| Chapter Twenty-One | Cries of Freedom |

Adara sat on her knees, using her hands to scoop up the broken glass that littered the floor. When she had woken up on the floor, she was confused and dazed, but the events of the night before came flying back to her; she remembered losing control. Her face burned with shame, for she has never exploded as she had done that night.

She presses her hand against her forehead as she dumps the glass into a small trashcan. Her head felt as though it was splitting apart — Jasper on one side and Adara on the other. One wanted her to kill ruthlessly and the other wanted her to back away and never hurt another soul; it was breaking her into pieces.

The throwing star was still lodged tight in her door, so she ripped it out in one swift pull. She could have sworn that the innkeeper was in her room last night, but he was not. He was dead, yet she saw him anyways. It chills her to the bone as she tucks the star back into its harness, the hairs on her arms stand up straight.

"What is wrong with me?" Adara asks as she sits on the edge of her bed, gripping her head with her hands.

Adara wanted her life to end, she could not bare hurting another soul. Jasper wanted her life to continue, living to hurt others. She wanted the guilty to be punished and the innocents to be free, but she was being tugged in two directions. Her identity ceased to exist, she was simply no one.

She remembered how she snapped at the prince when he asked about her name. She grit her teeth. Not a soul knew why her name was Jasper, only she and her final teacher. The thought made her sick to her stomach, her entire body covered in chills and sweat. Her throat burned as she threw up into her sheets, her arms shaking.

Her groans fill the air as she slams her fist into the bed — she was still weak. Adara and Jasper were sent away for five years without training and without killing, so her skills were lacking. Both Jasper and Adara were weak, and she was not sure if they would ever go back to the way that they were five years before. She still was unsure as to if she was Jasper or Adara.

Adara Nightsong was the name her parents gave her; the parents who sold her when she was only five. The parents who did not want her. Jasper was the name her teacher gave her; the man who forced her to kill her best friend, her only friend at the time. The man who made it his personal mission to rip her apart and stick together the pieces he idolized in a weapon.

"I do not have time for this," she hisses as she sits up, gathering her sheets together and throwing them away.

The moment you doubt yourself is the moment you lose — that was what her teacher told her. She could not choose between one half of herself or the other. Doing that would kill her. She would truly be no one. She had to be both the angel and the devil, both Adara Nightsong and Jasper.

Jasper Nightsong; she liked the sound of it. Ruthless killer of evil, merciful saver of innocents. She could be both, she just had to keep each side under control. If one tipped the grand scale, she could fall apart. In the end, her name did not matter; she chose to believe that her name would not define who she was.

Many who heard the name, Jasper, cower in fear and imagine the horrid monster who kills for pleasure. Many who heard the name, Adara Nightsong, turned their noses at an outcast who held contempt for useless violence. Jasper Nightsong could be both: strike fear into the hearts of the wicked and bring joy to those who have been hurt by other's wrongdoings.

Still, embracing both sides of herself frightened her. What scared her most of all was that if she began killing again, she might not be able to stop herself. The idea of losing control of her mind scared her more than anything else in her world.

"If I can not stop myself," she whispers, "who will be able to stop me?" She asks. Horror floods her bones at the thought.

No, she would not think of that, thinking like that would only bring more suffering. More pain. She would not have to worry about her bloodlust. She knew that once her king was dead she would be as well, and then she would not have to hurt anyone ever again. It was her life's mission to finish what she started, and it would be her last mission.

She also knew that wallowing in her own self-pity was also not going to do any good. She had reason to feel sorry for herself, but she could not continue to live in the past. She could not change what happened to her, so there was no point in wondering where she might be right now if she had not been sold, or where she might be right now if she had been loyal to her king.

Still, a part of her wondered if she would have still wound up in the same position she was in now; every child goes to a school, she was not the exception. She could have still went to the assassin school, she could have still served her king, she could have still tried to kill him. She wished she had those answers, but she did not. She would not ever have those answers.

