalty, two of them, or so it seemed. A girl in a bedroom filled with riches that she had not imagined, a boy on a throne, crown topping his head, and a girl in a stone room."

His black eyes sparked slightly. "Do you think you're having their dreams?" he enquired, excitement in his tone.

A smile jerked to her lips at the thought that he was acting like a little boy. "I think I'm in too deep."

*~*

That thought was echoed by the only occupant of a small room. She shivered slightly. In too deep, with no way to get out.

Except death.

*~*Rosie*~*

I apologise for the angsty chapter. there was a shooting at my school today, and i can't say that i feel like writing anything happy. You don't have to read it if things like that make you uncomfortable.

*

The stench of death clung to everything. Everything she had once known was now tainted with dirty, ugly death.

She had known before she rounded the corner what she would find. Knowing it didn't make the pain any worse.

Hopelessly, she shook her mother's lifeless form. "Wake up," she moaned. "Wake up."

The corpse did not reply, would not reply, no matter how she shook it. Her mother's eyes stared up at her, beautiful, blank. The girl's mouth trembled, and she resumed her shaking, as if she could shake life back into her. "Wake up," she pleaded desperately, wiping tears from her eyes. "Ma, come on, wake up."

Any second, her mother would stir, she was sure of it. Awaken slowly from a deep dream. Maybe it was a game, albeit not a funny one. Her Ma liked to play games occasionally. She'd just have to wait, that's all. Ma was still alive, she had to be.

The slight brunette crossed her legs, tailor-fashion, and waited.

And waited.

In vain.

*

A hot waterfall of tears spilled over my cheeks as I awoke. I brushed them away hastily, but more took their place. The agony of the young girl filled my chest, burning inside of me, and I couldn't stop it.

"Arabella?" my companion asked hesitantly, rising from his seat. He had been awake, of course, there was little rest for him these days, as evident by the dark shadows under his eyes. "Is there something wrong?"

I sniffed slightly, trying to calm myself. "No," I said quickly, wincing at the weakness of my voice. "Nothing whatsoever."

He gave me a suspicious glance, and black light streamed from his fingers to enclose the room in its darkness. "Now what is it?"

I frowned at my hands, concentrating on them to stop the flood of tears from erupting again. "There was a girl, a young one. I didn't recognise her. She looked about twelve, thirteen. Brown hair."

He sighed impatiently. "Arabella, haven't you been taught to report better than that? I don't need a physical description, I need details!" His eyes flickered with some warning; I assumed that there was something else in the room, something that would pick up on my description of her.

"With a name like Arabella, it's not surprising that I don't remember what I've been taught," I muttered sullenly. He smiled grimly at that, but made no further comment, impatient for me to continue so he could set his mind to who the new girl was, and what her part was. "Her mother-" I choked slightly, as grief welled up within me. I took in a deep breath, and calmed myself. She was not my mother. I had not known either of them. That was a lie, of course. In that dream, I had discovered everything about her. She was... My eyes rounded with astonishment. No, she couldn't be.

"Yes?" he prompted, irritation simmering in his tone. "Her mother what?"

I closed my eyes, but the dead body was imprinted behind my lids. "Was dead. In front of her. Bandits. Wolves. Farm dead, everything dead. Everything but her, and her pony." Even the bare details stirred something inside me.

He made a violent exclamation, one that made me start. "The father, what of her father?"

I raised my brows at him. "I don't recall mentioning a father, Master Enfell," I said promptly.

"What of the father?" he growled in reply.

I was startled into a response. "No father. There was never a father. Not for her."

He leapt up at that. "We're leaving," he snapped. "Get your things together."

There was nothing else for me to do but obey.

*~*Rosie*~*

Little things.

Everybody notices the huge events that envelop entire countries in the changes they demand. The little things that creep past unnoticed can slowly gather in number until, years later, people finally detect change, yet cannot pinpoint its origin.

Those changes were stirring in Tortall. A whisper, a scrawled note, a secret meeting that nobody spoke of again. Hope given to those who had lost it. Hope returned to Tortall.

All the changes were due to one person, sitting tailor style at the bottom of a tree. He was surrounded by hastily written letters, declarations of help and advice and his eyes were beginning to grow sore from trying to understand the letters. A grin slowly lit the boy's face as he reached the end of the third piece of parchment. His luck was beginning to change. Carefully, he piled all the letters together and bound them with a blue ribbon. He stuffed them into a large bag.

"This is for you, Kally. It's all for you."

*

The sound of footsteps echoed in my ears as I jerked awake. I struggled to work out if they were remainders of my dream, or if they belonged to the present and my beautiful prison. They puzzled me, I had been dreaming of a boy filled with happiness after so much sorrow. No footsteps had entered my sleeping mind. There must be someone in the room with me.

But who? Ozorne hadn't visited me in a week and I hardly saw him bothering now. The servant who brought my meals had come perhaps an hour ago. The passing of time was hazy to me, it all merged together eventually and became insignificant. It must be somebody else, but I couldn't think who would trouble themselves to visit me, the disgraced traitor of traitors, unless...

I didn't dare to even breathe, but I found myself taking quick, shallow breaths regardless. I was as good as dead anyway, what did it matter if I went today by an assassin or in a year by the gallows?

My body stiffened as I felt cold steel against my wrists. This was it. If death didn't matter, why did my stomach clench in fear? I tensed, waiting for that fatal blow. I was ready. I was ready for death.

I felt the bonds around my hands loosen and fall away. Bewildered, I stared at my hands, unable to comprehend their freedom.

"Hello," a voice said coldly. It belonged to a boy, perhaps a year older than me. The glimmer of metal at his side drew my eyes instinctively and I leaned backwards. "I don't believe we've met."

ok, the story's nearly at an end anyway (uh, closer than it was at the beginning anyway ), and i'm just wondering if there's actually any point updating? very few people seem to be reading, and it does take quite a lot out of my time to write and rework chapters. i'm simply not entirely sure if it's worth continuing or not. i've really enjoyed writing it so far, but i'm not just writing for me; i know how it's going to turn out

so i'd appreciate it if you contacted me somehow - email, pm, or post here - and let me know your thoughts on this, please.
*~*Rosie*~*

<3 to all of you, and just a quick note.

i WILL be finishing this, i plan to make it my last ever tamora pierce fanfiction. i appreciate all your comments, it just helps to know there are people reading this and it's not all for nothing.

hopefully it'll be finished soon, and whenever i have time to write chapters, i will.
*~*Rosie*~*

"It's lost."

