Ella and Micah hesitated on the threshold.

Neither of them knew whether to follow Benjamin or to just turn and leave.

"Did he want us to go in?" Ella asked, her accent having settled down as her anger died.

Instead of answering, Micah collected his courage and stepped inside.

Benjamin's cottage was a mess. The cramped hall was lined with boxes of mix-matched jars and large dusty books with curled browning pages sticking out of them. He stepped over the mangled skeleton of an old wooden chair as he followed his old mentor. The cottage was packed with Benjamin's trinkets and possessions, all of them dusty and seemingly falling apart.

Micah jolted as Ella tripped and fell into his back.

"You okay?" he asked, steadying her as she wiggled her boot laces free of the dead branches of a small pot plant.

"He's worse than Callie is at cleaning," she muttered, annoyed.

Micah turned back and followed Benjamin, who seemed to be gliding through the junk, into a room with a cleared space in the middle of it. A massive big armchair half filled that space with piles of thick spined books and parchments cluttering the area around it. Benjamin pulled a pair of chairs that seemed to match the broken one in the hallway, out of the mess and set them up in front of the armchair, gesturing for Micah and Ella to sit. And they did, hesitantly.

"Make this quick," Ella instructed, her arms crossed over her chest and her frown still firmly in place.

"I'm going to be quite blunt, Carnaea," Benjamin said, ignoring her and lowering himself into the armchair, "I resent you for your choice to leave."

"I understand. A lot of people do," Micah said, quietly.

"And if you wish to attempt to claim your throne then I won't stand in your way," Benjamin held up one of his long bony fingers, "However, I refuse to help you directly."

Ella made a noise deep in her throat.

"But I can point you in the right direction. Let us be clear on this though. I don't care whether you die trying to drive out the Barderns."

Ella pushed herself to her feet, "Micah let's go."

Micah just looked up at her with sad, tired eyes, "I can meet you outside when I'm done here, if you'd like."

Her furious eyes flicked back to the old man but she turned and sat back down. She was furious at Benjamin for treating Micah like that. She hadn't known the young Heir long, but she knew what troubled him and her loyalty had been earned. Micah Baudille had come here today, looking for an adult that might support him and show him what to do with a careful and loving hand. Benjamin Redhaven had not delivered and Ella hated him for it.

"The first time I laid a hand on you, only hours after you had been born, I had a vision," Benjamin said, having moved on from Ella's outburst and was now addressing Micah again, "I brushed your forehead and I saw children playing. I saw clean waters and blooming bulbs. I saw the world reborn. That is why I christened you Carnaea. The word has a meaning that cannot be translated to the true value but in our language it comes across as reincarnation. I would later realise that this meant the world had to burn first, for you to guide the rebirth through the ashes. But instead of doing this, you fled from your destiny."

"You believe I could have taken on the Barderns alone? Driven them out of my castle?" Micah asked.

Benjamin peered over his spectacles, "I believe you could have done it together."

Even Ella picked up on that. He meant the Princess. Micah's princess. The Quel-yanian girl who had been in line for her own crown but had chosen to stand by him anyway. Ella knew it was a touchy subject for the young Heir and wasn't surprised when the mention of her, even indirectly, shut him up completely.

"As I was saying," Benjamin continued, "You breached what I had foreseen. If I could only attempt to see again—," he reached out to touch Micah's knee but he flinched away so hard that the chair swung and fell over, Micah darting to his feet. Benjamin slowly rose as well.

"No." The Heir said confidently, "I don't need anymore expectations."

Ella was ready to slap the old man again if he came near Micah once more. Her anger filled her up and her vision was narrowed to focus only on him. She supposed she wouldn't even need him to be weaponless, or for her to take him by surprise. She could take down this man fuelled only by her anger. She looked towards Micah, and then glanced behind them at the exit, confirming that it was clear. She turned back and started as Benjamin was much closer than he had been. He brushed past her to reach for an old book staked in the clutter behind her and as he did so, Ella saw his eyes flash white. It was for the briefest of seconds and then it was gone and Ella was left to shy away from him, repulsed that he was making her see things.

But Benjamin had conceded and he held the book to his chest, "Fine. If you're so wanting to leave—,"

"We are." Ella snapped, arms folded.

