Juda, who had spent most of his life, moulding himself around a heart that held nothing but hatred and malice, who had forced himself to become numb to it all—a cold, empty thing—felt the crack split him down the middle. A hairline fracture that separated the man he was now, from the boy he had been when Aleina had lived. Screams echoed in his ears as if he was standing portside again, watching her being dragged onto that ship, only this time, it was not her screams he heard, but Elara's.

With a cry of such violent rage that he thought it might tear his body apart, Juda grasped the grip of his sabre, sliding it free of its scabbard and, as he moved upon the king, the shadows finally came alive around him.

The Druvari warriors expertly concealed within the antechamber were quick, encircling him until he was surrounded. Juda held his stance, blade ready, his astute gaze picking out the ones who would attack first, the ones who would hold back, the ones who eyed him with fear.

And yet, despite the many opponents who wished to cut him down, it was the king he inevitably sought out—the king who stood watching, seemingly unruffled by Juda's treasonous attack, a strange mixture of rapture and awe in his expression. Appearing by his side, the ever-present Lord Dageor too looked at Juda, not with ire nor malice, but with a beatific smile.

"A rarity it is to hear the High Priest of Druvari speak so highly of a mere novice, particularly one who hails from Grimefell," Ban-Keren said. "Even The Grim, who speaks highly of no one, not even himself, considered you to be something of a marvel."

He stepped between two Druvari, and Juda shifted his balance slightly, the tip of his sabre pointing directly at the king's throat. Ban-Keren merely acknowledged this with a smile of his own.

"Indeed, it was quite something to hear him talk of you. This supposed rat, saved from a life scavenging the gutters by my old Special Commander himself and trained to fit his own image. I was right, Juda. I see no trace of Vi-Garran in your face, but I see what he did. Never have I seen a Highguard with the ability to spot the strengths and weakness of his enemies quite like Rothario Vi-Garran, but I see it in you."

He stepped closer, not close enough for Juda to reach him with the blade, but close enough for Juda to know that he did not fear him. Not that Juda had expected him to.

Madness only fears what it cannot conquer, Juda. The king could not conquer the Naiad, so he destroyed them. Just as he destroys anything and everyone he cannot have, he heard Vi-Garran say.

"But much like your guardian, you have failed to identify your own weakness."

The king gestured towards the glass tank.

Juda couldn't look. Not again. Not without the sight of her bringing him to his knees.

"I cannot blame you. I, too, was once captivated by such beauty. I still am. The Naiad sorcery is strong, some say, unrivalled. Even in death, it refuses to loosen its grip." His intense gaze captured Juda almost as much as the sight of the tank deterred him. "But you should look. Look upon my treasure and see the truth of it."

"Treasure?" Juda found his voice housed in the harsh, bitter bile that lined his throat. "Think she a piece of art to be gawped at? Like something you would hang on your wall?"

"Juda, Juda." The king shook his head. "You mistake me. I do not suggest that a creature as precious as the Naiad is fit only for its aesthetic value. Their surface beauty is without question that I will grant you, but the magic of the Naiad is not purely skin-deep; it is what lies beneath that matters. There is no value in existence that could even begin to be attributed to such a treasure."

Ban-Keren sighed, his gaze drawn back to the glass tank. Juda saw the longing there and vowed to take the king's eyes first, even as his own demanded he himself look.

"The waters in the tank are something of a miracle, are they not? To preserve in such a way that time will not alter her countenance. She will remain just so, as utterly captivating in death as she was in life."

When his gaze flicked back to Juda, there was nothing but darkness, as if his eyes had been fashioned from the black rock itself.

"You will look, Juda. Whether of your own accord or by force. Don't make me choose the latter. I did not wait this long for your arrival here to thrust your face into those waters. Sadly, they will not preserve you in quite the same way."