Murmurs of agreement pressed in from all sides. All was lost, why bother with it anymore?

She could see their reasoning, understood that if it had been any other country, she would have felt the same, would have joined her voice to the masses and abandoned the denizens to fend for themselves. But it wasn't any other country. She couldn't desert them, not now, probably not ever.

Emerald eyes swept over the room. "No," she said softly, coldly. A hush swept over the room as the attention fixed on her. She continued in the same frosty tones, "You do not decide what happens to it."

Somebody laughed, harshly. "That's typical." She strained to see who spoke, striving to retain the same cool air as she did so. "You're always the same. Won't lift a finger to help anybody else's country, and have the cheek to decide when to dismiss issues, even when you hold no authority over them."

She dropped her gaze, fighting for an aloof tone. "If you care to remember, it is this country that has helped us in the past."

"She's right," croaked a new voice. "I say we help them." A clamour arose at this, but the crone held up a gnarled finger and it silenced, instantly. "Once more." Heads nodded, satisfied.

The dark-haired woman opened her mouth in protest, but closed it abruptly as the old woman hobbled over. "Once," she repeated. "No more."

Reluctantly, she nodded. "Fine," she whispered. Then, raising her voice so those collected there could hear, she announced, "But I get to choose how and who we help." Not waiting for a response, she swept out of the room.

*

The boy sat astride the bough of the tree as if it were his throne. In fact, that was exactly what he was pretending it was. He leapt down, brandishing a twig as though it was a sword.

"Ozorne!" he called in a deep, affected voice. "I have come for you!"

Switching voices, to a high falsetto (admittedly because he had no idea what Ozorne's voice actually sounded like, but it must be fairly girly, he reasoned, remembering the tales of the old Emperor's make-up fetish), he squeaked, "Oh no! What are you going to do to me?"

He paused for a second. What was he going to do to Ozorne? A brief flashback to one of his sister's many novels gave him his response. "I have come to avenge my family," he said grandly, and then poked the stick at where "Ozorne" was standing. "Now, uh..." He trailed off, waving the stick in the air as though it would give him inspiration. "I condemn you, uh..."

He decided to move on, figuring that the end of the sentences would come to him on the spur of the moment. "Oh no, please don't, I'll do anything!"

Then Ozorne dissolved into a messy puddle and the palace servants mopped him up. He imagined being raised high on the shoulders of the crowd, all who praised him and adored him for freeing them of this tyrant.

"Liam?"

The boy, who had begun to climb up the tree again, instantly slid down the trunk, searching around frantically for the owner of the voice. "Mother?" he asked tentitively, although he knew it couldn't be her. It was impossibly, but, oh, he wanted to see her again so badly that it must be her.

"In a way," was his reply, and he could hear the amusement mixing in with the harsh throb her voice made in his ears.

He eyed her cautiously, then bowed low to her, murmuring, "Lady," for her high peerage was obvious to anyone with eyes. He felt the pressure of her fingertips, icy as snow, on his chin as she raised it so he was looking directly into her eyes. All the breath left his body at the power in her gaze.

"Yes," she whispered, and in her tone he heard triumph mingled with pain. "My son, I require your help."

"Anything," he said breathlessly, meaning it. Had she declared that the only way he could help her would be to throw himself off a cliff, he would have gone to the nearest one.

Warmth filled her green eyes. "You bring me hope, little one." A smile crossed her face as he bristled, considering himself almost grown up. "And I have longed for hope for months now."

Solemnly, he accepted this. "What do you need?"

He remembered how it had been.

Laughter. Smiles. Carefree. Happy.

Oh, his friend had been proud, that was undeniable. Unrelenting and vengeful, certainly. He had seen what had been done to other people, but he had never thought it would happen to him.

Until it did.

As he stood on the dock, he wondered what had become of his friend. How had he allowed power to swamp him, until all he wanted was more, more, more?

"Boat's ready," called out a gruff voice.

He nodded and took in what he hoped would be his last look at the place that he had dared to call home. Flashes of his friend shot through his mind, drowning him in sorrow. This was not how it had been intended, he was sure of it. The two of them had been thick as thieves, how could one have grabbed so much whilst the other was forced into nothing?

He sighed, and slipped away, a man of the shadows, into the shadows..

*

Something had changed since the last time they'd met. Something, something that couldn't be defined. He narrowed his gold-tinged eyes speculatively but was unable to decide on exactly what it was.

"I mean it," continued the dark-haired man. "I want her back. Now." Anger crackled from his tone, it was a cloak of emotion around him.

The corners of Ozorne's mouth slowly curled up into a smile. He knew what it was now. "We don't know what you're talking about," he said comfortably. "Now, perhaps it's escaped your notice, but we believe that you are disturbing imperial presence. Please remove yourself immediately."

Something flickered in the older man's face. "Stop it," he snarled.

"Stop what?"

"Acting like you were born to the throne. We both know that nobody ever intended for a weakling like you to rule. In fact," he continued, allowing mockery to enter his tone, "even the stormwings know it, don't they? You couldn't even rule a stench-ridden bunch of animals."

Rage swelled within him. After all Ozorne had done for him, this was the thanks. No respect for Carthak's rightful monarch, oh no. "I'm not the one who fled the country. I'm not the one who lets females do his fighting for him."

"And I," his old friend replied quietly, "am not the one who steals, bribes and murders just to get breakfast."

For a moment or two, Ozorne was silent, trying to work out a retort that would suitably silence Draper. "But unfortunately you are not the one with Veralidaine Sarrasri either," he answered triumphantly.

Numair's face darkened. "Give.her.back," he gritted out menacingly, allowing a black light to bloom around his raised left hand.

"She's gone!" Ozorne exclaimed, eyes darting around the room feverishly and then fixing on the door. The open door.

The Tyran froze. "What?" he hissed. "What have you done to Daine?"

"Not her," the Carthaki snarled. "The other one. Thayet. She's gone."