"—then I'll leave you with this. Visit Old Montague Lane. People will help you there."

"Fantastic," Ella said, sounding less than enthused. She rose to her feet and stood solemnly between the two of them before Micah's eyes drifted away and he turned for the door. She was well aware of the fact that she didn't stand very tall. She knew she was young and the robes she wore wrote her off as Kannish before she even opened her mouth. But every minute here was hurting Micah, even she knew that. And no man could overthrow an army and reclaim a throne if his emotional state wasn't strong enough.

Ella followed him to the door, not giving Benjamin the satisfaction of a farewell. Micah, however, paused at the entrance to the cluttered hallway.

With his back still turned and his eyes on the floor, he lifted his chin and asked, "You haven't heard anything about her, have you?"

Ella looked back to see Benjamin with his eyes on Micah's slumped back, "Caraea, everything I hear these days is about Cataleyah. Unofficially of course."

*****

Benjamin refused to tell Micah and his little friend anything about Cataleyah. In his own mind, it felt like a victory to have something over the young heir that wounded him so. He took spite in retaining his knowledge of the Princess.

Micah Baudille pleaded in front of him, grief and longing in his dark eyes but Benjamin did not give in. The girl behind the Heir looked ready to skin him alive, but she wouldn't lay a hand on him now. He knew she had seen him when he had brushed against her to force a vision. She should be scared. He knew her future after all.

Micah Baudille gave up. And he left in a hurry after that, his lap dog trailing after him with stares so sharp that they could chip teeth.

As the door to his cottage slammed shut with Ella's excessive force, Benjamin's brain was again clouded with thoughts about his vision. It had seemed like it had gone on forever but in reality it had taken but half a second. His eyes had clouded over and he had fallen into the land of foretold. Her name had been burned into his head, searing into his mind to fit with all the other names of the people whose futures he had seen. Elleanora Dias. He had seen her face, the one that had never really shed the signs of youth, dirty, pale and marred with scratches. He had heard the piercing cry of a baby and seen flying silks. There had been blood, so much blood that the River Mada could run red with it. Through claps of thunder and the sight of falling bricks, Benjamin had foreseen the one thing that rocked him most; the sound of someone crying her name. It had been Micah's voice; an earth-shattering shriek of the purest pain.

Benjamin knew then that Micah's battle would not be without loss. It would be bloody, and his vision may well have confirmed Ella's death. He had predicted death before and one thing no one else would understand was that once something was predicted, there was no stopping it unless the person themselves made a radical move. If Benjamin was to ever warn Micah about the vision and the harm that may come to his friend, he knew Micah would do everything in his power to stop it.

But the reality was that in every scenario, Micah would be too late.

So Benjamin decided to gift the Heir his ignorance and the bliss that would come with not quite knowing.

*****

Ella had shadowed Micah as he strode back to Martha's. He was walking forcefully with his eyes on the ground and his shoulders hunched over. Ella found herself likening him to a slapped puppy.

"Mic?" she asked, pacing on his heels, "We should really talk 'bout that."

He was in a horrid mood because Benjamin had refused to say anymore about his Princess. Once he had mentioned her, Micah had flown back into the room and pressed the matter, but the old man had kept his lips seeled, repeating again and again that he wasn't going to help them. Micah was furious, and above all else, he was hurt by it. Ella had deduced that his Princess had to be important to all this somehow. If people like Benjamin were still able to hear things about her. Either the Princess was very far away and being careless with who knew about her, letting rumours flow like the river waters, or she was very close by and no matter how hard she tried, mouths still betrayed her.

What if the Princess was here? In Florian?

"Mic!" Ella pressed again, careful not to use his full name out in the open, "Please stop and talk to me." But Ella's requests fell on deaf ears as she was sure the Heir's thoughts were much too loud for her to be heard. Micah barrelled out onto the main street and shoved open the door to Martha's bar. She sighed, and followed him in.

Martha's bar was dark and smelled heavily of alcohol. Martha had mentioned to Ella that she was the only bar in town that didn't allow smoking. She seemed to pride her on that. It also deterred the soldiers which was convenient for Micah and Ella.

