Knock-knock-knock.

“Bronie?” Torin’s voice cut through the fog of my nightmare. I opened my eyes to see the wooden support panels of my cabin. I could even faintly make out the roof access door that was slightly hidden.

“Bronie?” Torin called again, sounding closer than before. There was a slight click of the door closing; he must have come in.

“I’m okay,” I said.

“I heard screaming,” Torin said, adding “and not the good kind,” still concerned but trying to use his humor to put me at ease.

“I’m sorry,” I said, embarrassed to have been so distraught within the dream to call out, and loud enough for Torin to hear in his cabin. I crawled to the edge of the loft and swung my legs over it so I was sitting on the edge, my legs dangling. Torin was standing in the middle of the cabin’s living space, his hair slightly bedridden hair showing that I woke him. “It was just a night terror,” I confessed, though it wasn’t. Night terrors and dreams usually start to fade after I woke; but this was a memory, it was always with me.

“You haven’t had one like that in cycles,” Torin said, still concerned.

“I know,” I said, angry with myself for having such a reaction to recent developments. I have done so much over the cycles to accept what happened all those cycles ago. I’ve tried my best to leave the name of Lady Bronwyn Moor behind and live here within The Guild as Bronie Stone. Being Bronie gave me an opportunity at moving on and living a normal life. A life where my father wants to better me as an individual instead of as an heir, and where my brothers protect me instead of selling me off; a life where I can choose my own path and where I can truly make a difference. But the moment my foundation as Bronie Stone here is shaken, the night terrors always come back.

Which is why Father was worried about telling me.

“What was it?” Torin asked.

“First kill,” I said, telling half of the truth. There was so much more to that night than my killing of the guard, and Torin knew everything about the night I ran away from Kasrad. But it was a sore topic amongst us Stones for a number of reasons. So we don’t often speak about the time before I came here. But a Bastard’s first kill is always something looked at with sadness, not reverence. That door guard was the first life I ever took. I didn’t know his name, I didn’t know if he had a family that mourned him. But I did know that his death was necessary for me to escape that night. I never would have been able to truly render him unconscious, not for long enough of a head start, not at that age, at least.

“Oh,” Torin said, slightly surprised by the topic. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.

“It’s okay,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m sorry I pulled you out of bed early,” I added to give him an out to go back to sleep.

“I would have woken up soon,” Torin said, motioning out the window, the pitch darkness of the night was starting to lighten at the peaks of the surrounding forest-covered mountain range. “So no trouble for me. But, since I’m already here...” he said, prompting. In response, I climbed down the loft’s ladder and joined Torin in the main living area of my humble cabin. It would seem he is staying for a bit.

“Tea?” I asked him, walking over to the fireplace.

“That would be great,” Torin replied.

“Grab the kettle in the kitchen and fill it with water from the bladder while I get the fire going,” I ordered as I walked across the cabin.

The chimney was made of grey stone and climbed up the side of the entire cabin, which helped to heat the loft during the cold season. There was a wooden shelf built into the chimney that held a small wooden box. Beside the chimney was a small pile of chopped logs with a bucket full of twigs and bits of bark.

I grabbed a piece of flint out of the wooden box on the shelf then proceeded to grab a small bundle of twigs and dead bark and two cut logs. Within the fireplace was a cooking rack with an accompanying iron hook for the kettle handle. I placed the bundle of twigs and bark between the two posts of the cooking rack and after two good strikes of the flint, the small bundle of kindling caught on fire. I grabbed the two logs and placed it on either side of the fiery bundle.

Torin came to stand next to me with the kettle and I hooked the handle on the hook of the cooking rack. Torin walked over to the left side of the fireplace and grabbed two pillows. He tossed them on the ground in front of the fire for us to sit and eventually drink our tea.

Before sitting, I returned to the kitchen and removed two handmade tea mugs from one of the hanging cabinets and placed them on the small kitchen table. I returned to the same cabinet and removed a clay-covered pot and small two sheets of Guild paper that I kept within the cabinet.

Torin was standing beside the table, waiting quietly to help make the tea bags. It was still early and neither of us was particularly awake, but the reason for his presence hung in the air, waiting to be addressed.

“So?” Torin probed.