It was funny. They'd never even met.

Never seen each other, greeted each other, written to each other. Never heard the sound of each other's voice, nor the warmth of the other's laughter.

It was funny. One had taken over the other's life.

Never had a family before, been admired by so many before, owned so much before. Never had her feet kissed in the street before, had cloaks swept off and laid underfoot so her shoes didn't get muddy as she walked over puddles.

It was funny. They knew so much of each other.

But they'd never even met.

*

"No, I-I-I d-don't believe we have," she stammered nervously, eyes fixed to my hand. Or, more specifically, the dagger that my hand was clamped around as though my life depended on it.

I looked at her contemptuously. "Funny, that, don't you think?" I stated coldly, moving backwards to sit cross-legged on the bed. Ridiculous. She betrayed him, and got locked in a comfortable bedroom. My only fault was being born into a royal family. I hardly called that fair, but I suppose things were never intended to be fair for me.

"How do you mean?" she asked, looking like a rabbit caught in a trap. My trap. And oh, how I intended to enjoy this trap.

I shrugged her question off. She would understand later. "Let's start with your name. If we're going to meet at last, we might as well do it properly." My air was all ease and comfort, but I had not managed to successfully keep the anger out of my tone.

She brought her trembling fingers up to her face, gingerly checking her bruised skin. When she was confident that nothing was broken, she answered me. "Kalasin," she mumbled quietly, then, settling herself back in her seat, and resuming an authoritative manner, she repeated, "Kalasin, of Conté."

"Your name, please," I replied promptly, eyes boring into hers.

"Kalasin of Conté," she answered again, looking puzzled, but trembling slightly now.

Oh, she was good. A very good actress. Part of me almost felt like applauding her efforts. Of course, the other part very definitely felt like slapping her.

I lunged forward in one swift movement and placed my hands on the arms of her chair. She was shaking now, eyes constantly darting to my dagger. "The truth," I snarled.

"It-"

I cut her off. "Isn't," I growled, "and I, of all people, know that."

She inched backwards in her seat, unable to unlock our gazes. I could
almost smell her fear, and it made me sick to my stomach. "And who are you?" she demanded, regaining her haughty position momentarily. "Just who do you think you are?"

I smirked slowly, confidently. I had her. "Princess Kalasin of Conté," I replied promptly.

The Hag snarled. "Stupid," she growled, rapping her stick on the ground. She exhaled huffily. "Not how I would have done it at all. But nobody ever thinks to ask me. Oh, no, they're all too good to ask for help from the Graveyard Hag, who managed to save her own country."

"And nearly ruined it before that," pointed out an amused sounding voice. Its owner was even more amusing, with a set of antlers protuding from his skull and his skin a bizarre combination of greens and browns.

The elderly crone rolled her eyes. "What do you want, Weiryn? Quickly, I don't have much time!"

Serious now, the hunt god crossed the room. "I want my daughter safe. I want that cretin in the Dark Realms, and I want him to stay there."
"And I want to know why you're telling me this," snapped the Hag. "It's impossible."

"Is it?" Weiryn asked carefully. "What of -" He indulged in a brief smile - "Lady Arabella?"

Impatiently, the crone tapped her stick against the floor. "What of... her?" she demanded tightly.

"Exactly," was the prompt reply. "Nobody cares to consider her. I believe she may be the key."

The woman looked disgusted. "You've spent too long with your head above the clouds," she informed him scornfully. "Have you forgotten who she is?"

"And have you forgotten where she comes from?" retorted Weiryn promptly. "It's not Tortall. She has displayed many traits that would suggest her to be a diplomatic genius. Perhaps you would care to remember her treatment of Master... Enfell?"

A slow grin started on the Hag's face. "I think you might have something there."

*

"Pieces in a chess game," I murmured to myself. "That's all they are."

I shivered slightly, pulling my rug tighter around me as the dying fire shaped the shadows of the room. Perhaps warmth would bring me the ideas that I needed, help me to connect these pieces.

I brushed my blonde hair from my face, carefully considering the board before me. Players, that was it.

I regarded my red-headed knight. Alanna the Lioness. What would I make of her? Proud, stubborn, temperamental, she might prove more a hindrance than a help. She would need constant checking, but she was a wonder in battle, something that apparently even rumour was no match for. I pushed her aside for the moment.

Thayet the Peerless. Unless she was going to stun somebody with her incredible beauty, she wasn't going to be much good. I sighed, hand hovering over her figure, running through stories of the Queen leading troops into battle in my mind and wondering whether i could rely on them. For now, at least, I placed her next to the King's Champion.

Veralidaine Sarrasri was unfortunately out of action, as I had been informed by the Graveyard Hag herself. Still, it would be important to keep her safe so that she didn't affect my next player.

Numair Salmalín? What use would he bring me? I gritted my teeth slightly, suppressing the anger within me. Not follow orders, that was what. Sulk and protest when commanded, then run off and do his own thing anyway. Powerful mage, powerful nuisance.

Lianne and Jasson were too young to be involved, and I thanked Mithros that they hadn't been harmed in any way. I couldn't remove their protectors, not after what had happened to the other three Conté children. Roald was dead, Kalasin... well. And Liam had vanished off the face of the Mortal Realms.

Or had he? I reached my next figurine. Liam of Conté, it was marked. A slow smile tugged at my lips. This must the Liam that the Hag had warned the Goddess had marked out for her own plans. I set him aside from the others.

The impostor. Princess pretender. Oh, she had many names in my mind, none of them favourable. My fingers itched to pull her apart now, but I couldn't, not yet. Time enough for that later.

I scoured the board for the real Princess Kalasin. My heart skipped a beat when I realised she was absent. Did this mean she wouldn't be partaking, or did it mean...? I gulped and closed my eyes, deciding to move on.

I didn't recognise the next figure, though his plaque proclaimed him to be Josua Taylor. I considered him through narrowed eyes, drumming my fingers on the table. Somebody I could deal with later.

I searched the board again.

There was still no Kalasin.

Where had she gone?

Promising, all so promising.

So much promise, gone to waste.

Momentarily, the portrait of Princess Kalasin came to life. The features blurred, creases folded into her face. Her hair lengthened, darkened, streaked with grey. She became taller. Plumper. Older. A crown set upon her head, too heavy to sit there long. She sat still, almost too still. Watching - or waiting…Silently. Alone.