Juda thought about telling him to go fuck himself. It was there, in the back of his mind, a thought lost to him as quickly as it had surfaced, for he had to look. He had to. He knew it would only cause him pain—more than he'd felt since Aleina, more than Argo—but he had to look upon her, maybe for the last time, for to look upon Elara now would steel his heart for everything that was to come. She'd uncaged that useless muscle in his chest, that much he knew, and he needed to feel the agony of her death to lock it away again. It was to be the only way now. That was his certainty. His only certainty.

"Look at her now!" The king's anger was like a closed fist to the face. A violent storm, ready to sweep Juda up in its path and batter his broken body against the sea stacks.

Juda didn't look because Ban-Keren commanded it, and he held the madman's gaze for a moment longer, a last stab at defiance. But he did look, the tendons in his neck pulling tight. He could almost hear them creak, like the oil-hungry hinges of Roth's study door.

By the dead gods—by his blood—he wished he had never met her. Wished he had never watched her wade through that underground pool, water droplets on her bare skin catching the light of the dragon's gold. He wished he had not allowed her to invade his thoughts at night when he'd been alone in his cell at the barracks and in need of warmth. But most of all, he wished that he had not heard her say those words to him—Juda, my love—because they were like poison in his veins, infecting every part of him. He was weakened because of it; of that, he was sure.

Maybe the king had been right. Maybe it was a kind of sorcery. The worst kind.

Juda looked and could not help but marvel at the sight of her underwater. There was an artistry to the curve of her arched back. The way her body seemed to glisten even in death.

The king was watching him closely. The crawl of his gaze over Juda's flesh was undeniable.

But still, he looked. And as he looked—and looked and fucking looked—he began to notice things, the smallest of details, granted, but with Elara, Juda's exploration of her body had been a work of art in itself. He'd taken his time, mapping out every contour and curve, every inch of her skin, but his particular interest had lain in those delicate folds behind her ears. That part of Elara had held him captive the most, and if there was one thing he knew for certain, was that the flesh beneath had been flawless. No mark blemished the skin. And yet, now, a darker patch was visible, something he had no doubt passed off as a bruise upon first sight.

That was no bruise. It was a birthmark.

He almost took a step towards her. Almost.

"What—" he began.

"I understand the likeness is somewhat...remarkable." The king finally dragged his gaze from Juda, searching out the Naiad in the tank. "I have not seen your treasure for myself, but if what I have been told is true—and it will be true, for no one would dare lie to me—then there is a striking similarity between what is mine and what is yours. Between mother..." He glanced at Juda. "...And daughter."

Juda held still.

He should have been relieved to know this was the body of Eva Victori, the Naiad that Roth had carried and lain before the throne of King Aldolus Ban-Keren. He should have thanked the dead gods that it was not Elara in that tank, that she was still alive somewhere, and yet he could not allow his heart to beat harder in his chest at the thought of it.

Be still, Juda, Aleina said. Be still now.

The king turned away from Juda and approached the tank. The light from the water rippled across his face, the crow's feet clustered at the corners of his eyes deepening, shadowed grooves that told of time the rest of his face did not. He traced his fingers over the glass as if caressing her.

Juda did not move. He'd spent too long in the bloody square perfecting stillness such as this. Even when the muscles in his limbs screamed for release, he would remain on guard, ever alert for the slightest movement from his foes.

"I could not let her go," the king said, his voice taking on an awe-filled tone as if he was speaking to himself and no longer directing the conversation to Juda. "I could not let the Setalah take what was left of her. Why should the waters get what I could no longer have?" He spat the word 'waters' with a bitter tongue as if referring to an old enemy. "She was mine. I simply could not imagine a world in which I could not look upon her."

He walked the length of the tank, his fingertips smoothing over the glass, following the curve of her body. "My father had this aquarium built when I was but a boy. He knew how fascinated I was by the creatures of the sea. He had the finest glassmaker in Druvaria construct the largest aquarium in the upper echelon, and then he filled it with all manner of sea life. From the jade-scaled selka fish to the rainbow clams that would gather on the glass and the rocks, it was really quite beautiful to behold."

