She hears voices in the night.

At first she thinks it's the dreams, her memories addling her mind again, but she doesn't know one of the voices and the other isn't—

Well, it's Ruben's voice.

She slips out of bed, garbed in a white sheath dress, feet bare against the cool stone. The hallways are long and dark as she wanders down them, and as she grows nearer to the candlelight-framed door she can hear the voices jab back and forth, low and rushed like sudden gusts of wind. Her hand hangs limply on the doorknob as they parry words like the swinging branches of trees.

Allayria walks inside. At the table sits Ruben, face set in stone and fists lying clenched on the wood table. Opposite of him is a man with close-cropped black hair and facial hair that swoops up along the sides of his face in short, severe ridges. Bright splotches appear on the man's cheeks, and when his gaze sweeps over it pins her with an accuracy so much like a hunting bird.

A hand twitches at her side, flexing as if to dart up and cover the long white scar on her chest.

I can kill him, is the first thought that knocks into her mind. There's enough distance that if he lunges...

Ruben stands, knocking his chair back, and when he moves toward her his arms stretch out, as if to herd her away from the room.

"Go back to bed," he murmurs, the stoniness in his face crumbling. Some foreign emotion flashes like the rapid scrawl of lightning across his face, but Allayria does not move. She turns, pointing her gaze at the man still at the table.

"What has happened."

She doesn't ask; she states it flatly, feeling, despite the lateness and the thinness of her dress, a kind of calculated authority take over her.

Now is not the time to be weak.

The man's eyes widen for a moment, then he too stands, executing a sharp, perfunctory bow in her direction. He folds a hand behind his rigid back almost subconsciously, and she marks him for a military man.

"Your Excellence," he states, with another inclination of the head. This too is not a question. "I was not told you were here. Frankly," and now he looks up, shooting a searching look at Ruben, "I was not told you had regained consciousness."

He is not surprised I am alive.

She searches his face for a moment. How many people know it? And why has Ruben kept my whereabouts and condition secret?

She spares the Skill master a quick glance, placing a hand on his arm as she walks further into the room.

"It has, I think, been a recent development," she says simply, and extends a hand out toward him. "I don't think we have met. My name is Allayria."

His eyes narrow for a moment, locked on her face, and then he extends a hand, gripping hers with a forcefulness she had anticipated. It's a deadened, hollow echo that trawls up her skin; like a ghost of what human contact once felt like. Part of it makes her skin crawl and she fights to keep her fingers still, fights not to flinch from it.

"Commander Beinsho, Paragon."

"You are the commander of the Halften forces then."

His brows raise, a question twitching across them, but she supplies the answer before he asks:

"My parents are ambassadors, commander. I know my titles, and my provincial names."

This information is new to him too; she watches as his gaze flits around her face, trying to figure out in turn, where she is from. But she denies him this.

"I am afraid I am behind on the tidings of the world," she presses on, now turning back to look at Ruben, who has also come to the table, brow furrowed and lips curved downward. "My original question still stands: what has happened?"

The two men exchange a look, and she pulls up the chair Ruben had vacated. She sits down and places her folded hands on the tabletop.

"You do not seem to be a man who exchanges heated words unless a situation is dire," she says to Beinsho, weaving carefully around her words, around the patchwork mask she's trying to keep in place, an authority she does not feel. "I know Ruben is not. I think it is time I am brought up to speed on what is going on."

Ruben moves behind her, calling forward another chair so he sits at her side. Beinsho follows suit.

"Perhaps it is time," Ruben finally agrees, looking over at the commander and then her. "And, yes: the situation is dire."

He sighs, intertwining his fingers as he leans forward.

"You have been unconscious for more than three months," he begins. "It took me more than a week to find you after the events on Lethinor. I will not go into details now, we have more pressing things to discuss while Commander Beinsho is here, but should you like to know more later, I will tell you."

He pauses, and she understands the flash of warning in his eyes. There is more than one reason to move on.

"While you were injured, the news spread about what had happened up there. It is my understanding, from what I can gather from friends and allies, that it was widely propagated that the Paragon is dead; murdered by a radical group directly responsible for the attack on Fort Morgalth and the revelation of Brezkin's crimes."

He pauses here, and she senses the blow before he gives it:

"It is also widely said that you were part of this group and took part in those actions before they betrayed you."

