Inked

9

Mo couldn't help but blink in surprise as Meggie so deliberately kissed Farid in front of everyone, the boy who had broken her heart several times over, who saw her open heart as an open wound, trying again and again to clean it as best he could but only managing to fill it with the salt left over from her tears.

His Meggie, who was stubborn but not so impulsive. Maybe she has grown and changed much more than you think, Mortimer. Anyway, he currently had more pressing matters to deal with than his daughter's hormonal behavior.

Notices had been posted up throughout Ombra about a potential visit from Devondria and her men. Apparently the queen was scouting out the kingdom, presumably to find a reason for starting a war. During her time as authority of Argenta, in place of her young son, she had acquired a lust for power and wanted to dethrone Violante so she and her son would be in control of everything from the southern sea to the northern mountains.

Mo knew that these were not mere gossip. Violante had not lost her love for the Bluejay, and therefore had sent a message to Mo revealing the true reason for her stepmother's visit. The only reason she hadn't started the war was that her spy had not provided her with a crucial piece of information. But what was that crucial piece of information? And who was that spy? Violante had also sent a request for assistance from him and the other robbers to find this spy before he could be useful to Devondria, offering a plentiful reward in return.

Mo was just sitting down to a meeting with the Black Prince about the final decision. The bear sat stiffly by his master, huffing gentle breaths out of his snout, as if trying to wait patiently for the Bluejay's news. Dustfinger was there too, although Mo had long ago dismissed him from his assumed duty as Mo's bodyguard -- or shadow, as everyone thought of him. The Fire-Dancer snapped his fingers, and an oil lamp came to life near the back of the tent, illuminating the Prince's dark skin and Mo's tired face, and Mo, clearing his throat, began to speak in the silky voice that had begun his journey of fame.

"I have called you here," he said, "to assist me in making a decision." He paused and examined the faces of the others. The Black Prince was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his clasped hands, listening intently as he always did when Mo had something serious to say. Dustfinger was watching him closely, as if he could already hear the words Mo was about to speak.

"I'm sure you have seen the posters around town," he continued, clearing his throat as he realized they could not read. "And I'm sure you've heard the whispers circulating through Ombra," he added, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. He had been awake all night, thinking over what he should do. He had tried to help Violante once, and it had almost been a complete disaster. Then again, she had always shown him kindness, and in the end they had succeeded. Because of him, she, the rightful ruler, had been given the kingdom of Ombra and had even restored the Castle in the Lake as a vacation home.

But if he tried to help her find whatever supposedly-dangerous criminal she was searching for now, Mo could just as well wind up dead, and he couldn't put Resa and Meggie, and especially not Valor, in that situation again. Things had finally settled down in Ombra, and he was satisfied helping anyone he could, but he still wanted to be able to come home to his family at night.

"So it seems that Her Ruthlessness will soon be making her way here to Ombra, although her intentions remain unclear to many. However, Violante has confided in me the queen's purpose, requesting in return that I, along with anyone else who would care to join, offer my assistance in thwarting her plans. What are your thoughts, Prince?" Now that he had said it, he felt as if he were already marching up to the castle to meet with the queen and strategize.

"I say we do it. Her Kindliness is a respectable young woman, and if she asks for our help, I am more than willing to give it to her. You, however, seem hesitant." Mo looked up at the Prince's face, at first glance quite youthful, but if you paid closer attention you could see the veiled exhaustion, the stress he had been enduring, all too calmly, for years.

"He worries for his family." Dustfinger hadn't said a word since entering the tent, had merely stood to the side and observed. But there was no denying that what he said at last was the absolute truth.

The Prince gave an understanding nod and said, "The final decision is left to you, Bluejay." That was not what Mo had wanted to hear. He had hoped the Black Prince would make the decision for him and Mo could tell Resa and Meggie that he just had to go because those were the Prince's orders. A foolish hope, though, because everyone knew the Prince was no more the leader than the Bluejay was these days.

"Thank you, Prince," Mo finally said, resigned, and exited the tent, Dustfinger following him like a loyal dog. "Now what am I to do?" he asked in a desperate whisper. Over the past few months, the Bluejay had been chipped away ever so slightly, allowing more of Mo to peek through like sun shining through cracks in an old roof. Emotions were returning to him: love, concern... fear.

"The way I see it, Silvertongue," Dustfinger said, watching Roxane, who was helping Resa stir a large pot of soup. "Can it really be worse than the nightmare we all lived through last year? All Violante asks is that you help her find some sneaky rogue. By next week, everything will be back to normal."

"You know what, Dustfinger? I hope you're right." And with that, Mo went to his tent to write a message to Her Kindliness.