The king paused, his hand never leaving the glass. "Of course, I insisted on some more, let's say, exotic species. Have you ever seen a thorn-tailed tigerfish at work, Juda?" He stared at Juda and blinked, laughing softly as he shook his head. "How foolish of me. You would not have had the pleasure of such a thing. There has not been a tigerfish on these shores since before."

Juda knew what before meant. Before the curse. Before the Naiad.

"It was truly something to be admired," the king continued, his dark eyes sparkling. "The thorn-tailed tigerfish was the ultimate predator. It would lay out of sight, burying itself in the sand or tight into a rock crevice, and there it would wait, completely still. It was the perfect chameleon. Hidden in plain sight, and yet the other fish could never detect its presence. I would spend entire tides seated right here on the floor by the tank, waiting for it to make its move, so sure that it would attack. There were times when it had remained concealed for so long that I was certain it must be dead. Then, just when I thought the game was over, it would strike with a force so brutal and so magnificent that I could not tear my gaze from the spectacle. That long tail would wrap itself around its prey, the razor-sharp thorns cutting into flesh and then..."

He almost gasped in recollection. "Then would come the venom, and it would not come quick. Oh no, even that was a slow, agonising death for its victim. Oh, Juda! I cannot tell you how glorious it was!"

The king's dark eyes found Juda's again. "To play the long game is a skill very few can master. There are many who believe they possess the fortitude to see it through until the very end, but how long are they really willing to wait? They tire of it too soon. They have neither the wits nor the strength to play the game until they reach their goal." He held out a palm and curled his fingers into a tight fist. "Until they have their prey wrapped tight in their thorns."

He grinned and clapped his hands together. "Then, of course, there are the likes of you and me, Juda. Lovers of the long game. Masters of the hunt."

Juda bristled then. He could not help it. "Dare to think me like you?" The very idea repulsed him, twisting his insides until he struggled to remain as stone.

Ban-Keren raised one amused brow. "I think you'll find there is not much in life I dare not to think, do, or say, so yes, I do dare to think we are alike. I have lived my life with one aim, and that is to conquer whatever I please, including time itself. I have relinquished nothing. I have held my nerve. You have spent your life with one goal in mind: to get close enough to your king in order to end his life. We have both played the long game, Juda. No matter the sacrifice. No matter how black our hearts needed to become."

"Our hearts are not the same," Juda said, now taking a step forward, noting how the Druvari did not move against him. "You slaughtered an entire species. Women. Children. You hung them from the palace walls. You sliced open their flesh and drank from them like their blood was wine."

The king raised one brow. "You have cut down countless Grimefell citizens. You have tossed them into the waters, knowing exactly what kind of fate awaited them. Not a death of venomous thorns, but one just as agonising. You have killed noble heirs in pursuit of a vengeance reserved not just for your king but for all those who acted upon his orders."

The king moved closer—dared to approach him—and stared down the length of the sabre. "You have killed time and time again, without hesitation, without mercy, knowing that with each kill, your heart was descending further into the darkness, and yet still you did not stop. You never tired of it. You have relinquished nothing. You have held your nerve. Even when faced with the slaughter of he who loved you...the Novice Demas..." He trailed off, studying Juda with that same enamoured smile on his face.

By the dead gods, they really knew everything. For how long had they known? How long had they waited for this moment?

"What that must have taken..." whispered the king. "We shall talk of that, you and I. I want to hear it all, but that will be a story for another tide..."

"A story?" Juda advanced another step, and still, the Druvari did not move. "The death of Argo Demas is no bedtime story. It's not an adventurous tale to be enjoyed over dinner or to be told in front of the fire fuelled by all those fucking books you burn, your grace. His life was more than a story..."

"And yet you still extinguished it as easily as I throw books onto the flames."

"Easy?" Juda seethed. "It was not easy..."

The king held up one finger to silence him. "Oh, but it was, Juda. It was. And that is the truth of it, even if you refuse to face it now. But you will. In time, you will admit it was easy. You will accept that your heart is as black as mine. It will be...undeniable, I'm afraid."

Juda frowned, the unease growing. He could remain calm and unmoved in even the most unsettling of situations. His training had seen to that. The Grim's words echoed in his head even then.

