Morons and Monarchs

Chapter Thirty-Two: Bayou📃

I plan.

It seems I am always planning, especially since the heir is now working alongside us. Especially now that Freyja is gone. Now it seems I do everything for the Grand Revolt.

I don't believe in luck. I don't believe in fate. I believe that hard work can get you somewhere and if you don't get anywhere; it is your own fault. I believe that fate and luck cloud everyone's judgment... but right now, I would call it luck that we figured out Aeron. I would call it fate that I now need to plan a heist to get it back.

The ink from my quill stains my fingers, and my knuckles crack as I lift up my ink-ridden parchment. Planning to hang it to dry for the night before storing it someplace safe.

"I have never understood your need to write every thought that crosses your mind down," A voice sounds behind me, and I roll up the parchment. A mistake. Now I will barely be able to comprehend what I wrote down.

"Good thing you don't have to," I answer. I turn around to see that it is only one of the morons. "Where is Delta?" They rarely go out without the other one nearby.

Anul makes a gesticulation about the room. "I honestly don't know. I thought you were him for a moment." She narrows her eyes. "Why aren't you asleep? You do know we are going to the Encantados Village tomorrow and you need to at least look a bit menacing."

I let out a grave chuckle. "I honestly could not care less." Anul is like the mother hen of the group. Always making sure we are at our best. Always taking care of us even when she might be the one who needs taking care of. Busybody.

She sits under a stack of books that look as if they are about to fall over. Sometimes I look around the room and imagine all the books getting free from their enchantments and tumbling down. Each one crashing into the floor and dust flying up in the air as the castle falls to the ground. Anul doesn't seem to mind, though.

I stack my parchment under my arm and walk swiftly towards the door. "What are you writing about?' I stop, pivot on my foot, and turn around.

"Something I have worked on for a very long time. Only now, it seems possible. I can almost see the finish line looming ahead." I gaze unseeingly, and I do. I imagine that finish line at the end of the dark tunnels that make up my mind. Beyond is light. Beyond the darkness, there is hope and possibility. Love.

Like what Delta and Anul have.

Anul nods. "If you are so desperate to leave, at least get some sleep or I will come in and steal all of your pens."

I laugh as I walk out the door, calling over my shoulder: "You can only wish!"

-*-

I stop in front of Ea's door.

Hesitating. I never hesitate, but for some odd reason, I can't bring myself to open the door. To interrupt them again.

The heir and the guard. Two people bound to be separated. I am just proud that Viviendel figured out the three riddles. Even I, who was trained with the art of wordplay from the raw age of three, could not figure out the answers.

I slide one of the papers under the door, making sure it is near silent. Not one scruff along the uneven floors. I turn around, almost slamming into Ahmya.

"What are you doing?" She demands, her voice hushed.

"What?" I ask. "Am I not allowed to congratulate my heir?"

She glares at me. "Aren't you supposed to plan?"

"Yes," I quirk an eyebrow. "And I already have it done." I sigh. "In fact, I got it all done about five minutes ago." Ahmya copies my expression. "Really?"

I nod.

She smiles a cruel smile most would have the instinct to hide from, "What is my part?" Most Fae would also have the instinct to run from her drawl. But then again, I am not purely Fae.

"Guinea pig," I answer truthfully. Her smile disintegrates.

"No."

"Why not?" I croon. "All you have to do is be volgivant. You are already very scavity, so you won't have to master that." I grin.

"I am not scavity!" Ahmya protests.

"How many times have you fallen today?" I ask, recalling earlier when she almost fell down the stairs after Viviendel's challenge.

She narrows her eyes. "You try walking down THREE flights of stairs... in heels." She pauses. "EVENING heels, mind you."

I roll my eyes. "You never complained before."

"Whatever." She says like a 300-year-old teenage Faerie.

I laugh as I strut away.