She ran her hands through her tangled hair, frustrated and confused. Grabbing her dagger, she flips it around in her hand, breathing deeply. It was not like her to feel things like fear. She grew up doing whatever she wanted, being nothing but happy, and then she was in training. In her training she was never fearful, she just did what was asked of her.

Fear was a foreign concept to monsters like her. Fear was a lie; nothing but deception. Fear was felt by people who had never lived. In her life, she brought fear wherever she went. She never felt it before, but she felt it now.

She still was unsure as to what she was afraid of — being an assassin again, seeing her king again, dying. None of these used to scare her, but she felt sick even thinking about any of those scenarios. Useless. It was useless to fear the inevitable, yet she feared it. She could not bare the uncertainty. The fear consumes her.

"My gods," she whispers as she slowly drops onto her knees, her nightgown bunches around her sides, "please lend me your strength."

Her blood ran cold as she started to remember — to remember a time before she ever knew what killing was. She closes her eyes as tears drip down her face and onto her hands that were clasped tightly in front of her. Her heart aches as she tilts her head to the sky, remembering a simpler time and a simpler place.

"My gods," Adara watches her mother sink to the floor, tears flooding her eyes, her forest green robes bunched at her knees. "Please lend me your strength," her mother whispers.

"What's wrong?" Adara asks as she stands next to her mother, her own eyes mimic her mother's. Tears fall down her cheeks, "mama, please, don't cry," she whispers.

"Come here," her mothers opens her arms, pulling her small child into her chest — holding her tightly. Adara did not know it, but her parents had just lost their farm, losing all of their coin with it. "My sweet baby," her mother whispers.

Her mother held her for what felt like an eternity; Adara breathed in the smell of fresh dirt on her hands. She tucked her arms close to her chest, allowing herself to be cocooned by her mother's embrace. For her, it was blissful peace. For her mother, it was sorrowful despair.

"Baby," her mother smiles, holding her daughter's hand and pulling her next to her, helping her get to her knees. "Pray with me, and everything will be alright," her mother nods, more-so for her own sake than her daughter's.

Adara cries at the memory, but she laughed at the small remembrance of her mother; before her mother gave her away like garbage. Still, she found herself clasping her hands in front of her chest, like she had done that day. She slowly said the words she had said with her mother all those years ago.

"To my goddess of life," she echoed her mother's voice, closing her eyes, "please aid us in our struggles to provide for us a light to guide us to our salvation."

"To my goddess of death," she continues solemnly, quietly, "please show us that through our hardships comes our rebirth into the six gates of our godsands."

She stops, breathing deeply and letting out a shaky breath; she forgot to breathe. She laughed at her hands before her, smiling. Her mother did her best to memorize the gods of her people, but she was human and was used to her one god. Her mother had only prayed to two of them, only trusted two of them.

There was a knock on the door as her mother wiped the tears from her eyes. Adara stood quickly, smiling, running to their old wooden front door. Throwing it open, she laughed as she hugged her father's knees, blissfully oblivious to the dried tears that stained his face.

She jumped, flinching, when there was a knock on her own door. Her eyes widen, both in fright and hope. She knew it was ridiculous to even consider that her father could be at the door, yet her heart yearned for it. Her chest swelled with hope as she grabs the side of the cushiony bed, pulling herself to her feet.

She walked slowly, her heart flutters in her chest like a butterfly dancing through the wind. Every step is the the butterfly going up and down with each torrential gust. Finally landing on a daisy, holding on and waiting for the storm to pass, her hand reaching out gently to the doorknob. Another knock, her heart skips another beat.

Turning the knob, she sucked in a deep breath, her head floods with longing. Her father had not cared about what she had done in the past, he was always just pleased to have his little girl back, even though she did not act like it most of the time. He understood what made her what she was — pain. He never tried to change that. He just understood.

When she pulls it open — for a second — just a single second, she thought she saw her father on the other side of that door. She thought she could smell the aroma of hot metal in his hair, the taste of smelting iron so prominent that she could taste it, but then it vanished. Who stood in front of her instead was the prince, confusion written across his face as he watches the girl in front of him smile in what looked like relief with tears dripping down from her emerald green eyes.