Micah had seated himself at a stool at the bar, his head resting on his knuckles and his dark brown hair dripping into his eyes. One of Martha's bartenders had already poured him a drink and it sat idle in front of him, the dark coloured ale turning gold when the red lights of the bar caught it.

Ella swatted away a grabbing hand as she entered and turned her attention back to Micah.

"Hey," she said to his back and waited for him to turn around.

He didn't.

"What is a tiny little Kannish girl like you doing in here?" asked the gravelly voice of the older, bearded man with the grabby hands.

Ella huffed, "Mister, I don't wanna hurt you. Stop touching me." She looked up at Micah, "Mic, come on. This ain't the right place ta think."

"He doesn't seem interested, darling," the grabby hands man said, "Stick to people who actually want what you're selling."

"I'm not selling anything," Ella said, ignoring him as much as she could. But she heard him stand up and when she refused to take her eyes off of Micah, she felt the hand again, attempting to fumble through the folds of her robes.

She flinched away from him, "Mister, I will tell you one last time—,"

The bar stool scooted loudly against the wood and almost toppled over with the speed at which Micah slipped out of it.

"The lady has asked you not to touch her," He growled at Grabby Hands, eyes hooded by his hair.

"So what? You don't want her? Give someone else a turn," Grabby Hands said and Ella finally felt her anger start to splutter into life.

"She's not an object you get to deal," Micah was shuddering with anger and Ella knew not even half of it was a result of Grabby Hands and his stupid mouth.

"And what is a scrawny kid like yourself going to do about it?"

"Oh for the High King's—," Ella didn't even finish her curse before Micah had swung at Grabby Hands. Whoops went up throughout the bar as Micah tackled him with lethal efficiency and started to pound his fists into Grabby Hands's face.

Shrill swears in old Kannish flew from Ella's mouth as she struggled to separate the two. Micah had his shin pressed against Grabby's windpipe and his hands clapped around his ears, trying to bash the man's head into the ground. Ella shoved her elbow into his midriff, throwing him off for a second, but Grabby Hands took that to his own advantage and pushed himself up, reeling his arm back to punch Micah's head. But Micah ducked and the fist missed. Ella tried to push the Heir off him and instead, accidently put herself in the way of Micah's retaliation.

His knuckles cracked against her jaw and Ella tumbled over with the shock of it.

"Ella!" Micah yelled, his eyes suddenly bright with worry. She stood up, more than ready to get back in it, but Micah had pressed his shin hard against the man's throat, rendering him unconscious in a matter of seconds. Once Grabby Hands went limp, Micah got to his feet.

Ella stood there, in the bar that had gone almost silent, her jaw throbbing. She glared at him and reached up to pull away the scarf that hid her mouth and the lower part of her face. She spat blood onto the floor.

"I think it's time to talk now." She grunted and exited the bar.

*****

Yon hadn't been an active member of the Tribesmen's forces until recently. He was younger than most of the warriors, but was picked to be on the guard because he was quick. He acted as a runner, as a scout, and recently, a messenger.

Yon had delivered two messages. One from Hehpe Taavy to the city and one from the city to the Hehpe. Yon also knew that if he had been able to read the Common Language, a language that had now spread and was spoken throughout all five countries, he would have been told not to open them. But he couldn't, so no rule was needed.

Yon read the messages. He couldn't understand a word of them. But before he had been chosen as a warrior, Yon had been an artist. He arranged flower petals and leaves in mosaics on the ground, and drew with the wet mud from the river bank. But above all else, he liked the way words looked. He liked how they could look sharp or swirling, loud or quiet.

"Taak sith Allist," The Hehpe had said to him, after one of the girls he had snatched had finished with the pen and parchment. Taavy had given it to Yon and dismissed him. Yon had done as he was told and started his run out of the forest.

He flicked the parchment open just as the river came into view. This letter was so much shorter than the other had been. Just three words were inked onto the page in one of the maiden's scratchy handwriting. Yon liked all three of the words, although the second one, the longest one, ended with his favourite characters so he was partial to that.

Yon had no clue what it said, and was aware of the fact that he would probably never know. There could be such great power in these words, but Yon doubted it. How much power could be in just three little words?

He ran with his thumb in the fold of the parchment, holding it open. He didn't have the mind to think that any person that passed too close to him might get a glance at those words. And even if he had, he likely wouldn't have cared too much. A letter this short wasn't going to change much.