She doesn't let it cross her face. Beinsho is watching. She says nothing, and so Ruben goes on:

"The Jarles have interpreted your involvement in both incidences as a covert act of war, and have pointed the blame at all of the other provinces, claiming that this group was not a fringe, lone operator, but government insurgents. They have used this as an excuse to declare open war on Roften and Keesark."

"I see," she murmurs, the words barely above a whisper.

"The Jarles are making inroads across the two provinces," Beinsho interjects, tracing a finger across the table. "They are just moving along the supply lines they have already established, the lines of military control we already knew existed, long before this declaration."

At this, he shoots a sharp look at Ruben. "If we do not respond now they will have captured key points in both provinces that will enable them to attack Solveig and Halften next."

"I am not saying you are wrong," Ruben murmurs, "just that we need to consider all options before we act."

"There is no time to sit around and ponder," Beinsho shoots back. "We need to move now, we need—" and his gaze finds Allayria once more, "to unify our efforts."

Ah, so this is it.

She looks between them. She knows what Beinsho wants her to say, but she decides to skip ahead to the heart of the matter instead.

"You want to tell the world I am alive," she says, holding his gaze.

"I wanted to spread the word around, yes," he says. "Now, with you moving around and clearly cognizant, I want you to start showing up places—visiting the king in Solveig, attending meetings in Halften."

"Publicly supporting the military response in Roften and Keesark," she supplies.

He nods.

"Yes, public shows of support for Roften and Keesark are necessary," Ruben cuts in, a frown growing on his face, "I don't deny that action must be taken—by all the provinces—but I disagree strongly that this must include revealing Allayria. Right now the whole world thinks she is dead—it is a blow to morale for the people, certainly, but it is also an element of surprise that would be squandered on staged greetings and meetings."

He sits back, arms crossed.

"There have been enough rumors, especially in the coast cities and commercial hubs, of what the Jarles have been doing. There is no love lost for them, and despite their proclamations there are strong murmurings of the truth. What Brezkin did has been told widely amongst the rich as well as the poor; people have not forgotten who funded his betrayal."

"So what?" Beinsho asks, a tick twitching in his cheek. "What good is this element of surprise? How do you plan on making it worth the delay?"

"What good is it?" Ruben's brows rise. "The Jarles think she is dead, Beinsho. We have someone who, if she chooses, has a skill set that the Jarles will not see coming."

He gestures at Allayria. "I have seen her fight; I have fought her myself—I know what she can do. This is not someone who should be squandered on petty politics."

And then he glances at her, and she can see the long measure he takes as his gaze meets hers.

"Give her time—time to get back into shape, time for me to teach her. Then find where you need that surprise the most and let her do what she does best. You'll get your press, but you'll also claim a tangible defeat on the Jarles."

Ruben drums his fingers on his belly, before adding: "Of course, the choice to do any of this is up to Allayria. She must decide if she wishes to support the four kingdoms."

The look of incredulity on Beinsho's face would be amusing if not for the way it fixes his attention on her. There's no mistaking the demand for a response there, nor fleeting look of suspicion that follows it.

She swallows.

"I do support the four kingdoms," she states, and, thinking honesty would be best in the moment, adds: "I may have mixed feelings about my title—I won't deny it—but I wholeheartedly support the kingdoms in this."

She looks up at Beinsho. Her hands begin to shake now, so she slides them under the table, gripping her fingers together.

"Some of those rumors are true. I was part of that group, and they betrayed me. I won't defend what they have done, nor will I defend what I did while I was with them, but I will tell you this: after we found that letter in Fort Morgalth we raided a secret store of Brezkin's. You read about it, I am sure, and about what they found there. But what the authorities uncovered is not all of what Brezkin had."

She breathes in a moment, and then presses on:

"He also had a book, a kind of account of what the Jarles were asking—of what he thought they were doing and what they had showed him. They were experimenting on children. The raids, the access to the city, the abductions—the Jarles wanted children for this 'Cerebrum Project' and by the looks of the information in that book, they were opening them up and trying to put devices in them. On the spine, in the skull. He had diagrams and everything."

Beinsho's face darkens and he leans forward.

"Where is this book?"

Allayria shakes her head. "The people I was with have it."

"How can you be sure it is true?" Beinsho presses on. "Did you see these children at the fort?"

