"You're late." Aedan leans against a wall, his eyes are shadowed in the darkness of the hallway. The assassin regards me with disinterest, an ever impassive expression smoothing his features. As usual. I passed him in the halls earlier, following at Malia's heels like a hungry puppy. Now it seems he's back to his usual self. I wouldn't be surprised if it were all an act.

            "You're chipper. Had fun making friends, did you?" My response was unexpected, judging by his further retreat into himself. Usually, I'd not prod when he's clearly in a negative mood.

            "You're referring to Malia," Aedan narrows his eyes at me.

            "Of course," I drawl. "Who else?"

            "Do you have what I asked for?" He's referring to a small cask of water he'd requested I fill and bring with me. Who knows why? I did what he asked, assuming he had a viable purpose for it.

            "Yes, why did you need water, anyway? Don't tell me you were thirsty."

            "Let's just go. We have work to do." As usual, Aedan leaves me in the dark. It's not worth prying an answer out of him. We need to be quick.

            "Whatever. The library is upstairs. The black robes usually patrol, rotating night shifts.."

            "I know. I asked around." I have to clench my jaw to keep myself from saying something I'll regret. But why should I? I don't care if I hurt his feelings. The only reason we have anything to do with each other is this godforsaken mission.

       Yes, for the mission. Then we can go our separate ways. He'll be gone, out of my life for good.

            But I'll have to leave the country. Maybe I can convince Jiera to run away with me to some secluded corner of the world. We can live a humble life in the Zalasian Dunes. Or on the banks of one of Cavanna's many rivers.

            It's late, but the sleeping temple is no stranger to me. Roaming in darkness through the many halls and chambers of the temple's living quarters was a favorite pastime of mine as a child. I can't help the yawn that escapes my mouth, but I do my best to stifle it. It's a wonder I functioned properly on so little sleep back then, whereas now, I'm exhausted well before the strike of midnight.

            Aedan follows me down a series of corridors leading to the upper level of the southern wing. We round a corner, and a long, slanting shadow falls across the walls and floor in front of us. A black robed acolyte stands squarely in our path. There is no other way to get to the priest's library, and students do not have access, which is why we'd waited well past curfew in the first place. I open my mouth to suggest waiting until a change in the guard, but when I turn to Aedan, I find him pouring the water onto a black cloth, soaking it through. He wrings the excess water from the cloth with no regard for the marble floor beneath us.

       "What if we need to make a run for it? You're creating a slipping hazard!" I snap. Once again, Aedan just ignores me then stuffs it in his pocket. I'm about to express my annoyance when the assassin unceremoniously pushes past me, and calls out to the black robe.

            "Hey you!" His voice is a loud whisper. Already, his body language has morphed, I watch as he relaxes his shoulders and stance to present himself like that of someone relatively easygoing. The change never ceases to baffle me. He so effortlessly changes himself, taking on a new personality, to fit alternate purposes. I'd watched him become someone else entirely in Malia's presence, and I'd barely concealed my shock when he'd actually laughed. Jiera's and my passing was brief, but I'd seen enough to think Aedan might have a secret twin nobody knows about. I wouldn't be surprised if the man were schizophrenic.

            "No. Aedan— !" I try to stop him but he's already moved in, closing on the black robe. I duck behind the corner we'd just rounded. Hopefully he hasn't seen me.

            "You shouldn't be up here," The black robe replies. He looks about our age. I think I remember him from when we were younger. Jack? Jacob? Something of the sort.

            "Do you think you can point me in the direction of the stables? I really wanted to check on my horse." Aedan manages to sound just a tad worried, all while drawing closer to the black robe.

            "The stables? You're crazy if you think I buy that, especially after you—" The black robe eyes Aedan, suddenly interested in continuing this conversation.

            "That's right, the stables," Aedan interjects. "As for training, that was just practice. Nothing personal." Aedan shifts slightly, and from my angle I catch the glint of a glass bottle sliding free from his belt pouch. Of course I'd heard about Aedan's training incident. All people could talk about was how he'd nearly strangled Zion to death. But I keep my mouth shut.

            "That's not how I saw it. I don't know how you guys handle things in the north, but we watch out for each other here," Jacob is completely oblivious to what's about to happen. My heart beats wildly in my chest and I hope to God he doesn't kill him. He couldn't possibly be that stupid, could he?

