Chapter Forty-Two: The Shifting Wind

“Take nothing for granted, for the wind may shift at any time.”

—A saying popularized by gamblers from the east

Ein found Evaine in the courtyard, speaking to Garax and Talberon. He was surprised to see two familiar six-legged creatures beside them, waiting patiently next to a beaten-up carriage.

“There you are!” Evaine said, rushing towards him. He steadied himself for an embrace, but she stopped a few steps short as if she’d changed her mind. “How are you feeling?”

“Could be better,” he grunted. The sallow image of Alend resurfaced in his mind like an itch that wouldn’t go away. Aeos came to a halt beside him, folding his arms.

“Shouldn’t you be off to the barracks?” Aeos asked. “You have your letter already, don’t you?”

“I wanted to say goodbye to everyone first,” Evaine said with a hint of defiance. The Prince scowled.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Talberon greeted. He had his hand along Fire’s coat and was looking into the stalnag’s pupil, apparently checking on its condition. “I trust you are ready for departure?”

“Of course. Is this the carriage we’re taking?” he looked at the creatures in contempt.

Marc emerged at that moment, a hammer in one hand and a handful of nails in the other. He dropped to one knee upon sighting the Prince. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Highness,” he said. “I am Marc, and I will taking you to Darmouth.” He nodded at Ein. “And hello again, young Master.”

The driver was one of the people Ein had least expected to come across again on his journey, but there was a part of him that was glad he would be in familiar hands.

“Are you sure you can’t find a better ride?” Aeos wrinkled his nose. “One that smells… nicer? Money shouldn’t be an issue.”

“Marc’s fine,” Evaine said. “He got us here in one piece.”

“I can assure you, you would be hard-pressed finding any sort of ride faster than a carriage drawn by two stalnags,” Talberon said. “Unless it’s a carriage drawn by three stalnags. We’ll be at Darmouth before the week’s end.”

“We’ll be heading back to the inn first, though,” Garax explained. “So we can pick up our things. Then we’ll drop Evaine off and be on our way.”

Merrill, Ein thought. It will be good to see him again, one last time.

“I see. I suppose I’ll wait for you lot inside, then.” He gave the beaten vehicle another frown. “Are you sure it will hold us all?”

“Absolutely, Your Highness,” Marc said, nodding vigorously.

Talberon finished his inspection of the stalnags and moved around to where the supply crates lay on the ground. Marc scuttled off after the Prince, leaving Ein and Evaine alone with Garax.

“Where’s Rhinne?” Ein asked.

“Yes,” Evaine piped. “What exactly were you two doing in the castle, anyway?”

“She’s already inside,” Garax said. He turned around, making sure Aeos was out of earshot. “To cut it short, I had an inkling of what she was trying to do and was unfortunately swept up in her antics. She didn’t find the Dragonstone like she’d expected, and now she’s in a sour mood.”

“You mean you actually broke into the Vault?” Evaine asked. “That’s… admirable.”

“I’ll tell you more along the way,” Garax said to Ein. To Evaine, he said: “Unfortunately you’ll have to wait until we return.”

“All the exciting stuff happens to you, Ein,” she complained. “It’s not fair. I would have gladly taken your place as a Kingsblade.”

“I would give it to you if I could,” Ein muttered.

Ten years ago he would have been elated at the recent turn of events. He was a Kingsblade now, a servant of the King, a title of almost legendary status. A hero that the people of Faengard looked up to. A knight-general by the likes of which his father had once been.

Yet he didn’t feel any different. He didn’t feel like a hero. Heroes lived short lives, walking paths rife with blood and tragedy. The people would be looking to him now to maintain the peace, to solve their problems and rise to the occasion when the enemy was at the gate. Ein wanted no part of that. He just wanted his father back.

“Be careful what you wish for,” Garax warned Evaine. “Remember what happened on the road to Caerlon?”

Evaine quietened. “I try not to.” She stayed for a moment longer, still searching Ein’s eyes before she, too, boarded the carriage. Garax watched her go.

“Ein,” he said, and laid a hand on his shoulder. “You be careful from now on, okay?”

“I try to be careful whenever I can.”