There was a motion beside her. The swarthy man moved, graceful in his
mature years. Greying at his temples, but it did not seem to matter
to him. His wrinkles did not bother him. Old without being ancient, stiff without creaking.

Kaddar Gazanoi Iliniat, Emperor of Carthak, was who she was destined for.

She would have never wanted for anything.

And yet, as she sat on the throne, rich beyond her wildest dreams, married to a loyal, respected man, Empress of a vast country, she still felt... discontent. As though she was not meant to be there.

*

The time for brooding was at an end. I packed up my chess-set and glanced around the room, searching for anything of value.

I drew my hood over my blonde locks, careful not to muss them and set out for the palace.

*

“Sorry, ma’am. We’ve orders not to let anyone past.”

I struggled to hide my frustration. “My master will not be pleased to find how I have been treated!” I declared indignantly, stamping my foot on the ground. When they merely shrugged, I turned on my heel and stomped off, not entirely sure what I was going to do now.

“You seem awful eager to deliver a game,” observed a voice coolly.

I winced and stopped. “So would you be if you saw the game!” I declared, wishing that I had been able to think up a better excuse. “I happen to serve a master craftsman!”

“Show me it then,” the stranger suggested, only his eyes visible beneath his thick hood. He was short, much shorter than me.

“This game is intended for the Emperor himself.”

He coughed – or perhaps laughed. “Then you should not be ashamed to show it off.”

I hugged my arms tighter around the board, narrowing my eyes speculatively at the man. “Perhaps I do not wish to show it off to someone who does not want me to see his face,” I replied evenly.

This time, I heard his laugh clearly. “Pray, then, tell me the name of your master so that I might see some of his work.”

“Then you refuse to remove your hood?”

“I do,” was the prompt reply. No sound of a chuckle this time.

I swallowed tightly, hoping desperately that he had no knife. “You can’t be too careful, wandering these woods,” I said casually. “Nobody knows who they might meet. It’s a good thing that the palace is so heavily guarded.” I kept my eyes trained on the snow, breathing in deeply before I delivered my blow. “Guards within earshot, too, certain to hear a scream if a lady were to happen across somebody... unsavoury.”

He inhaled sharply. “What are you suggesting?”

“Nothing of consequence,” I answered, with far more ease than I felt. The bottom of my stomach seemed to have dropped away.

“One might consider the fact that, out of the two of us, I was the one able to gain access to the palace,” he informed me smugly. “Besides, I don’t appear to be the only one with a hood on here.”

I cursed my lack of foresight. “A gentleman would realise that the scandal that would result from the removal of a lady’s hood with no chaperon around.”

There was a pause. He tilted his head to one side, considering something, and then let the hood fall back. “So you see, we are both women.”

I flushed.

*

It was quiet as we ran to where she claimed Josua had gone. I fired questions at her, noting her avoidance of many issues. She still didn’t believe who I was, although the chess pieces had convinced her enough to take me to her charge.

Suddenly, the echo of laughter bounded down the corridor. I frowned slightly, and picked up my pace, hampered by my skirts.

“I am!”

The voice came from the room to my left. I noticed with apprehension the limp, bloodstained bodies by the door.

“You expect me to believe that you’re Princess Kalasin?” asked a scornful voice.

Kalasin! She was alive!

Pulling free of the Lioness, who had gripped my arm at the mention of the princess, I burst through the door.

random thought here, anybody know if this is the longest thread yet? we must be getting close

Monsters.

She had seen monsters before. Twisted creatures, with deformed bodies, their faces coming straight from nightmares. They acted without conscience, without thought. Without reason.

Nobody could change monsters. And so they had to be killed. Because there was nothing else to be done with them. Even if they hadn't attacked anybody yet. Because that was their plan. To attack. They were just waiting, biding their time, waiting to attack.

Monsters weren’t supposed to be people. They weren’t supposed to be capable of logic thought, of acting in a brutal fashion without care or consideration for others.

Monsters weren’t supposed to have faces. They weren’t supposed to have families. You weren’t supposed to know them, to hear their names brought up in casual conversations.

But you did.

Monsters. People. Sometimes the lines between each are dim.

*

My head snapped up at the entrance of yet more people. Wonderful, nobody visits in weeks, and then everybody comes at once. “Who are you?” I sneered, fighting to regain control of the situation. I sat upright in my chair, aiming for an air of royal indifference.

“King Lagne Halai of Galla,” was my reply, announced imperiously.

I felt my mouth drop open. After struggling to work out whether I had heard correctly, I succumbed to laughter, holding my sides, which were by now beginning to ache. ‘Lagne’ shifted uncomfortably, then glanced at ‘Kalasin’.

“Who are you?”

Regaining my composure somewhat, I explained, “That would be Princess Kalasin,” although my words were sadly somewhat less than comprehensible, given the occasional irrepressible burst of giggles.

“I’m Princess Kalasin,” replied the boy, despite the fact that I had just mentioned this. He tossed me an impatient look as he reached up and slipped a necklace over his head. My vision blurred and then doubled. I blinked rapidly, attempting to clear it, but nothing changed the fact that I was suddenly presented with the girl that I had seen in the mirror.

I shook my head. It wasn't happening. Kalasin was dead. This was a dream. My dream. My imagination. That was all.

I was vaguely aware of the Lioness kneeling, but the blonde girl who claimed to be Lagne remained standing. My attention was drawn to her as I watched her regard the boy-turned-girl with something akin to wonder. Silently, she removed her own necklace.

Suddenly, things didn’t seem quite so funny.

*

“Shadows,” she whispered confidentially to him, wrapping her arms around her knees and rocking back and forth.

Numair watched her carefully, trying to ascertain whether there was a deeper meaning in that single word. “Yes, sweet, shadows.”

“Shadows everywhere.”

The black-robed mage closed his eyes, picturing what he was going to do to Ozorne for this. “Shadows everywhere,” he agreed. “Come along, sweet, let’s get away from the shadows.”

She withdrew from him sharply, backing into the corner. “Shadows. You’re made out of them. All the shadows. Shadows. They’re choking me.”