            "Oh sure, I get it. But really do you think you can take me to the stables?" Aedan pops the cork off the tiny glass bottle with his thumb and pours the contents into his other hand in one deft movement.

            "Woah, wait, what's tha—" Jacob caught a glimpse of the bottle despite Aedan's nimble movements. The guy doesn't even get the chance to finish his sentence because Aedan swiftly brings his hand to his mouth and blows the powder, or dust, whatever it is, into Jacob's face. Immediately after blowing, Aedan covers his mouth and nose with a black cloth he pulls free from his pocket. The assassin watches as Jacob starts coughing, wheezing, inhaling the small cloud of powder all the while. Jacob falls to his hands and knees, coughing up a storm. It's too late, the dust is already in his system. I watch in horror as his body stills. He's dead. Or unconscious. Hopefully the latter. Seconds pass and I'm staring at the scene in utter shock, endless possibilities of what could happen to us if Aedan truly just killed a man run through my head like a stampede of wild mustangs.

            "You can come out now," Aedan calls from down the hallway. He's kneeling at Jacob's side. I draw near, apprehensive of the very still, crumpled form lying at Aedan's feet.

            "What the hell is wrong with you?" I try to keep my voice down— it comes out in a harsh whisper. Aedan simply ignores me— it's becoming a habit really— as if I were nothing more than a nagging gnat, and proceeds to check Jacob's pulse. He has his middle and index fingers pressed against Jacob's wrist when I unleash the rest of my concerns on him. "You could have killed him. How do you think that would look? The same night we arrive? And what are you planning to do when he wakes up? When he tells everyone you knocked him out?"

            "Would you relax, for once? He won't remember shit. You're not stupid, I know you know what I do for the king," Aedan rolls his eyes as if it should be obvious what's happened here, which only angers me.

            "You're right, I do, which is why I thought you poisoned him!"

            "Keep your voice down. I'm trained in herbalism. This is my master's recipe. A mix of Yulanda pollen for amnesia, and a dose of Somnifera powder to put him to sleep," Aedan rises from his squat. He wipes his dusted hands on the damp kerchief he'd used to cover his mouth.

            "You're absolutely unbelievable," I shake my head in disbelief, watching the assassin drag Jacob's body aside and props him up against the wall, as if he were only sleeping. Aedan dusts the powder from the sleeping boy, then again employs the use of his damp kerchief to swipe the remaining dust from the floor.

            "It won't affect us as long as it's wet. Unless you eat it, I guess," Aedan says with a passive shrug of his shoulders. I swallow the rainstorm of words I'd wanted to say only a second ago.

            "Ok. Grab his keys and let's go."

—

            The library is just as I remember. Impeccably dusted shelves, books in pristine condition covering nearly every subject known to us, and wide tables strewn with parchment and pots of ink for writing. This is where the priests and priestesses do their research. Student access to the upper level of the library is prohibited. The stairs spiraling from the ground floor to this upper level are roped off and the doors downstairs are locked after curfew. The way we came by is the best way to sneak in, as this hallway, although guarded, is not as often traveled. The first level halls are used widely, and branch off to many other parts of the temple— not ideal for a covert operation such as ours.

            I look over the edge of the railing, shelves upon shelves of books greeting my line of sight. The sconces are devoid of flame downstairs, but this level boasts of a few flickering candles to illuminate the space. My eyes scan the library, searching for anything out of the ordinary. Nothing seems to jump out at me. Aedan skulks off to one row of shelving, starting down it with a stoic expression. I pick my own aisle and begin combing through the books as well.

            "There are so many books," Aedan complains from the other aisle.

            "I know." We settle into an eerie silence, nothing but the sounds of our steps and breathing to interrupt the quietude of the space. The sound of leather covers scuffing against each other is soon followed by the rifling of pages. Though it's obvious he's decided to look through a book, still I ask, "What are you doing?"

            "Silas, listen to this. It's only dated within the past two hundred years. The Story of Creation, 1,876 N. E. New Era? That's ridiculous, right? How can they assume to know how everything was created? The world is much older than a mere two centuries."

            "And? It's only a translation of the original manuscripts—" I'm interrupted by the assassin's reading.

