A Most Dangerous Weapon

Chapter 43: Painted Beauty

I didn't want to introduce myself to Bailer just yet. I kept my distance all day. If he saw that The Miracle of Romallia was hanging around Octain Port, there was no telling how he would respond. Perhaps he would bring me back to the Capital in hopes of a reward. Or maybe he would be more likely to turn down our proposal for the throne if he preferred his fisherman's life over a royal one, knowing that I was still around to take up the crown. I was also worried that he would accidentally, or purposefully, expose my identity to the rest of our camp and the citizens of Octain Port.

Finding out that you have royal blood is enough of a shock. Adding on our plan to put him on the throne would certainly cause his head to spin. A third bombshell was overkill.

If he decided to join our cause, I would then reveal my identity to assist in training him for the throne. Just to be safe, I'd make sure I do so after we leave Octain Port for something more secluded, and even then it would be after the gladiators split off to recruit more men.

I used my brother as an excuse to stay away from the camp. Rowan told the others that Arlo and I were having difficulty getting information out of the assassin, so we would be occupied for the rest of the day. They apparently believed him, though Rowan made a point to inform me that Arrian was looking fairly suspicious, skulking around the camp ground in an exasperated fashion. Rowan expected me to deal with him, but I wanted to give Arrian some more time to process it all first.

Right now Marcus was my priority, but unfortunately he was still unconscious from Arlo's hard blow. I tried to wake him up in a similar fashion to the first time, but he didn't even budge when the water splashed him in the face. After several other failed attempts to force him conscious, I walked out of the shed in defeat and took a seat on the stoop. I would just have to wait patiently for him to wake up on his own.

Bailer's men were still selling their fresh catch at their stall. People were clamouring to get some prime fish before they sold out; it was like all the residence of Octain Port were out here for this very reason. I guess Bailer's haul was the most popular. It was starting to look like they wouldn't need to store anything in the shed at sundown. We could lock Marcus in there for as long as we needed.

I turned my attention to the horizon. The indigo sky bled into the cool water. Wisps of white swirled as clouds and crashing waves. If you were to flip the world upside down, it would be the same. The only defining break was when a ship sailed with the wind across the horizon. But once it was out of sight, the picture returned to its mirrored reflection.

I don't know why I was so in awe of this image. Perhaps it was the tranquility I found in the rhythmic movement of the ships bobbing on the water, interrupting the image in the most innocent way possible. Or maybe it was the assurance that everything would return to normal in a matter of moments; knowing that there was nothing to be worried about. It was also feasible that I just liked the repetitive colour. Blue has a way of making me feel stable, wrapping me in a protective and relaxing embrace. I began to feel mildly anxious for the sun to recede so I could watch as the sky was painted in varying shades of blush, rouge, auburn, gold, and mauve. It would be beautiful to witness how the colours reflected off the water's surface.

But I digress. It had just been too long since the last time I did absolutely nothing and felt this at ease.

Bailer was with us. My brother was safe. Our army was shaping up nicely. We were on our way to the end of this war, and it felt extremely good that things were going my way for once.

Arlo exited the shed and sat down beside me on the stoop with a grunt. For a long while, neither of us uttered a word. He seemed to be enjoying the scenery just as much as I did.

Once I hit a peak of leisure and security, the words just came flowing out like the air I breathe; habitual and necessary.

"Decimus was my half-brother."