The Tyran swallowed tightly. “What’s choking you, love?”
He expected the answer to be merely “shadows”, but in the dim light, he saw her cock her head and consider his question. Hope swelled inside him. “The air,” she decided finally. “It’s full of shadows.”

He edged closer to her tentatively, not wanting to startle her. “Let’s get rid of the shadows,” he suggested, forming a ball of light in his left hand.

She gasped, then blinked rapidly, screwing up her face and squinting at the light. “Bright, she observed.

“Yes," he croaked, fighting the urge to sweep her up into his arms. His eyes flew over her face, examining it for the slightest change, causing his brows to knit when he found traces of cuts.

She crawled closer, and he had to clench his fist in order to keep him from reaching out and touching her roughly-cut hair. It slipped forward in front of her eyes as she uncertainly placed her hand on his wrist, entranced by the light. “Num-”

He hardly dared to breathe, lest he spoil the moment, convinced she was remembering. In a moment, she’d finish the word, his name, in a moment, it would be back to normal. In a moment.

The moment wasn’t yet. She tilted her head on one side, as if she was trying to recall something. Her forehead creased and her eyebrows drew together.

He would have to prompt her. “Yes, magelet?”

“Magelet. Mage. Let. Magelet. Me.”

Thayet of Tortall. A legend in her own right.

Thayet the Peerless. No queen could match her, for either brains or beauty.

The perfect mother. The perfect wife. A perfect lady, a perfect leader.

Perfect... yet all too imperfect.

Impotent. Weak. Fearful.

Her children were dead. Her husband was dead. She had nobody. A diamond cannot sparkle surrounded by darkness.

But the sun was about to rise over her life again.

*

The brunette’s breathing was uneven. He was going to hear it. Desperately, she tried to calm it, and stop her heart pounding so loudly.

She trembled in her hiding place. He was going to come. They’d find her, if it wasn’t him, it’d be one of his guards.

A thought occurred to her as she shifted back against the wall, pressing herself against it and willing herself invisible. Was this how Kally had felt? Was this how Kally had spent all those years of her life? Dreading him, trying to run, but knowing it was useless. Knowing he’d find her anyway, anywhere, no matter where she went.

She hugged her knees closer, a tear trickling down her cheek. And they had fallen for his plan. They had made it so easy for him. Invited the girl in, let her poison them from the inside. They had been so grateful to have their little girl back that they had been willing to overlook any differences.

Footsteps echoed down the hall. She tensed, knowing this was it, knowing he had her. This was her last taste of freedom.

But the figure passed her. And – She frowned. And it was a boy. A small, oddly familiar boy. A boy she hadn’t thought she was going to see again.

“Liam?”

*

“You,” he said softly.

She glanced up at him, looking thoughtful. “Yes. Me. You...” She frowned, forehead furrowing in concentration. “You... No. No.” She squirmed away from him, uncomfortable. “Bad, no.”

“What’s bad, Daine?” Numair asked gently.

She rocked back and forth, hiding her head in her knees. “Bad... Leaving,” she said finally. “Leaving. Bad.”

The Tyran closed his eyes. Leaving. He had left. Left her when she needed him most. And that was bad, very bad. “Yes,” he agreed, swallowing a lump in his throat. “I left. I won’t leave again. Not without you.”

He didn’t think she’d understand what he meant, but her head slowly came up. “Promise?” she asked.

“Promise,” he said, meaning it.

She nodded, confirming something to herself, and then scrambled to her feet. She stood unsteadily, swaying slightly, and held out her hand for support. “Come. Bad snake.”

Not entirely understanding, but figuring events would unfold themselves, and relieved that, at last, she appeared to be capable of logical thought, he allowed her to lead him out of the room.

*

“Snake.”

“Oh Mithros,” growled the girl Numair had come to know as Kalasin, shifting her chair back. “This is just wonderful.”

Daine hissed in reply. Then, she glanced around at the other denizens in the room, and pressed herself against Numair. “Lioness,” she whispered to him. He nodded, spying the lady knight and flashing her a smile.

“How nice to finally see you again,” Lagne said coolly, addressing the black-robe mage. Numair frowned, wondering what had caused him to take on his own appearance. “May I enquire as to how long you will be staying this time? Or will you be struck by one of those spur-of-the-moment things again?”

Daine raised her chin, eyeing him suspiciously. “Me. For me,” she informed him simply.

His eyes dropped to her – possibly he had mistaken her for a child before; she was dwarfed by Numair’s towering height – and he bowed. “It is a pleasure to meet you. Veralidaine Sarrasri, I presume?”

Daine’s eyes rounded. At first, Numair thought it was because she was remembering more. “Snake!” she exclaimed. “Not snake.” This appeared to make perfect sense to her.

The snake-girl rolled her eyes. “Wonderful,” she repeated dryly. “What does she do for an encore, shout ‘zebra’?”

“I would have thought that you would have known that,” the other girl in the room replied stiffly, speaking up at last. Belatedly, Numair realised that it was Kalasin. “After all, you were the one who did this to her.”

*

apologies for the rushed-ness of this chapter, the end is nigh
*~*Rosie*~*

prepare to read lame summary mainly in chronological order. this is just a summary of the main events, it doesn't go through every chapter:

- kalasin kidnapped seven years ago
- replaced by isis, who was "chosen" by ozorne
- everybody believed she was the real kally
- lagne was suspicious - she didn't match his expectations
- isis tells jon that she had a vision that told her to keep thom and lianne apart. she also figured this had other benefits, over just causing mischief, such as provoking the lioness into leaving the capital
- lagne finds kalasin, aka "alianne", on his journey back to galla
- find out kalasin has escaped from ozorne
- isis begins to see kalasin in her mirror
- on the other end, kalasin is caught by lagne. at this point, although it's not in the story, she tells him everything
- isis lets slip to liam that she's not kalasin
- jon and alanna fall out over his attempt to keep their children apart, she leaves corus
- find out kally and isis are sharing dreams - spOOky
- prior to isis taking over kalasin's role, ozorne killed her mother in front of her
- ozorne kills lagne and kally - or does he?
- isis tells jonathan the truth, then kills him
- numair is protecting a "mysterious" blonde woman
- find out how ozorne was resurrected
- daine and isis try to win ozorne's trust and get rid of the other one
- alanna told to take josua to the capital
- daine pretty much goes insane after isis blows a powder in her face
- isis gets locked up by ozorne - he doesn't trust her not to betray him and take all the power for herself
- numair returns to corus to challenge ozorne!
- shockingly enough, somebody comes to visit isis
- gods decide to intervene in tortall (took them long enough)
- goddess visits liam
- kalasin and isis finally meet!!!
- graveyard hag/weiryn decide they can do things better than the goddess, and give arabella a chessboard. the intention is that she becomes the leader of the opposition, i suppose, she has the gods' favour.
- alanna and "arabella" meet - alanna takes arabella to kalasin and isis
- josua is kalasin, arabella is lagne.
- numair finds daine
- thayet and liam
- and now numair, daine, kalasin, lagne, alanna and isis are all in a room together.