"No. I can't be completely sure, but I can tell you one thing: prior to our raid on the fort we ran into a band of Jarles soldiers while traveling through Roften. I thought it was strange at the time, and now I wonder at it more: one of the soldiers was a Nature-caller."

"A what?"

Both Ruben and Beinsho lean sit up, looking alarmed.

"He was a Nature-caller. He sent a club made of ice at my head." She flinches at the memory, and the following recollection of Ben, leaning over her, pressing fingers along her temple, worry etched across his face.

Don't think about it.

The two men are exchanging glances, twin frowns stretching across their faces.

"I have not heard of such a thing," Ruben says.

"Nor I."

"I saw no others," she adds, fingers twisting around her wrist. She thinks of the prisoners she met in the hills surrounding the fort. "The prisoners at Fort Morgalth did not seem to know of them either."

"This concerns me," Beinsho murmurs. "None of our informants have said anything about either of these things—there were rumors of children in internment camps, but nothing about experimentation."

He runs his hand along the sides of his chin, his frown deepening.

Beinsho looks back up after a moment and says: "I will inform the council of this. But as Ruben says, Paragon, the choice of how to move forward is yours. What say you?"

Allayria hesitates, then asks: "Do we have time?"

Beinsho's head tilts fractionally and he seems to measure her words, as if to pry them apart to deduce the intent beneath.

"We have some time," he finally answers, "but not much."

Allayria looks from him to Ruben, then back again.

"I should like to help," she says. "If I can do something more than make appearances, I would like to do it."

His face remains hard and flat, but Allayria thinks she spies the faintest upward quirk in the corners of his lips.

Perhaps he does not entirely dislike me after all.

"If that is what you wish, Paragon, we must move quickly." He turns toward Ruben now, addressing him: "You know you cannot stay here."

Ruben sighs.

"No, we cannot," he agrees, clambering to his feet as well. "We must continue our training on one of your bases, it seems."

Beinsho nods.

"And with a team too, I think," he adds, throwing his cloak around his shoulders and fastening the ragged rock clasp at his throat. "A team we can trust."

"Perhaps we start with one trustworthy man," Ruben suggests, and Beinsho glances up.

"One trustworthy man," he echoes, rolling the words around his mouth slowly. "Yes, I quite agree. We'll begin there."

He holds out a large hand and Allayria takes it.

"Paragon," he says, bowing low over their clasped hands. "It has been an honor."

Allayria inclines her head, feeling the strangeness of not bowing as low to such a man.

"The honor has been all mine, Commander," she returns.

He pins her with that strange, skeptical stare once more, but turns, clasping Ruben's hand with a simultaneous brace on his shoulder. They exchange farewells, and then he is gone.

She stands still, waiting for Ruben to turn back to her. He does so, after a moment, but instead of furrowed brows or a deep frown he wears a smile, small and somehow sad.

"So we leave tomorrow," he says simply.

She searches his face.

"Was it the right thing to do?"

He frowns, then answers: "I think so."

Hesitating, he folds his hands together over his large belly.

"You did well with him."

"You think so?" Allayria asks, looking past him to the door. "I don't think he much liked me."

"Commander Beinsho did not get to his position by being trusting. You impressed him, I think, but you are also known to have had sympathy with and aided people who he considers enemies of his state. It is not something he will quickly look past."

"So I probably shouldn't have admitted as much to him," Allayria supplies, feeling a bitter smile form on her face.

"Oh, I think that is incorrect," Ruben says. "It was your honesty that most recommended you to him, and a large part of the reason he believed your information or agreed to our plan."

She looks up.

"You think he believed me, then?"

He shrugs.

"I'd say you convinced him enough that he's taking precautions. A thousand other explanations are still jangling around in his head."

"A prominent one being that I am some kind of spy, planting false information to undermine the provinces and further my own ideologies."

He fixes her with a knowing stare.

"A commander must consider all possibilities."

She frowns at that, and then thinks back on all the possibilities she should have considered.

"He is wise to do so."

A/N: A full view of the artwork,"Allayria," can be found on my deviantart account here:  https://asimsluvr.deviantart.com/art/Allayria-712220026. Face reference: faestock.

The Nature Skiller was discovered way back in "The Only Souls in the Universe" chapter of Paragon; the black book is discussed in the "Of Cellars and Swines, Part 1" and, you guessed it, "The Little Black Book" chapters.