"Are you hurt?" The prince asks quietly, his eyes searching her face. She looked as though she had seen a ghost.

"No," she shakes her head, "I thought that you were someone else." She swallows the lump in her throat, "I am glad it is you instead."

"You're sure?" He asks, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips, "that you are alright?" He says, leaning on the doorframe.

"Yes," she laughs, wiping her eyes gently with her hands, "I would not lie." She wipes her hands on her nightgown, "I'm alright."

"Good," he smiles, "I was worried I upset you last night." He runs a hand through his hair, "I was out of line," he sighs, his smile falters.

"You couldn't have known," she smiles, putting a hand on his arm, "Maybe one day I will tell you," she whispers, blinking slowly.

Her cold hand touched his arm gently, and it was then that he realized how sickly she was. Her skin was so pale it looked almost translucent, her body covered in sweat. She still wore her nightgown, and her hair was hanging in thick tangles down her back. All in all: she was sick, just like how she was sick when they were prisoners. He just was not sure how she was so sick so quickly.

"If you are not feeling well," the prince whispers, not wishing to directly confront her physical state. He would not want to offend her, not when they had finally come so far. "We could postpone our mission," he suggests, quietly, quickly, hesitantly.

"No," she shakes her head, "I am doing this."

"You still can," he says, "but you should do it when you are healthy and able to do so."

"I am doing this," she shakes her head, walking past him into the hallway, her shoulder hits his arm and she spins to face him; her back against the cold wall. "Because if I do not do it now then I never will, and I have to fix my mistakes," she says, almost shouts, her hands tremble in front of her.

"You would still get to," the prince frowns, closing her door and staring into her lost eyes. "Just maybe in a few days, when you're better," he tries to change her mind.

It does not work. "No, I have to do this now," she whispers, running her hands down her face. "I am the one who helped put those women in there, so I owe it to them to get them out of there," she says, her voice shaking, body trembling, her heart aching as she says, "I can not make them wait any longer."

They stand quietly after that. She leaned against one wall, he leaned on the wall across from her. Neither looks the other in the face. The silence washed over them as the rain does to a barren field, washing away the death and decay. Still, they felt the shadows of that death and that decay behind them, like a stain, never completely going away.

"Listen," the prince says quietly, "we will do it tonight if you insist." He blinks rapidly, nervous. "But if something happens, we are not staying," he says with conviction.

"That is not what we agreed on," Adara says.

He does not let her finish, "that was before I knew how sickly you were." He stands up straight, "you can barely hold yourself up," he says, "so no, if you get hurt, we leave."

They stood quietly, again, across from one another, one in anger and the other in sadness. He did not want to put her life over innocents but he had to. She did not want to put her life over innocents, but she had to. They needed her to get to the king; she was vital to their plans.

"As much as it pains me to say such things," he says quietly, "your life is more important than the lives of the women that we intend on freeing." He runs a hand through his hair, frowning, "you have to be safe, so you can help change the future of this Kingdom, for those who you are unable to save now."

"But my life is not as important as you think," she says in a hushed voice, her chest felt as though the insides had been gutted out; nothing left but a large gaping black hole. "I am replaceable," she whispers.

They were thrust back into the deep pits of silence as an elf walks between them, down the hallway, his eyes skim over them. She knew though that he was taking in every small detail. What they wore. How they stood. The smallest details in the face; a frown, a hint of pink on their cheeks, a small tear in an eyelash. It was what she would look for.

"Forget it," she dismissed him with those few short words, filled with nothing but contempt. Not at the prince, but at herself. For saying too much, again and again.

She stands expectantly, waiting as he slowly moves to the side, letting her put a hand on the doorknob before speaking. "Just be safe," he says quietly, "and you are not replaceable to me," he whispers before turning on his heels as her eyes bore into his back. Not with hate. Far from it.

It all felt so wrong, she thought as she turns her gaze from the prince, walking into her room and closing the door behind her. He slaughtered her parents, kept her locked in a cell, her sworn enemy. Still, she could not forgive him, but she could accept him. He did what he thought he had to do. She could almost consider him a friend.