Garax shook his head. “I’m serious this time. You’re a Kingsblade now; that means Aedon can kill you off any time he wants. I would act very carefully from here on, lest you invoke his wrath.” He drew closer, lowering his voice. “I get a different feeling from his son, though. Best to keep your head down and follow the Talberon’s lead for now. We’ll see in due time whether or not the Prince can be reasoned with. If we can get him on our side, he might be able to undo your Bond.”

“I somehow doubt that,” Ein said. “I don’t think Aeos even wants to talk to us.” Who does he think he is, anyway? He doesn’t even look like he’s ever been outside the castle.

“He would be too powerful of an ally to pass up,” Garax replied. “If we have to make the first move, then that’s what we’ll do. Like I always say, the hardest part of a journey is taking the first step.”

“That’s not even your saying.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t use it.” The storyteller chuckled. “It’s good to see you’re still largely the same, though. A lot of people become different after the Bonding ritual.”

“What do you mean ‘largely’?”

But the old man was already tottering away, his sword swinging by his hip.

The serving girl with the braided hair was looking at Merrill again. He didn’t like it—she reminded him too much of Evaine.

The whole night had passed with neither Ein or Evaine’s return. He’d spent the majority of it on the edge of his seat, skulking about the inn as its patrons whispered tales of the intruders and how close they’d come to pulling off the greatest heist of their time. He’d then fallen into a restless sleep in the early hours of the morning before waking up again to listen for news.

He wished he’d gone after them, wished he’d been caught alongside them that night. Anything was better than sitting in silence, waiting to hear news of what had happened. Even now, he was torn between heading off to Uldan Keep and staying back in case they returned.

“What’s on ya mind, young Master?” the girl had come around to his table. Her brown hair was twisted into a braid, just as Evaine’s had been before she’d cut it.

“Nothing,” he muttered.

“Doesn’t look like it to me.” She drew closer to him. “Thinkin’ about a girl ya fancy?”

Merrill stood up, his stool sliding back with a clatter. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I don’t want to talk right now.”

He made for the stairs and took them two at a time, keeping his head down, ignoring the girl’s complaints. Once he was inside his room, he shut the door and leaned against it.

Their blankets were still on the ground, their travelling bags half-packed. Everyone had gone and left him behind—Alend and Ein, Evaine and Garax. He should have felt relieved, but instead he was agitated.

What am I going to do now? he wondered. He didn’t have the means or the money to make the trip back to Felhaven. He had no idea where anyone else was. I should have stayed with them.

But he knew that given the chance, he wouldn’t have. He could still remember the fear he’d felt as they’d scaled that wall, hiding from the vigil of the guards. Even now he felt anxious about storming off to Uldan Keep. What would he say? What would he do? A lowly butcher’s son from the Sleeping Twins had no power in the King’s castle. He wasn’t like Ein or Evaine. He thought too much. He didn’t act.

Yet here I am, a million miles from home. He cursed Evaine and then cursed himself. He only had himself to blame for the situation he was in.

There came a sudden knock at the door, startling him. Was it the serving girl again? Couldn’t she just leave him alone—

“Merrill! Open up, it’s us.”

A wave of relief swept through him at the sound of Evaine’s voice. He opened the door, a smile already creeping across his face, words of admonishment forming on his lips.

“You have no idea how worried I was,” he began. “What happened? Did you find Ein’s father—”

He broke off. Something didn’t feel right.

There was Ein of course, with a Rhinegold pauldron on his shoulder—the mark of a high-caste House. That pauldron alone was probably worth a fortune. There were also his eyes, which were darker and deeper than usual. They bored into him, unmoving, unsettling.

But all that flew past him in lieu of Evaine. Merrill had spent enough time talking with her and watching her from afar to know what she was feeling. There was a sense of excitement and elation within her, and yet the way she pursed her lips and held her arms by her sides told him that she had something she had to say, and it wasn’t something he wanted to hear.

“Merrill,” she began.

And they told him what he’d so desperately wished to know. Of their trial in the Halls of Judgement, of Ein becoming a Kingsblade, of the separate ways they were to go, with Evaine to join the Legion Songweavers and Ein to journey to Raginrok while Alend was held in the dungeons. It took a while to sink in, and all he could think of was one thing.

They’re leaving me. For the second time.