There is no place for panic in The Order, novice.

But he wasn't The Order anymore, was he? That ruse was done with now. Everything was done with now, and yet...

"You talk as if there is a future for me," Juda said, adjusting his stance. "A dead man cannot accept anything but death."

The king scowled. "Oh, Juda, do not disappoint me now. I do so hate to be disappointed. The tigerfish does not play the long game just to accept failure on the final strait. The tigerfish refuses to give up the fight."

Juda grinned then. He found he could not help that either. "If it's a fight you want, I can fight. But if you believe us to be the same, then you will do so as well. Dismiss your warriors, pick up your fucking sword, and fight. We will do battle, you and I, and we will see how alike we really are. I think you'll find I'm not so easily conquered."

When the laughter peeled from the king's mouth, it was not one of cold, victorious malice but a good-humoured chuckle, as if they were two friends sharing a joke.

"Juda Rothario Vikaris, I do not need to fight you to conquer you."

He stepped closer, so close that one quick move and Juda's blade could reach him, and he knew it. He knew it, and still, he advanced. There was no fear there. Nothing beyond that dark gleam in his eyes and that maddening smile and...something else. Something Juda had seen before, but from Roth.

"All I have to do is give you what you want."

Juda scoffed. "Do you plan to drop to your knees, your grace? Let me press my boot into your throat before I slice open your flesh and carve your blackened heart from your chest?"

Ban-Keren tilted his head to one side, his gaze curious, searching. "Is that what you really want, Juda? Above all else?"

"I have wanted nothing more since the tide my mother was taken from me and sent to your dead fields," Juda said, his voice firm and clear.

The king pursed his lips and drummed his fingertips against them as if pondering what Juda had said. This was nothing but a game to him; that much was clear.

"Ah yes, your mother, of course...she was a laundry maid, was she not? Aleina Kelsin Vikaris, a daughter of Grimefell. Employed in servitude to the nobility of the mid and upper echelons. I gather Roth himself was most fond of her. Most fond of her indeed."

Anger pulsed in Juda's veins. "Speak not my mother's name, I warn you."

"Speak it, I shall," the king replied, not taking his eyes from Juda. "Speak it, I did. Many times, as I recall. My learned advisor, Lord Dageor here, often dares to chide me for my desire to learn the names of my bedfellows, yet I feel it is but a common courtesy, do you not agree?"

Juda recoiled violently, the strength in his arm faltering, and he moved quickly to counteract it and maintain his balance.

"I swear, I will rip your tongue from your mouth for that. Dare not insult her!"

Ban-Keren's smile was almost apologetic. "Juda, it is not my wish to anger you, as glorious as your rage is to behold, merely to speak the truth of it now. The truth that Roth Vi-Garran sought to keep from you for so very long."

"Roth would not..." Juda's head was pounding, a storm brewing strong and furious.

"But he did. And he has." The king's tone sharpened, his face souring. "Aleina Vikaris was employed in the palace laundry rooms after she was released from her employment by the Vi-Garrans. They were concerned. Greatly troubled by their firstborn's obsession with the slum girl. His path had been carved since birth. He was to follow in his father's footsteps and be indoctrinated into The Order. There was no place in his life for a Grimefell rat, and yet, just like a rat—their words, you understand—this particular pest proved most difficult to eradicate from their son's heart. And so, they came to me, as the nobles oft seem insistent on doing—a bothersome part of the job, but I'm informed it's a necessity." His gaze dripped with disdain as it slid to where Dageor stood.

"By chance, the laundry mistress was in need of a new girl. The previous one had been somewhat disappointing, shall we say? And so, Aleina Vikaris..." He smiled as he said it, almost as if forming the name upon his tongue pleased him. "...came to be in the king's employment. I was intrigued. What rat could possibly have stolen a Vi-Garran's heart? I had to see her for myself. A rat she was, that much is true, but I found her to be most captivating. A timid one, also, but for that, I could not blame her. I am the king, after all, and who can find their tongue unless their sovereign demands it of them. Which, of course, I did."