She found herself questioning every singe thing that she did. Questioning every single thing that she thought. Questioning every single thing that she said. She questioned everything, and it was taking its toll. She saw it, and so did the prince.

She changed slowly, putting on each piece of her outfit. First her pants, then her undershirt, then her harnesses and sheathes for her weapons, then her weapons. Every time she added a piece, she lost a piece of Adara, and she gained a piece of Jasper. And it went, North to South and East to West. It went up and down and side to side. Never settling on one or the other.

It took her only a few moments to brush the tangles out of her hair, and only a moment more to pull it into a ponytail. Exriam, who had been sleeping, crawled slowly across the floor and onto her calf, hugging her tightly. She walked out of her room quietly, securing her mask over her face, sealing away Adara, and freeing Jasper.

When she turned to walk down the hallway, she bumped her shoulder on another person, knocking her sideways. Turning around, she half expected it to be the prince or even Raiali playing a trick on her. But her eyes showed her someone else. Tal'anga. Her torturer.

Her blood ran cold, listening to the screams and feeling the tears that were shed in his company. She took a step back, hitting the wall with her back. Breathing deeply, she told herself it was not real. He was not there. She swore she saw him turn and glance at her once more before stalking away. Next time she looked over, there was no one in the hallway with her.

"He is not here," She whispers, "he can not find me here." Reaching a hand down, she smiles as Exriam pushes his head into her palm. He was warm, and she thought he was growing bigger each day. He would let her know if someone was there, he would protect her as she protected him. "Thank you," she says quietly as she pushes herself off the wall, heading back down the hallway.

"Jasper," Raiali says as she walks into the room, he wore all black similar to her, "how kind of you to make an appearance." She ignored his smart remark. He was not what she noticed. The prince was where her eyes landed.

Prince Leonidas also wore black. He wore tight black pants like she did, and a black shirt with a black harness around his chest. He had black boots on, and his jet black hair looked as though it had been washed, free of sand and dust. His sword was hidden in a black sheath on his hip. He looked like one of them. He could be one of them. The thought made her smile.

"I figured we would head out and scout around," Raiali says, ignoring her stares at the prince's body. "I also thought we would be doing it before daylight, but that is what I get for assuming," he rolls his eyes. "We do not have to stay long, just long enough to size up the guards," he adds, looking her over.

She did look sickly, just like the prince said, but he did not mention it to her; he held the information close to his chest.

"That sounds good to me," the prince nods. He runs a hand through his hair, "I do not want to leave you," he says to Nacajii, patting her on the head. She whimpered loudly, her eyes wet with what almost looked like tears; she had just found him and now he was leaving her to go on a mission where he could die. The both of them looked very nervous to leave one another.

"She will be fine here," Fashuda says from behind the bar, "despite her rampage, we wish her no ill will."

The prince nodded, but still looked nervous. "Anyways," he says quietly, continuing to pet Nacajii comfortingly, "after we go scouting we could come back here and get some clothes and bandages for the girls." He was trying to distract himself, and be thoughtful. If he was forced to do what the girls were being forced to, he figured he would probably want to have clean clothes too.

"Good idea," Raiali says, "then we can pack them up and head back over after dark and get this massacre over with." He laughed, "I cannot believe how exhilarating the idea of killing is right now." He smirked, "to be a good guy." To be a good guy. She wanted to nod, but she did not feel like a good guy. She put most of those girls there to begin with. She is the bad guy.

"Come on," she says, cutting their daydreams short. She had no time for that. Those dreams would never come true. They would always be the bad guys, and not even what they were doing now could ever make them the good guys. "Let us get this over with," she says with a certain melancholic tone, the prince catches it as she turns and walks away from them.

The two men walk slowly, a ways behind the assassin, watching her closely. When the prince came to Raiali and told him that Adara was not acting right, he figured that he meant who Jasper was — Jasper and Adara were two very different personas. He realized now that he meant she was not acting right at all; she was sick, physically at least.