“It was just a dream,” I said trying to lessen the implications of my returning night terrors. I removed the cover of the clay pot and was enveloped by the aroma of the various herbs within the small pot; leaves from tea trees and the peace plant mixed with pedals of lavender.

“A night terror,” he said, not falling for my bait. “And one that had you yelling out in your sleep.” Both of us took a sheet of thin Guild paper and put a few pinches of the herbs in the center. After a few folds of the paper, the blend was safely stored in the paper and placed at the bottom of our mugs.

With our mugs readied, Torin and I walked back over to sit in front of the fire. “Do you think anyone heard?” I asked as I sat down on one of the two pillows, more embarrassed at the thought of the rest of the Tavern knowing I was off than just my family knowing.

“No, I was only half asleep as it was,” Torin admitted. “And it’s me here, not Jonah. So I think it’s just us.” The rest of the cabins that branched off of the lodging path were further away than Jonah’s, and if he didn’t hear then no one else would have. The thought was a comforting one.

“So,” Torin growled. “Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to interrogate it out of you,” Torin said in mock intimidation.

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” I retorted. “It was the night I fled, in all of his grotesque and scarring glory,” I said mockingly, trying to cover up my own discomfort with humor. “You know what happened,” I added.

The tea kettle let out a loud whistle, pulling us away from the painful topic. I rolled up and off the pillow semi-gracefully. I stood in front of the fire for a moment and grabbed the small pad of cloth that the flint box rested on. With the cloth in hand, I reached for the kettled handle and unhooked the kettle from the cooking rack. I turned to return to our pillows to see Torin holding both mugs out to me. I slowly poured the steaming liquid into the mugs, slightly swirling the water to ensure all of the bag’s contents are saturated. I replaced the kettle to the cooking rack, moving the hook so the kettle was off the fire but still warmed.

I returned to my pillow and took my mug from Torin, breathing in the relaxing aroma of the tea. For a few minutes, the two of us sat in silence, waiting for our tea to cool and watching the fire slowly go out before Torin brought my attention from the flames back to him.

“Was Mother there?” Torin asked, almost in a whisper.

After a moment of confusion, I realized that Torin was asking about my dream again. Torin’s mother wasn’t often talked about, in a similar way that we don't often talk about my true identity and how I came to be at The Tavern. When Chief Eurus got word of the arrangement the newest Lord Moor made on my behalf, he turned to his best sect of Bastards in the ways of espionage to infiltrate the merchant’s keep and return his niece. We had only met a couple of times prior to then, but he felt a sense of duty as family. He also felt that he could only entrust such a task to the woman he loved and the mother of his children, Sabine, my savior, and my aunt.

“Yes,” I said, turning towards Torin out of concern. His mother’s thick red hair shone in the fire’s light, but his father’s dark eyes stared at the fire with a sad intensity. I wasn’t sure if he wanted to know more, but when he didn’t ask, I didn’t continue. Torin was only fifteen the night he lost his mother and gained an adopted sister. He was hurt, he was angry, and for a short time, he blamed me for his mother’s death. Thankfully, time and working together as Flyers and Bastards brought us together. Jonah, on the other hand, took me under his wing, instantly becoming the protective brother I never knew I needed. But with Torin, we had to work at our bond. It took time to be this comfortable, and honest with each other.

“Did you hear his voice?”Torin continued on with his probe about my dream. My husband Kasrad was the final element that made my coming to The Tavern a typically “off-limits” topic of conversation. He is a wealthy, known merchant with great connections within the Crown. And yet, a child claims for him to have the magical ability to control people with his words and be able to project his voice over great distances. When I finally told Father about what happened, he passed Kasrad’s threat off as a child’s imagination for dealing with a difficult situation. But I knew the truth; there was more to Kasrad, and that night proved it, even if others didn’t believe me. All of this caused me to hesitate before answering. Would he believe me?

“...Yes,” I said cautiously. “It’s always the same threat,” I admitted. That night has haunted me for the last twelve season cycles. It’s what kept me silent for two seasons. And when I finally told Father and his advisors what happened, they didn’t believe me entirely. Most of the events that I described go hand in hand with what Sabine’s Bastards observed from afar. But they didn’t hear his voice; their lives weren’t marked as his.