The antechamber seemed to sway around Juda, pulsing with shadows, nausea sweeping through him. Saliva pooled into his mouth, and he swallowed it fast, forcing it back down his throat, even though he wished nothing more than to spit it into Ban-Keren's face.

"Juda, I can see this troubles you greatly. I understand. Truly, I do. The Naiad sorcery is strong, and if it can even sway the king himself, then the Special Commander of the Elite Guard was certainly to be no match for the witches' evil magic. Eva Victori got into his head, just as she did mine. This is what they do, Juda. They poison us, just as they poisoned the waters. Sadly, it seems Vi-Garran has quite lost his mind as a result. It is really most disturbing, and I am even more disturbed that you have been caught up in his madness."

He raised a hand to his temple, smoothing back the grey streak that encroached upon his hairline.

"There is no madness in Roth Vi-Garran." Juda's voice was hoarse as if he had not taken a drink in many tides. This conversation was choking him. The grip of the king's words was a ligature around his throat. "He seeks only now to do what is right and just..."

"Right and just?" Ban-Keren laughed, but the sound was a cold shard of ice scraping Juda's spine. "Do not let yourself think that Roth is on some righteous mission of self-redemption, Juda. He does not attempt to atone for his sins. Trust me when I tell you that he was most enthusiastic when carrying out the king's orders. Oh no, this was revenge. He fancied a life with your mother. A love he could never claim as his own. He knew it was not to be, and yet, he could not bear anyone else to have her, not even his king. It is simple, Juda: I took what was his, and so, in return, he took what was mine—my boy, my dear boy..." 

The king clapped a hand over his heart.

Juda staggered back a step.

This was insanity. Pure, poisonous insanity. He was no fool. He understood the meaning implied in the king's words, and it could not be true...he knew it could not. Roth would have told him. He would never have kept this to himself.

He never told you about what he did to the Naiad, Elara whispered. The butcher slaughtered them, and he never told you.

But his mother would have told him. His mother—his world, as he had been hers—would have told him the truth of it all.

Wouldn't she?

They had barely spoken of it—after all, young Juda had needed only her, but he had always known his father had not hailed from Grimefell. He also knew that she had feared whomever it was and explicitly instructed Juda to avoid any noble's men who might come asking questions, and if they asked that question—he was to deny he even knew her.

After she was taken to the dead fields, Juda discovered her association with the Master Librarian—once Special Commander and Blade of the King himself—and, believing him to be the beast that had condemned his mother to bring up her child alone, he had found his way to Roth's door, only to find that Roth was not his father.

Soon, his mission had changed. It was to be Ban-Keren he sought. Ban-Keren upon whom he would seek revenge. His end goal was also Roth's. Or had Roth's become his?

No. He would not believe it. It was unthinkable that Roth had hidden the truth just so he could use Juda to get close to the man who had taken Aleina from him—the man who now stood before Juda, looking at him in the same way he had often seen on his guardian's face.

The way a father looked at his son.

"It is the truth, boy." Dageor's voice was laced with uncharacteristic pity. "We searched for your mother after she did not return to her employment here. It is policy, you understand. We cannot have all manner of women claiming to bear the heir to the throne of Druvaria. The preservation of the Ban-Keren line is a delicate matter. We simply cannot just proclaim anyone as heir. It must be one who is deserving of the crown, one who is worthy." He paused and wet his lip with his tongue. "Hence why the Trial of Sin-Sabre was reinstated. For you, Juda Vikaris."

He smiled and inclined his head almost reverently. "Juda Ban-Keren."

It was an absurdity. It had to be. He was a rat, no matter what the king had said. It was only his uniform that separated him from those in Grimefell. And yet...

He stared at the king, his mind a whirlpool of confusion, of jumbled thoughts that he had to get into some semblance of order if he was to survive this. Get a fucking grip, Juda. Before it's too late.