He could tell just from the way she walked, slowly, using her hand against the wall to guide herself down the hallway. How her eyes looked as though they belonged to someone else; waxy and pained with sickness. This was not the Jasper he trained, or the Jasper he found in the street, and this was not the Adara he sent to Juula. He was not sure who this was anymore.

The three climb the creaking ladder onto the roof; each of them had the same destination in mind, but each of them were thinking completely different thoughts. Each of them was troublingly distracted, which each of them knew was not a good thing to be. Not when they were going to be in danger. It was asking for trouble, but they were going to do it anyways, to finish what she started all those years ago.

"Hey," Raiali says, "kid, you have to pay attention to what I am showing you." He sighs angrily, "if you do not, you are going to be just like the rest of the students."

"Dead," she whispers, "is what I will be."

"Do not think about that," Raiali snaps, voice loud and booming, "do not think about anything." He ties the black blindfold tightly around her eyes, while tearing his own away from her.

"I do not want to die," she says quietly.

"Empty your mind," Raiali continues, shaking his head as he took a step back from her. He did not want her to die either. "Think not of your parents or your mortality, think of your task, what is your task?" He asks.

"Find the enemy and terminate," she says.

"Good, focus on that," Raiali says, grabbing her shoulders and walking her forwards. "Let it center you, finding the enemies and eliminating them swiftly and quietly," he whispers, "it could mean life or death."

"Life or death," she whispers, "thank you."

He hesitates; his mind racing with everything he wanted to say but could not. "Sometimes it is better to go to them, they least expect it," he whispers to her as he pushes her into the room, closing the door behind her and locking it, his heart beating out of his chest.

Ten children would go into that room, and when it was all over, ten will exit. Nine of those ten will then be slaughtered, and he would be the one to do it. He knew which child would win — it would be her. She would not know that she caused nine deaths until she was older. But he knew she would be fine, so long as she kept her mind empty.

Raiali looks at the girl who he once swore to forever protect and keep safe; he vowed it on the day he sent her back to her parents. He failed though. He failed, because the prince got her, Tal'anga got her, that innkeeper got her, and now the king has her, and she does not even realize it. He failed her.

He watches her leap from rooftop to rooftop. Each time she landed, she had to take a break, her entire body aching. It was as though each time she jumped, it drained a bit more of her energy. Before the prince could follow, Raiali snatches his arm.

"Has she been sick like this before?" Raiali asks, any hint of joking or happiness is gone. "I need to know, right now, were there any signs at all that she was sick?" He growls, shaking the prince. "If you want to care for her, truly, then you need to tell me," he snaps.

The prince grimaces, his first instinct is to pull away, but he refrains from doing so. A part of him did care for her, deeply, even if it would not last. "Um — when we were taken," the prince remembers with a small tremor in his voice, "they made her sick."

"How?" Raiali asks, wishing that he had asked sooner. "What did they do?" He growls, "what do you mean they made her sick?" Raiali was angry, which the prince had not seen before, and even though it was not aimed at him, he was terrified.

"They gave her pills," the prince says, his hands quiver as he remembered being chained to the wall, helpless. "They made her see things," he whispers, "and it scared her badly." He shakes his head, "I do not want to remember."

"You do not have to now," Raiali says, sighing, remembering again that the prince is a child. Jasper is a child. They are children, and they are in positions incomprehensible to most adults. "It's a'right now," Raiali pats the prince gently on the shoulder. He could only imagine what they had to face with Tal'anga, but he knew it was not good if both Jasper and the prince did not want to remember.

They go from roof to roof, careful not to make too much noise. Careful not to let their shadows be seen on the ground below. Raiali could not get it out of his head. What they could have given her to make her scared. Terrified even. He only knew of one thing — straight from the Adwabi themselves. Xaranthian Teardrops. Surely that was what they gave her, and surely they gave her too much.

The thought made his blood boil, but he could do nothing, not yet anyways. There was nothing he could do from the rooftops, but once they were finished, he could fix her. He would fix what Tal'anga broke. His hands clench into tight fists as he thinks about him. He was going to make him pay for his crimes. One day. One day soon, he swore it.

