*COMPLETE* Allayria promised to do what it takes to stop the Jarles, to make the ugly decision. She thinks, at last, she understands what the dynast meant. The lesson earned from the top of that lonely cliff and given the dark murky water below.
It...
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They are at the top of the tower. News has traveled quick, traveled on wings and through minds, and the breaking, quavering serenity that had hummed through Ben this morning has been set aflame in the iron grip of furious, anguished rage.
But the slim man who sits across from him seems unperturbed. If anything, the way he pushes his spectacles up the ridge of his nose is slow, thoughtful, as if he is leveraging the moment to get a good look at the specimen in front of him, analyze its quirks, its foibles. As if he still believes he is in control.
"Who was it?" Qui Wren asks, mild even in the face of all these foes. "Who has betrayed me?"
And Ben's mind flickers to the quiet soldier sitting in a small office, diligently tallying inventory, allotting quantities and routes at the dynast's command.
"Would you even know their name if I told you?" he sneers.
The man blinks.
"No, I suppose not," he admits. "Still, it would be nice to know."
Qui Wren smiles when silence only greets him.
"I thought this might happen eventually, once the crossbows started showing up in Solveigard City," he confesses. "I had rather thought you would be courteous enough to allow us to finish our business with the Jarles beforehand though, but I can see you are... eager."
"We destitute call it opportunistic," Ben throws back. "It seems your general is a long ways away from here, Your Highness."
"So he is—was," The dynast agrees. "But I can see you have already heard the news from Solveigard City."
"GEN. BEINSHO – DEAD," the Beast-caller had wrote out, his eyelids fluttering as his hand scrawled across the page for the group huddled around him to read. "PROTECTOR—ALIVE. URILONG –ALIVE. IAV—OOT. MEG—DEAD."
Ben feels it all over again, the sharp slide of pain, the gripping stutter of his heart.
She died fighting, she died believing, he tries to tell himself, her wicked smile flickering in his mind, her mulishness impressed on his now vacant right hand side. It feels like a gaping wound, a vibrating sore. She died crippling them, and soon I'll have done the same here in her honor.
"So I did. With the Chieftainess out in Jarles, your list of allies grows thin," Ben says.
The dynast nods once.
"Likewise."
He's trying to provoke you, a sly voice murmurs in his ear, calculating even as parts of him boil, watching with cold accuracy as the dynast's gaze flickers casually up to his expression. He's looking for a weak spot.
Foolish of him to think he'll have time to find one.