            "A vast expanse of darkness, uninterrupted until in blazing glory, life was born. In darkness, there came a spark, a flicker, then a blast of light. With the birth of the sun, life promptly followed. He once walked among us, more than a man, more than a Creator; a Father. We rely on Him, we live as long as His fire burns within us."

            "Will you stop that? I've heard the story before, thank you!"

            Aedan pays me no heed, "Agni created our world to house and sustain His people. He fashioned the earth with fire, hardening an earthen crust around a flaming core. From his hands came our mountains, and from tears of joy he wept our seas into existence.— Really, wept?— However, like all children, we fell into darkness when left to our own devices." I give up trying to argue with him, instead doing my best to tune him out, continuing my search through the rows and rows of books. Of course, I know the rest of the verses like the back of my hand; they'd been recited to me since childhood.

"As of the Old War, Agni departed from this land. His first commands were broken, thus He removed Himself from the world in punishment. In His dormant state, Agni resides above the world, His rays nurture us each day until our last. Every morning we must remember Agni's tenets. To live in peace is to burn long and brightly, but the souls of the wicked are quickly snuffed out." Aedan completes his reading, closing the book with a distinguished thump. I'm about to enjoy the blessed silence when he again speaks up.

            "So this was your grand idea? Go through every book ever written until we find The Book of Avhalia?" I'm in no mood for Aedan's ridicule, and this time, I don't bother refraining from snapping at him.

            "You're the only reason I was dragged into this mess," I tell him, my indignant tone as blatant as his bad attitude. "If you have a better idea, be my guest. But until we search this entire library, we are not moving on to the subterranean bibliotheca." Aedan parts the books between us and peers at me incredulously through the gap he's made.

            "You mean to tell me that there's an underground library— and we didn't start there?" Unadulterated disbelief marks the assassin's features. Embarrassment and annoyance further sour my temperament. I'm growing red in the face, my blood hot in my veins.

            "So what if I didn't?! Does that make sense to you? Starting there when it could be in plain sight here? It makes the most sense, logically, to start from the top and work our way down." Aedan prowls toward me, a scowl dispelling the former incredulity from his expression. He's getting close, too close for comfort, Towering over me in the narrow row.

            "You've been in a sour mood all night. You're here by the king's orders, to help me," The assassin's voice is low and deadly calm. I half expect him to put a knife to my throat. The way his fingers twitch at his side before balling into a fist confirms my thoughts.  "You're not here to make decisions for me, not to stand in my way when I remove people in our path, or to reprimand me when I think I should be searching elsewhere. Your best interests hinge upon my completion of this task. As quickly as possible."

            "He sent me, too, not just you, you don't get to just use me—" The retort dies on my tongue as he cuts me off.

            "I will use you. I will use your mother, I will use Jiera, Malia— anyone I need to, to find that book. He'll kill Rai— Gah!" Aedan's scowl deepens, while mine only fades. Raine? He expects me to believe the king would kill his own daughter? What a joke. I suppose I'd let myself see the humanity in him, ignoring the signs of a trained killer. Part of me is grateful— humbled even— by his outburst. Let it serve as a reminder of my betrayal, letting a trained assassin waltz right into my home. "Stand in my way and I'll dispose of you in a more permanent manner than I did our friend Jacob. Your idiocy has already cost us tonight. We'll continue our search tomorrow."

—

            "You're early," Jiera's voice is groggy from sleep when I wake her. I slide under the blankets to lay beside her in the bed. I haven't spoken to Aedan since the disaster of two nights ago. I'd tried reaching out to meet up again and continue our search but he was nowhere to be found.

            Eventually one of the black robes informed me that he'd gone to the stables to see his horse. Sol and Juniper have likely grown fat and lazy these past few days. They deserve a break, though. Our faithful steeds brought us all the way from Holtz. A few weeks rest is the least they deserve. I hope Aedan gives Juniper an apple for me. In fact, I think I'll go see her later. Jiera would think she's absolutely gorgeous. She can come with me. She might enjoy the break from her classes.

            Jiera, ever swamped with her studies, has been rushing to and from classes just to spend all hours of her free time studying in the library. Malia has a similar fervor about their upcoming exams, but there's something resembling instability, or fear in her body language whenever I happen across the two of them. Perhaps she fears failure.