"Stop," Raiali holds an arm out in front of the prince, crouching on the edge of the rooftop. Jasper had laid down on the roof a few buildings down, gesturing for them to stop. Raiali spotted it, but the prince had to learn to notice these things. "Stay low and stay quiet," Raiali whispers, staring out, searching for what has them stopped.

She bit her lip as she crawls slowly to the edge of the roof, staring numbly over the edge. Tal'anga, leading a group of soldiers donning spears and shields, laced with thick black goo. She bends her fingers slowly, remembering how quickly he had broken her hand, like it was a piece of paper. He could break her, and he could do it without even trying. The thought made her sick to her stomach.

She listens closely, doing her best not to be seen, her heart stalls in her heart at their words. "The king has ordered it himself," Tal'anga chants to them, "he wants her alive, to try her to the full extent of his law; however, we know that she is extremely dangerous," he smirks, "so should she be injured or killed, we would be doing the peoples of the sister capitals a great service."

The men erupt into fits of uncontrollable laughter, finding delight in the prospect of torturing her and killing her. She felt her hands shake as she pushes herself backwards, rolling onto her back, staring at the sky above; her chest heaving as the air fell stagnant around her. She could not imagine that so many people who had not ever met her could want her to suffer so badly.

As she lies there, she is forced to listen to them fantasize of all the ways to hurt her. Horrible things that had already been done to her, and things she would not have imagined. Things that the innkeeper had done to her. Just like that, she could feel his hands all over her body, poking and prodding and kissing and hugging. She felt tears drip from her burning eyes as she felt him on her, again and again and again.

Her hands trembled with rage as she rolled onto her stomach, angered at their words. She was Jasper. She was not just some little girl who could be used. Not anymore. Crawling to her knees, she grabs her blade tightly in her hand, squeezing it so hard she thought it might snap in half like a twig.

She cried out as a hand grabs her around the waist, another tightly around her mouth. She falls back onto her rear, dropping her blade. Her brain screamed at her to fight, but she couldn't. It was like that night with the innkeeper all over again. Powerless. Hopeless. She just collapsed into the body behind her, her heart stalled in her chest, her own limbs paralyzed.

"What was that?" One of the soldiers asks, all of them turning in circles, searching for where it came from. Searching for whom made the noise. All of the men raised their spears, ready to kill.

"Silence, men," Tal'anga booms, making her flinch as though he had struck her himself. "Getting riled up over a small sound like that will get you killed, it is very well an animal or couple within the house," he sighs as though it was the truth — it was far from it and even he had his doubts.

She sits there until their feet can no longer be heard crunching in the sand anymore. Once they were gone the figure released her, she collapsed onto her hands and knees, throwing up. Purging herself of the emotions that raged when she even heard Tal'anga's voice. When she finished, she rolled over, staring at whom grabbed her. Raiali. She stares at him tiredly; her whole body riddled with shakes and sweat, her mind a flurry of jumbled thoughts.

"Was that's who I thought it was?" Adara whispers, asking quietly as her hands seem to vibrate at her sides. "Was it?" She closes her eyes, "him?" She shudders.

"If you mean Tal'anga, yes, that was him," Raiali says with anger behind every word. He wanted nothing more than to jump right off the roof with her and slaughter them all — but they had poison and she could barely stand. "He was right there, you heard correctly," he reassures her, trying to soothe her nerves, "he is gone now and can't lay a finger on you."

"And you," she says even quieter, "you are here with me." She blinks hesitantly, drawing her hand away from him, "please, tell me you're here with me right now."

"I am here," Raiali nods, "I'm always gonna be right here for you, like I shoulda been when I sent you away."

"Good," she whispers, nodding, crawling to her feet unsteadily. Raiali wasted no time as he waves the prince over, the three hop a few more roofs until they saw it. The building where she could get some resolve. A way to lighten her soul, but all she could think about was Tal'anga and his plans for her.

Raiali grit his teeth as he stared at her from behind; she leaned against a small brick chimney, her hands gripping it tightly. She was not ready to face the horrors behind the blacked out windows, but he knew there was no stopping her now. He just prayed her mind would not fall apart before they could complete the task at hand.