It was like Founder’s Eve all over again, back in the Sleeping Twins. It had seemed so long ago when he’d woken up to find that his closest friend and the girl he loved had left. He’d braved the woods, fought relicts and even survived an encounter with an Apocalypse Knight, and now he was being told that their journey was only just beginning.

“You can’t be serious,” he whispered.

Evaine looked down.

“I’m sorry it came to this, Merrill,” Ein said. “We’re… we’ve been left no other options.”

“What am I going to do?” he asked. “What… what am I going to do?” His tongue felt thick in his mouth.

Evaine brought a pouch of coins from her pocket. “Talberon’s given us some coin in case you wanted to head back.”

“You could also come with us,” Ein offered. “Though things will only get more dangerous from here.”

“No,” Merrill shook his head. The only reason I came anyway was to be with Evaine. He didn’t say that part out loud.

“I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone to take you back to Caerlon,” Evaine said. “After that…”

He stared at the pouch in her hand and then, in a burst of emotion, slapped it away. It flew across the room, gold and silver spilling onto the ground. Evaine flinched.

Don’t look at me like that, he thought. I’m just a burden, aren’t I?

The three stood facing each other amidst an awkward silence.

“Merrill…” Ein began.

“Go away,” he said. “Please, just go.” He stormed off to the bags in the corner and dragged them across the room, tossing them out the doorway with a groan of exertion. “Take everything you need and go!”

“Merrill—” Evaine said.

He slammed the door shut against her face and slumped onto the ground. There was silence for a time.

Don’t knock again, he pleaded silently. He didn’t think he could take it if he saw them again. He didn’t want to break down into tears before her.

He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or not when he heard their footsteps drifting away from the door, leaving him to wallow in his misery.

“He’s mad,” Evaine said to Ein, when they were alone behind the inn. They looked upwards at Merrill’s window, but the shutters were tightly closed.

“Well, he has a right to be. I don’t think he ever planned this far ahead when he first left the Sleeping Twins.” Ein was twisting the Kingsblade ring around his thumb, deep in thought. He’d looked different ever since the night of the trial, when he’d undergone the Vow. Evaine couldn’t put a finger on how. He hadn’t changed in appearance, but he seemed to stand stiller, straighter, with the slow, deep breathing and the composure of an adult. She’d always thought him to be rather good-looking in a boyish sort of way, but now he seemed distant. Ominous, even.

“Don’t you think he’s over-reacting? I mean, it’s not like it’s the end of the world. We’re the ones who’ve been conscripted by the King.”

“How do you feel about that?” Ein asked.

Evaine frowned. “Well, I’m not against it. It lines up nicely with what I’ve always wanted. I can’t imagine a better outcome considering how they’re hellbent that we broke into the Keep to rob the King.”

Ein turned towards her and she flinched. His eyes were cold and grey, like steel. “It might be what you’ve always wanted. But what about what Merrill wants?”

What Merrill wants. He’d always been the quiet one, following them both when they’d played in the streets of Felhaven. Evaine had always assumed he’d been fine with everything.

Otherwise he would have spoken up, wouldn’t he?

Wouldn’t he?

“He should be able to look after himself,” Evaine said defensively. “He decided to come here of his own accord. I’m not going to change what I want to do for him.”

“And I’m not asking you to. Maybe have a think about how he feels, and try to understand him. Think about why he came all the way here and what he lost because of it.”

“You’re not making sense, Ein. Has that Kingsblade ritual done something with your head?”

A young Master and Mistress toppled out of the back door of the inn, starting them both. Red-faced and giggling, they scrambled away without a backward glance. The smell of ale was heavy about them.

Ein sighed. “Perhaps. There are a lot of things going through my mind at the moment.”

“Why don’t you go and talk to Merrill, then?” Evaine suggested. “You’ve been his friend for as long as I have.”

“I think it’s best to leave him alone for a while.”

There was a neigh from the front of the inn. Garax poked his head around the corner. “Come on, you lovebirds. Let’s go before the sun sets.”

“I guess this is goodbye, then,” Evaine said. “I suppose you’ll get a hero’s welcome when you come back.”

“Don’t call me that,” Ein growled, a pained look on his face. “I’m just… just going to do the King a favour, that’s all. To get my father back.”

“If you say so, Ein. I’ll be a powerful Songweaver by the time you return.” She smiled.

Ein didn’t say anything.