“I’m sorry,” was Torin’s only response.

We went back to drinking our tea in silence, both left to our own thoughts. It always stung that people, perhaps even Torin and Jonah, didn’t believe me about what I heard that night in the passageway. But I never let that deter me from knowing what happened that night. I can’t explain how but everyone within his keep heard Kasrad as if he were right beside them, but the Bastards waiting for me at the end of that long passageway never heard a sound. What kind of magic does that?

Magic isn’t something that the Guild takes seriously. It is nothing more than a peddler’s trick to make money off the gullible that would rather cut corners than work hard. Magic potions are horse dung mixed with water that is passed off as the Essence of the Highest Above. But what is it when someone can project their voice and control people? To the Guild, that’s not magic; that’s a child’s imagination.

“Please, don’t tell Father,” I said, breaking our silence, still watching the fire.

Torin took another sip from his mug before continuing, taking a moment to think about what to say. “He would want to know,” he said.

“He is concerned enough as it is. And he has plenty to worry about as Chief. I could see how much it’s weighing on him at the Advisor’s Council last night. He isn’t getting much in the way of sleep either, by the looks of it,” I said.

“He’s not the only one who is concerned,” Torin retorted. “But I know. I’ve noticed it more and more lately. Between this constant mess with the scorch marks, and now the Crown, his mind has been very preoccupied,” he turned away from the fire to look at me before finishing. “ But I think keeping this from you truly bothered him. From you and Jonah.”

“Which is exactly why I don’t want him to know,” I said with an exasperated huff. “He’s worried enough about how I am going to handle this business with the Crown. Him knowing would only make things worse on him and me” B “I am fully capable of doing my duty, and he needs me to be able to, now more than ever,” I said, almost frantically. As if I was trying to convince Torin and myself of my ability to move forward.

“Okay, if you don’t want me to then I won’t tell him. But if they continue, you should.” Torin took a sip from his steaming mug of tea. “How are you feeling, otherwise?”Torin asked, redirecting the conversation again.

“Okay, considering,” I said, noting the change in topic. I relaxed into my pillow and breathed in the tea’s aroma. “The Crown has been known to fuck things for the Guild and the people so I am hesitant,” I said with a shrug. “But Olarik and Gaelin were different than the others; if he is suing for peace, then I think he genuinely means it,” I finished, taking a sip of my tea.

“Keep that in mind today at the Bastard’s Meeting,” Torin advised, still a bit tense despite the topic change. “ People aren’t going to be happy about having a member of The Crown around. Having your vote of confidence could help ease some minds.”

“You sound like a Chief already,” I said, smiling at the advice. When Torin didn’t respond, I looked over to see him staring off into the fire again.

Was that another sad smile?

“Are you okay?” I asked.

“Fine,” Torin said, a little too quickly. He pulled his gaze from the fire and gave me a forced half-smile.

“Bullshit,” I said with a huff.

“Fair enough,” Torin shrugged. “I’m worried about the meeting. Father wants me to take point in explaining the Crown situation at the meeting today.”

“You’re worried?” I asked incredulously. The family joker? Worried?

“Of course. People are going to be skeptical for a number of reasons. I just hope I know what to say to put them at ease.”

Like Father does. I added for him silently.

“You will make a good Chief someday,” I stated, hoping that my faith in him will give him some reassurances. “I believe it, Jonah believes it, and Father believes it.”

“It’s not you three I’m worried about,” Torin confessed.

“You’re right,” I agreed. Torin’s head snapped to look at me. I paused, almost for dramatic effect. “You need to believe it too.”

“I thought we were here to talk about you,” Torin said, trying to move the focus away from himself. He took another sip of his tea and looked back to the fire. The fire was starting to go low; getting that point of either adding another layer of logs or letting it go out.

“A good Chief can multitask,” I said. “And be honest with their advisors,” I pointed out, not letting him successfully move the topic again.

“Ah,” Torin said with mock surprise. “Are you my advisor, Little One?” Torin asked with a smile, using the family pet name for me, echoing his mother from my dream.

“Always,” I said smiling.

In tandem, we both extended our half-empty mugs and toasted to us.