tada!

less confusing, or more so?

a couple of chapters are intended to be ambiguous. sometimes you have not been able to tell the difference between kalasin and isis, for good reason. they're very similar
*~*Rosie*~*

(italicised bit takes place before ozorne "kills" them. i just thought it offered a bit of explanation, let me know if you think it'd be better scrapped)

Kalasin eyed the bed nervously, a hot flush beginning to spread over her cheeks. She was unable to look at Lagne and see what he made of the situation.

Which is why she was surprised when he brushed past her and began to arrange his cloak on the floor.

She decided to make light of it, and hopefully distract from the very obviously small bed in the process. "Don't you hang things up in Galla?"

He grinned at her, and pulled a pillow off the bed. "Of course we do, but not when we're intending to sleep on them."

She sank down onto the bed, mildly confused.

Lagne bit his lip, something she had never expected the usually composed King of Galla to do, then sat down beside her, taking her hands in his. "It's easier this way," he explained. "It's what he'd expect."

She nodded, glancing down at their hands. "I just hope it works.”

“It will,” he assured her. “The Goddess organised it, how can it go wrong?”

The moment he had spoken, worries fired up in her mind. He might guess that the bodies aren’t us. He might not come. He might find us. She didn’t voice any of these, however. “We’ll find out in a few hours.”

*

Numair’s face was rapidly darkening and he took a step towards the trembling impostor. Evidently the tree stories were rapidly flashing through her mind and it was clear (to me, at least) that she wasn’t eager to find out how true they were.

Her luck was in. Daine chose that moment to slump back against Numair. She looked utterly exhausted. My face twisted in sympathy for her. I wondered what my counterpart had actually done to her. With the black-robe temporarily distracted, the pretender slipped out of the door.

Alanna started after her, hand on her sword, but Lagne shook his head firmly. “Let her go,” he instructed, sitting down next to me and pulling a box onto his lap. “She won’t get far.”

I peered over his shoulder. “What’s that?”

He flashed me a grin. “Well, you’ll just have to wait and see, my lady.”

I pulled a face at him, deciding that being a girl had not been good for him. “Fine.”

He unclasped a catch on the side of the box, and out tumbled a series of chess pieces. I stared in disbelief.

“That’s it?” I asked scornfully. “We’re going to play chess?”

He quirked an eyebrow at me. “How very perceptive of you, my d-” He managed to catch himself just in time. “Lady,” he finished calmly, setting the board out.

I picked up one of the pieces, examining it curiously. It certainly didn’t look like the chess pieces I remembered. “It says ‘Numair Salmalín’ on it,” I observed.

Numair’s head snapped up at his name. Carefully, he led Daine over to where we were seated and crouched down in order to get a better look at the pieces. “Extraordinary,” he murmured. “Quite… Where did you
get these?”

“A goddess,” Lagne replied, entirely serious, although I had my doubts. “The Graveyard Hag herself saw fit to pay me a visit.”

Daine was poking at her own piece on the board. “Yes. Rats,” she informed him solemnly

Lagne inclined his head, acknowledging her comment, before returning to the board. “These are out of action, but I don’t suppose we’ll need them with Tortall’s legendary Lioness and black-robe mage.” He shot the two a quick smile. “I shouldn’t think we’d have too many problems once we, ah, get rid of Ozorne and reinstate Queen Thayet.”

Alanna had turned ghostly white at the mention of a single monarch. I bowed my head slightly. Isis was mine. I would kill her for that, and for my brothers. Lagne wrapped an arm around my shoulders as casually as possible. I was grateful for the support he offered. “Princess Kalasin and I are on here as Josua and Arabella still, so I suppose that means we had better put the necklaces back on.”

Numair received a sharp nudge from the impatient looking Daine. “I know, sweet,” he murmured. “I’m not leaving Daine,” he announced to the rest of us. “And I’m not letting her fights.”

Lagne inhaled sharply. “Wonderful,” he muttered, shifting their pieces out of the way. “Now, if we…” He trailed off, furrowing his brow. Suddenly, as if he hadn’t realised it was still there before now, he withdrew his arm from my shoulder and hunched over the board. Belatedly I recognised it was set out in the same style as the first floor of the palace. “I suppose the best thing to do would be to presume that there are guards down every corridor. The quickest route would be this way.” He traced it with his finger. “Now, you two-” This evidently was supposed to mean Daine and Numair –“should leave here in case she sends somebody back. I trust you’ll keep yourselves suitably hidden, until... Well, I guess you’ll find out whether we’ve been successful or not.”

Numair nodded absently, standing and then steering Daine to the door without a backwards glance, or a ‘good luck’. I suppose he was preoccupied, or maybe the fate of Tortall didn’t mean that much to him. I shook my head slightly, wanting to rid myself of such thoughts.

Lagne eyed Alanna apprehensively, perhaps unsure as to whether she had her own quest to fulfil, or whether she was content to pursue ours. The lady knight’s eyes had reddened and her hand clenched the hilt of her sword, finding comfort in what she could. I tried to meet her eyes, to tell her that I didn’t blame her, but I found myself unable to. “Sir Alanna, would you mind waiting outside? I wish to give something to my royal cousin.” She nodded, transparently impatient to get started, and left the room.

I frowned, watching him pack away the chess set. “What did you want to give me?”