But lucky for Yon, no one saw the words on the parchment. Instead they stared up at the sky, and the golden sun. If they had had the power to read them, they might have told Yon to be more careful with his message.

But neither the sun nor the sky could ever say anything to anyone. So the letter went unread. And the power in those three words would be gifted to only one person.

The Princess lives.

*****

Ella sat cross legged on Martha's rooftop with her baby in her lap and Martha, kneeling in front of her with a small bundle of medical supplies.

"I'm telling ya, Martha, I don't need no fixin'!" she said, leaning away from the woman's hands.

"You could have a fracture, Cookie, let me just—,"

"She wants the bruise, Martha," Both women's heads turned to see Micah at the edge of the roof, near the fire escape, with his hands shoved low in the pockets of his pants, and the affects of guilt and regret painted all over his face, "She'll use it as leverage to make me talk."

The baby giggled and Ella, conveniently, turned her attention away from him.

"'E's right," she said, plainly, "I do want the bruise. But not ta make 'im feel guilty."

Micah raised an eyebrow.

"Fine. A lil bit of that. But also 'coz it shows that I'm not just some weak kid with a baby she can't handle."

"Ella—," Micah started, his voice sympathetic.

"Don't 'Ella' me," she snapped, "It's tough. I gotta show that I'm worth somethin'."

Neither Micah nor Martha said anything then.

"And I don't want any of ya pity either," Ella said, as an afterthought.

"Martha, could you give us a minute, please?" Micah asked kindly and the older woman nodded and got to her feet.

"There's some grub inside when you're ready to eat," She said, and left the roof.

Micah wandered slowly over and sat down next to Ella, right on the very edge of the roof, letting his boots hang over the edge with nothing between them and a twenty metre drop.

"I'm sorry," Ella muttered, after a minute of silence. She kept her eyes on the baby, as though she couldn't quite bring herself to admit the apology to Micah, "About today. I'm sorry you had to go through all that."

Micah turned to her and shook his head, a smile creeping over his lips, "And here I was thinking it was me who needed to apologise." Ella looked up at him, questioningly, "You see Ella, I thought Benjamin might behave that way. I just didn't want to believe he would. His actions made sense because he was very close with my father and part of his grief is that he blames me for my father's death. I suspected that would be the case and I let myself find hope anyway. One thing you'll learn about me, is that I do that all the time. It's stupid and only ever makes me sad, but it's what happens. And here you are, sitting here with a bruise I gave you, apologising for my stupidity. You do that, even though you already stood up to Benjamin for me, something I never should have put you in the position to have to do."

"As if I wasn't gonna say somethin'," Ella muttered, and Micah noticed the excess moisture in her large dark eyes.

"You barely reacted when that man in the bar was pressing on you. Why didn't you say anything then?"

Ella hesitated a moment and then shrugged, "Because I'm not the one tha' needed help. And you attacked 'im anyway. Doubt he'll be hittin' on anyone soon."

Micah laughed, "Fair point."

There was a moment where the two of them just sat there. Micah propped up on his arms, his dagger pressing against his thigh and his bird carving sticking out of the pocket of his pants, and Ella with her baby in her arms and her legs swinging out over the ledge.

"Do you miss your parents, Micah?" She asked, looking at him as his gaze travelled to the pointy tips of the castle that could be seen peeking above the inner wall of the city.

"Yes," he said, "But not as much as I used to. I miss my brother now."

Ella could relate to that. She missed Callie. She supposed they were similar like that. Both of them feeling much too young for this lonely situation, and both of them needed someone older who they could lean on, even just for a little bit.

They sat on the roof for the rest of the afternoon. Martha brought their food out to them accompanied by pitying looks and wishful stares. She had obviously listened in to a bit of their conversation. Ella didn't blame her; she would have done the same thing.

As the sun went down over the city, and the baby had fallen asleep in Ella's arms, Micah sat with his arm around Ella's shoulder and blankets on both their laps. For the first time since he had left Jules, Micah felt safe and calm and happy.

He savoured it, getting the dreading feeling that it wouldn't last very long.

A/N

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Much love,

Ruby

xxxx