            "I know, I'm sorry." I whisper, kissing Jiera's forehead. It's curious, this relationship between us. Old, but new. We'd been lovers, once, in the most innocent sense of the word. It isn't exactly like picking up where we left off, but being around her is so easy. She's herself, as she always has been. A steadfast spirit despite the whole world around me constantly changing.

            "You're in the library all hours of the night," Jiera says with a yawn. She sits up in bed, blinking the sleep from her eyes.

            "I'm just doing some research," it's not a total lie, but the words still turn my tongue to lead in my mouth, and tie my stomach into knots. I hate lying, especially to Jiera.

            I've taken it upon myself to research the Book of Avhalia. The more I learn, the less the idea of stealing it appeals to me. There's ancient magic in this land. A power that imbues all things with life and breath and soul. Any tales of Avhalia speak of a blessed lineage, chosen by God. The details are nonexistent, and what texts I've stumbled across are a struggle to discern, but even so, King Hector's interest in the book cannot be pure of heart.

—

            I'd forgotten how beautiful springtime in Naidara can be. The sky is a cloudless, cerulean blue, uninhibited except by spear-tipped cypress trees scraping against the heavens. The sun kisses my cheeks, warming my face and body. I make my way across the courtyard toward the back trail leading up to the stables, rather than taking the main road. Nature's usual hum in the background is a pleasant reprieve from the turmoil of my own thoughts. I stop in my tracks beneath the shade of blooming citrus trees, their fruit not yet formed.

            The hike up the trail proves as good a workout as any in the unabated Naidrin heat, and by the time I reach the stables, horses nickering in their stalls, I've broken out into a sweat. The smell of hay overpowers the scent of sea salt floating on a crisp oceanic breeze as it sweeps its way through the trees. My boots tread heavy on the gravelly soil, so it's no surprise when Aedan gains ear of my approach and comes out to greet me.

            "Oh, it's you," he grumbles just loud enough for me to hear.

            "How long have you been out here?" I ask with raised brows.

            "A bit before sunrise."

            Aedan heads back into the stables. I follow him inside. The stables are smaller than I expected, but the stalls themselves are spacious. Not many priests have their own horses. I suppose the stables are employed to house visitors' steeds more than anything else. Sol and Juniper's individual stalls are side by side. The mare nuzzles Sol's neck, who snorts in reply. I imagine his snort to be a reaction of the indignant sort, and the mare's returning tail flick to be akin to a diss. The thought makes me smirk to myself.

            "What's so funny?" Aedan asks, leveling a glare at me. He picks up a brush and lets himself into Sol's stall.

            "Oh, nothing," I reply. No way am I sharing that ridiculous bit of my imagination with him.

            "Doesn't look like nothing," he shrugs.

            Aedan runs the brush along Sol's sleek black coat. The stallion seems to be enjoying it. Aedan lays a blanket over Sol's back for extra padding.

            "What are you waiting for?" Aedan says as he harnesses and saddles the large steed. I blink at him, confused for a moment before I realize that he means to go for a ride together.

            "Oh," I state, then rush to saddle Juniper in a similar fashion. I suppose it couldn't hurt to go for a ride with him, right? The more he likes me, or at least gets used to me, the less likely he is to slaughter me in my sleep.

            I finish readying Juniper, then lead her outside to where Aedan awaits upon Sol's back. I fit my left foot into Juniper's stirrup and swing my other leg up and over her back. Not a moment after I'm seated in the saddle, Aedan and Sol take off into a gallop, the rider urging his steed ever faster.

            "If it's a race he wants, it's a race he'll get," I say, sending Juniper flying after them. Her hooves pound on the hard packed earth, her strides both rhythmic and powerful.

            We race through the forest until the trees give way to a broad open sky, paralleled by shrubbery and rocks that force us to slow down in order to safely navigate our horses through them. The bluffs by the ocean to our right, smoking chimneys and limestone buildings to our right, we travel eastward to circle the coast. The wind blows wildly in my hair, sending it every which way. Aedan's hair fares no better, but when he looks back at me atop his stallion, for the first time since I've met him, Aedan appears completely free of the strife of his life. It's always there, hiding in the shadows of his face, but in this instant, he appears as light as a cloud. It suits him, I think. Roaming free as we are— and I wonder how peaceful life would be if there were no King Hector, no book, no war or death or suffering at all. Just life and sunlight and the crashing of turquoise waves against a sandy shore.