He hesitated, glanced at me, then away again. Abruptly he got to his feet and retrieved the two necklaces. “Here,” he offered, though still he refused to look at me.

I took mine from him, puzzled. “This was it?”

“No,” Lagne admitted, crossing the space between us. I swallowed, finding my mouth as dry as a Carthaki desert. “This was,” he said, slipping two fingers under my chin and tilting my head upwards. “In case I don’t get to later,” he whispered. His lips brushed mine.

if you can give me something - something logical mind, preferably no flying pink elephants, although i am open to them - that you'd like to happen in the story, and you post it here BEFORE i put up the next chapter, i'll do my best to have it happen.

how's that?
*~*Rosie*~*

The men came marching in, two by two, by two by two. Into the capital, into the heart of the country. The Stormwings that jealously guarded the palace fell to the ground, one after the other. The man who had promised them all failed to protect them at the vital moment, and so they fell without protest. At the vital moment, he was searching for a lost jewel, the jewel that cinched his claim to the throne. The jewel that was the Queen of Tortall.

The men had come at last, led by a mere boy of fifteen, an extraordinary boy, to be sure, but a boy all the same. The boy that was Prince Liam of Conté, who had slipped inside the palace already.

The men were coming, ready to do whatever it took to get their country back. Men hardened by resentment, toughened by anger.

They were not needed.

A pretty girl and boy ran through the maze of corridors, flanked by a surly-looking guard.

Two royals and a Lioness.

They were not needed either.

At the last moment, somebody else had come through for Tortall, somebody not even the greatest seer in the Mortal Realms could have predicted. Somebody not even Shakith would have spared a thought for.

Not even she had considered it.

*

"Do you have any idea who I am?" I demanded of the guards, dimly aware that my rumpled and dishevelled appearance was not helping me in the slightest.

"Yes, miss," the guard on the door confirmed, seemingly pleased that he was doing me such a big favour.

I narrowed my eyes at him, ignoring his shorter, fatter counterpart for the time being. Even though I had no time, there was no time for this. I had a black-robe mage on my tail, and they weren't letting me past. "Then let me go through," I suggested, as sugary-sweet as I could manage.

He still didn't show any signs of obeying. I felt a sharp prick of - pity? guilt? after he collapsed. The thump he made was echoed seconds later by the other guard's fall to the floor. I didn't have time to marvel at the crimson blood staining the floor, though. I had things to do.

"Ozorne!"

The Emperor - hah! - turned at my call. Sweat beaded on his forehead, making the make-up that he appeared to have turned to once more patchy. Black lines had trickled down his cheeks from his eyelids, giving the impression of tears. "She's loose, we have to find her," he informed me imperiously.

Daine. How gods-blasted typical. I get the throne for him, I pretend to be Kalasin, yet I get locked up, and he doesn't bother to visit. But even the Realms of the Dead themselves would be turned upside-down should precious Veralidaine Sarrasri be misplaced.

"No," I said coldly. "We are not going anywhere."

I wasn't entirely sure what I was there for. Vague ideas of a refuge came to mind, but I dismissed them, struggling to remember what I had come for.

"Don't be silly, Princess. Now, think, where could she have gone?"

"Numair took her," I replied dismissively. "She is no longer your concern."

He waved an imperious hand at me. Oh, his arrogance and conceit had certainly swollen since our last meeting. "No, Draper will have gone after Veralidaine."

I ran my tongue over my lower lip, trying to process this information. "So, you're not looking for her?"

"Yes, yes, I am!" he said angrily, impatient for me to keep up. I felt as though wool had filled my head, replaced my brains. I felt as though I was wading through treacle. "Thayet, the Queen is missing!"

He wasn't looking for Veralidaine. Relief swept through me, leaving me giddy. Veralidaine meant nothing, she meant - Slowly, my brain caught up with what he was saying. Anger, firey and furious, raged inside me. "The Queen?! Now you're after the Queen?!"

I let out a harsh laugh, not taking any notice of any response he might have made. More laughter bubbled to my lips. I was powerless to stop it. Tears ran down my cheeks, and my sides ached.

"Princess-"

"Isis," I grounded out, enunciating carefully. All humour had left me instantly. "Isis. My name is Isis. Not Princess, not Kalasin, Isis!"

He took a step back. I could see him mentally debating whether he should call the guards now or not. It did not matter to me when he decided to call them. They were dead, and would not come, no matter how appropriate the time, or how much they were needed. "Isis," he repeated.

I licked my lips carefully. "Ozorne." I watched him wince at the familiarity. I was nothing but a commoner to him. It was then that the realisation sunk in. "I don't - I risked my life - everything for you, and I don't mean anything to you, do I?" He merely blinked at me, apparently unsure as to what my meaning was. I was trembling now, but my voice remained steady as cool, calm reason reached me. "I got you this throne. I did everything you asked me to do, and more, and yet - I'm nothing to you. All those days, I waited for you to come for me, to say that my punishment was over. You never came. You didn't have the slightest intention of coming, did you?"

He shrugged at me. I pleaded with him silently to lie for me, to lie so I'd know that I was important enough for him to keep in his favour. "I was busy."

That stung. Probably about as much as the final powder that was hidden in a pocket of my dress would sting his organs, shrivel them up, cause him agony, but not let him die for a whole week. I stopped myself reaching for it, barely, as a much more fitting punishment came to mind. "I could have helped you, you know. I could have restored you to the throne of Carthak. I could have given you an empire like no other."

He squirmed slightly, but his eyes were alight with greed. I enjoyed the sensation of making a grown man squirm. He was a fool. "We could still-"

"We could have toppled the gods, you know," I continued. We couldn't have. It was all lies. Lies to make him think that I mattered. Lies to make him think that I was helpful, that locking me away had been a mistake that he would regret for the rest of his life. "It's a shame, really."

"We can still-"

I shook my head. "No, we are done. Forever. It's a shame, though." I glanced up at him, fumbling for the dagger tucked into my sash. The last thing I had stolen from Kalasin.

"It's a shame to spill blood on this carpet."