"And you truly think this is giving me what I want?" he said. "I was raised in the slums for half my childhood. Even if I believed you, the streets of Grimefell are more familiar to me than the grand halls of this palace would ever be, for it is where she raised me. I understand every back alley, every run-down shithole, every gutter. Since the day your soldiers took her from me, I have wanted one thing and one thing only, and if I cannot have that, do you really think there is anything else you could possibly offer me? Think that a fancy title, riches, a palace, a crown, means anything to me without her? You have not conquered me at all."

He expected the king's rage then, rejection spilling over into something dark and untameable. Who would dare to refuse the crown itself? Instead, Ban-Keren merely turned his back on Juda's blade, returning to the tank and admiring his dead treasure as if he cared nothing for Juda's words.

"Juda, you mistake me once more. Let us not make a habit of this," he said, shooting him a brief, tight smile over his shoulder. "I never once expected you to accept your rightful role as heir to the crown of Druvaria. You are no grasping, grovelling fool. I saw you in there..." He gestured to the throne room. "I do not believe I have ever seen a subject less willing to get down on his knees before his king than you. All this and everything that comes with it, the respect, the power, the wealth, the fear even...it means nothing to you, for none of these things are what you desire. I know what you desire, Juda, I know what you want above all else, and it is not the crown. It is not even my death. You want her. Your mother."

He turned to face Juda.

"You want your mother, and I am the only one who can give her back to you."

Juda never once thought he could forget his training—how could he when it had been beaten into him until it was engrained into his very bones like ink upon skin—but he did then, for a moment, he did. The strength seemed to leech from his arm, and he lowered his blade, only a fraction mind, but he did lower it. His stomach roiled. His mind reeled.

This must be what it is like to face defeat in the bloody square, he thought. That unwavering certainty that all is lost. To know you have been conquered. And it will not come gently, but with a violence that will tear your insides from your body and see them wet and twisted in the dust.

"She...she is dead," Juda whispered, his throat a raging fire. "You cannot give me back a ghost."

Dageor took a step forward. "I told you that the preservation of the Ban-Keren line is a delicate matter, and we are not in the habit of just giving up if the search proves initially fruitless. Your mother worked hard to evade capture, boy, and her transport to the dead fields was, I can assure you, quite by accident. It was a minor infraction that had her sent there, not a matter of identity, which she had kept hidden. After all, one slum rat at work is as good as any other. It is often a marvel when one can survive so long there, and in the case of your mother, it is fortunate our search managed to locate her before the dead fields did their worst. She was, of course, greatly changed—a tragic, terrible thing—but rest assured, Aleina Kelsin Vikaris is no ghost. In fact, she is very much alive."

Something uncoiled itself inside Juda, and slithered up the walls of his gut, like the borer worm still lived and sought to force its way up into his throat. But first, it would crush his ribcage. Wrap itself around his bones and snap each one. Extinguish the breath from his lungs. Burrow into his chest and consume every wild thump of that once-blackened heart. How could he be a cold, empty thing when his heart thundered like the black rock was quaking beneath his feet?

The king spoke then, his gaze as firm and unwavering as Juda's was lost.

"Get down on your knees now, Juda Aldolus Ban-Keren. Accept your role as heir to the throne of Druvaria. Swear fealty to me—your father—and to this kingdom. Give me your treasure, this Naiad who would poison you just as her foremothers poisoned these waters, and I will give you what you really want. What you have always wanted above all else. Give me the witch, Elara Consuli, and I will return your mother to you."

Juda did the one thing his training had always told him not to do. He closed his eyes in the face of his enemy. He closed his eyes to it all and took a deep breath, and as he inhaled, he smelt the heady scent of Elara's skin and the perfume in his mother's hair. He heard their screams, combined, the sounds overlapping until he could not tell which tortured cry came from which mouth.

When the beast inside his stomach, this thing he had held inside for so long—his rage, his pain, his grief, his hatred—pushed its way up into his throat, forced itself out of his mouth, and erupted in a scream of his own, Juda's eyes snapped open.

Raising his sword once more, Juda charged towards the king, still screaming.