Starsinger

Reckoning

When the guards dragged Jace away, Aaron followed.

Waiting in the corridor had been torture. He wanted to jump out from his hiding place and tear the guards away from his friend, but that would have gotten them both killed for sure. The best Aaron could do was wait as Bryant reduced him to a sack of pulpy flesh. The flanked row of guards had made it hard to see, but the sounds...

They hauled Jace to a toolshed near the stables and stationed two men outside. The lead guard muttered about wasting resources on a wandering drunk, but Malcolm's instructions had been extremely specific. He wanted a display, and he wanted it preserved until morning, so the lead guard shook his head and shuffled off.

Aaron drew his hood up high around his face and waited until a sleepy kitchen maid came stumbling down the path with a flask for the prisoner. He intercepted her and offered to relieve her of her burden. She lifted her eyebrows warily, but the ground was still soggy with muck and the cold air was making her shiver. The maid handed the flask to Aaron and tromped back towards the manse.

He approached the guards, bowing and murmuring his apologies, holding up the flask of water like an offering. The larger of the two waved him inside.

At night, the toolshed was pitch black. Aaron stubbed his toe on something hard and swore, then struck the flint he'd hidden under his cloak and lit one of the wall torches.

The guards had tied Jace to the back of the shed, his ankles and wrists secured with ropes that pulled his body into the shape of an X. His face was swollen in strange lumps and his nose plastered with dried blood.

He lifted his head as light flooded the tiny shed. "What are you doing?"

"Making sure you're not dead." Aaron moved closer, raising the flask of water to Jace's lips. His friend drank greedily, the water spilling down his bruised chin. When Jace made a sound, Aaron pulled the flask away.

"Not yet, anyway," Jace weezed. "Bastard broke my nose. Again. Maybe this time it'll heal up handsomer."

"Couldn't make you look worse." Bryant had done his job thoroughly. Jace's arms and face were splotched with rainbow-colored bruises, residue from the Raven's relentless fists and boots. One of Jace's eyes was bloodshot and the skin beneath it was already swelling up like a plum. When he spoke, Aaron could see blood pooling in the gaps of Jace's teeth.

The hard, icy rage inside Aaron was beginning to disintegrate, and a rising tide of emotions threatened to swamp over him.

"You shouldn't have followed me," he said tightly. "You could have been killed."

Jace looked at him, suddenly serious. "And you would've."

"It needed to be done."

"Come on, Aaron, that was sloppy. What was your exit strategy? Getting caught with that blade buried in Malcolm's chest? Yeah, I saw it. You're not that damn sneaky."

Aaron clenched his fists. "It was my mission. You didn't have to interfere." You didn't have to sacrifice yourself.

"Really?" Jace asked. "Because it was that or watch you get yourself killed. I may have some screwed up priorities, but believe me, that decision was crystal clear."

Aaron glanced away. "I didn't mean it. What I said before."

"Doesn't matter. You were right." Jace shook his head. "Right and wrong always seemed easy. You could obey your duty, or betray it. Do the honorable thing, or the dishonorable thing. Good and bad, black and white."

"Star and Shadow," Aaron murmured.

"Yeah. Only, right now it all seems a hell of a lot more complicated than that." Jace clenched his fists in their bonds. "Feels like I'm lost at sea and I can't even tell which way is north."