*

Two chapters left! AND today's my seventeenth birthday!!!
*~*Rosie*~*

ok, this is potentially the last chapter of the fanfiction. phew. almost two years after i started it (discounting six days), it's over. i will post it in its entirety in a different thread on the 17th - its two year anniversary

let me know what you think. if there's anything you're not happy with that i could revise, anybody that you're dying to know about that you didn't find out, just post below.

here goes:

*

I suppose approaching the great, golden doors, only to discover the two crumpled, bloody forms was our first warning of more carnage to come. I had definitely been a girl too long; instead of assessing the situation in a calculating manner as the knight appeared to be doing, I took a step back and resisted all temptation to clamp my hand over my mouth. It clearly was not a good day to be a palace guard.

"Maybe they didn't colour-co-ordinate?" Kalasin suggested, oddly light-hearted, though her grip on my hand was becoming unbearable. She took in a deep breath, and I felt a swell of pride for how strong she was being. Now, I had to resist the temptation to kiss her. There was a time and a place for such things, and just before meeting your former torturer didn't fulfil either category.

"Time to pay our respects to our most esteemed Emperor."

She pushed the door. Instinctively, I pulled her back, allowing Alanna, then myself, to go first. The Princess Pretender was apparently the only occupant of the room, tears dripping down her cheeks. She dismissed Alanna, gave me an incomprehensible look, then turned her attention to Kalasin. "You found me."

Kalasin was having difficulty containing her rage. "Where is he?"

The other girl raised a dark eyebrow, and then stepped down, permitting us a full view of the recently deceased Ozorne Muhassin Tasikhe. This time, I tried not to be repulsed, and even managed to move closer, feigning interest rather than disgust, though I was unable to crouch down and prod the corpse as Alanna was doing. Never mind, next carcass.

"Definitely him," she confirmed, rising once more.

Ozorne's accomplice turned to Kalasin. "I killed him with your dagger," she said earnestly. "I – I thought it – fitting." Her voice was cracking slightly, although I was unable to tell whether it was affected or not. Maybe she had played the game so long it had become part of her.

Kalasin's breathing was uneven. "So?" she asked coldly. "Did you really think that would redeem you? Did you honestly believe that stealing something else of mine would – would, what, let you off?" She unclasped her necklace, letting the chain fall to the floor. When her appearance had reverted to normal, her eyes were visibly sparking with hatred. "You killed my father. One of you did, and since he is dead, you leave me no option but to take my vengeance out on you."

The girl gulped, squeezing her eyes tightly shut for a moment. "It was me. He told me to, but I did it." She inhaled sharply. "So, I suppose you have every right to kill me." She extended her arm, offering the dagger to anyone willing to take it.

Kalasin lunged for it, but Alanna was quicker, knocking it out of her hands and sending it clattering to the ground. "Don't let her make you into a murderer," she warned.

A bubble of laughter came from the impostor's lips. "It'd just be another thing we have in common." Her eyes, bloodshot and pained, opened and locked with Kally's. "We're very similar, you and I. I enjoyed every minute of killing your father. Just like you're going to enjoy killing me."

Kalasin pressed her hands to her ears. "No. I'm not listening. I won’t!" I didn't blame her. I couldn't figure out what the girl's intentions were. Was she just goading Kally, or did she want to die?

She certainly seemed desperate, her eyes travelling over the room, her mind presumably searching for an – any – escape route. Finally, her gaze came to rest on me, and I shuddered. Those eyes were full of a torrent of emotions, that I would never even begin to empathise with. Tormented eyes, for a tormented soul.

I hadn't noticed that she'd moved closer, almost close enough for our breath to mingle. She slipped the chain over my head. "Shall I make you mine as well?" she whispered, though I was sure Kalasin didn't miss a syllable. "You knew me, didn't you? From the start, you knew me." She took a step back – I assumed she had come to her senses and was going to run away. "I'm yours."

Apparently I was wrong.

"No, you're not," I replied, struggling to assert myself. "You're-"

"I'm his," Kalasin interrupted. I darted a quick look at Alanna, who didn't bat an eyelid. "None of this is yours. It's my name. My clothes. My father. My family. It's all mine. He's mine."

"I don't think you're entirely right there, your highness," Alanna said thoughtfully, picking up the discarded dagger which the impostor had begun to shift towards. "In fact, I'm almost certain that there is a lovely place on Traitor's Hill for you. Of course," she added hastily, "you won't be heading there immediately. A nice long stretch in prison first."

"I'll go get the guards," Kalasin said, with only a slight hint of reluctance.

I caught Kalasin's hand as she turned to leave. "I am, you know."

She frowned, tilting her head back, so she could read my expression. "You are what?"

"Yours."
*~*Rosie*~*

this is the last chapter, i promise! Isis, Lagne, Kally.

*

A woman sits, all alone at the end of her plot of intrigue and lies. Alone, but still waiting for the game to come to a close. She deserves everything she gets, deserves to be shut away, deserves to be cold. Deserves to be alone.

Gone is the fine lifestyle she had become accustomed to. Gone are the doting admirers and servants. Gone is the stolen family.

Gone, all gone.

She hunches herself against the blast of cold wind that sweeps its way through the door as it bangs open. She feels the cold in a way she never thought she would. She feels the pain in her heart in a way she never thought she would. Her heart has broken in a way she never thought it could.

Her time is up, though she doesn’t know it yet.

As the blade swings towards her, she looks up. Her final thought is of a pair of green eyes.

Green eyes that belong to a young man, quietly observing the flashes of colour displayed before him. The dancers move as if they are floating on air. In truth, that is how he feels now, as if reality has been suspended and his dreams allowed to take flight into his waking hours. He has a series of bruises up his arm to prove to himself that this is not the case.

He tries not to fidget, tries to repress the longing inside him to join them. He sits stiffly on his throne, the one beside him empty. More than he longs to dance, he longs to see somebody sitting on it. He longs to see comforting eyes when he turns his head.

Sparkling blue eyes swim before him. He blinks and pinches himself, adding another bruise to his collection.

“Pleased to see me?” Their owner tilts her head on one side. She knows the answer; the smile on her face tells him so. But he feels obligated to reply, all the same.

He nods; words are not, can never be enough. He clears his throat and gets to his feet, offering her an arm. “Shall we dance?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Their thoughts are not of the woman, that night or any other. They concentrate on happily ever after. Together. Forever.

*~*Rosie*~*