In Love and War

Chapter 2 - Just a Boy

Arya slipped back into her room through the window, the only way to get in and out of her rooms without the guards on duty outside her door becoming royal pains in her ass. She slid the glass back into place with a snick.

"Where have you been?" A male voice. Angry. And familiar, too.

Shit. Arya turned slowly.

Jacan Alleyn stood in the middle of her rooms. He was just taller than her, with short, messy hair the color of dark honey, cerulean blue eyes, and a face that'd gotten him out of quite a few sticky situations in the past. He had his arms crossed, accenting the lean muscle that corded his arms. And he was not happy.

If he had been anyone else, she would have snarled and told them to get out, but Jacan? Her husband probably would have ignored her and snarled right back.

"I'll ask again. Where have you been, Arya?" He didn't mask his anger.

No, he really was not happy. "I met with Nightshade. But only to talk."

His face didn't change. "About what?"

"The future."

"Why didn't you tell me you were leaving?"

Arya bristled, her icy exterior melting away. "You're not my keeper, Jacan."

"You're right, I'm your husband. And I've a right to know where my wife is sneaking away to out of the bloody window in the middle of the night!"

"I have a country to run," she snarled. "And I don't need you to question every move I make! I'm perfectly able of handling myself!"

"Until you get too cocky and find yourself with a fucking dagger in your gut. Even you slip up!" he spat back. "And then where will your precious, kingless country be then, Arya?"

Arya blinked and stepped back. What?

He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, frustration and exhaustion lining his body, and Arya had to clench her jaw to stop herself from apologizing as guilt flooded her. "I..." He dropped his hands, dangling loosely at his sides. "I just didn't know where you were, Arya." His voice was rough. "I was afraid..."

Oh. Oh. Just like her, Jacan had lived on the streets before they'd fought their way to the throne, to her birthright crown. He knew exactly what could happen to people in the streets, what had happened to the bodies they'd found together, mangled beyond recognition, what had happened to his mother. Arya's guilt intensified. "Jacan... I'm so sorry. I didn't realize... "

He sighed. "You never do, love."

Arya cringed. "I won't do it again. I promise. I'm so sorry." Please don't be angry, she begged silently.

Jacan was in front of her in seconds, enfolding her in an embrace. She rested her head on his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of soap and apples, and let the tension run out of her body.

Jacan rested his lips in her hair. "Won't you make me king? I could help you with all this. When war comes."

Arya frowned. "I can't, you know I can't. Altrys has had a queen and only a queen ever since the ancient first queens created Altrys." She blew out a breath. "I want to. I really do, but you have to understand, the people would revolt. It would be a huge thing, and..." She shook her head. For him, maybe she could do it. Sweet talk and smile and warm her way around the politics. For him she would find a way. "Maybe when everything blows over. When everything's normal again." If life ever became normal again.

Jacan sighed. "I wish you hadn't said that--"

Out of the corner of her eye, Arya caught a flicker of a shadow.

She moved on instinct. One moment she was hugging Jacan, the next she was in front of him, the hilts of her knives cold in her palms. But the boy was already moving, and the flash of his dagger in the light was like lightning, and she twisted but not fast enough, and the dagger bit into her breast, right above her heart.

Dimly, she heard Jacan yelling, she felt herself suck in a breath, she let her daggers go weak in her hands, she stumbled backwards into a crouch. The attacker grinned, teeth stained and yellow, and brought his dagger up to plunge down, down, down, into her soft belly. She didn't move.

And then she struck. She surged up from the ground, her knives streaking into his exposed stomach. He had no time to block, not with his move already made, and her blades sunk in to the hilt. She slammed him into the wall, face inches from his.

"Who sent you?" she was yelling, over and over, wild and furious. "Who sent you?"

But he was shaking, face pale, eyes going out of focus, like a young boy. And upon closer look, he was only a boy, perhaps fifteen. He gaped at her, eyes wide, lips moving.

"S'pposed to be alone, he said alone." The boy whispered.

"Who?" She shook him, and his head lolled. "Who sent you?" she snarled. The boy stared at her. "Who said I'd be alone?"

"My lady said you'd be alone." His eyes dimmed, then brightened, as if it were an effort to stay conscious. "My lady."

"Who is your lady?" Arya growled. She cursed as his head drooped forward. Too much blood loss. "Who sent you to kill me?"

The boy's eyes were bright and shiny now, like a doll's, and he smiled. "May Morrigan frown upon your armies." Morrigan, the dark goddess of war and death. And then he began to laugh, voice cracking. "My king shall crush you," he slurred.

Arya shook him again, but he didn't move, and all she succeeded in doing was force the breath from his lungs. A trickle of blood ran from his lips.

He died slowly. His blood ran hot over her fingers, sticky and thick, and pooled on the floor by her feet. She let his body slide down the wall until it was in a crumpled heap on the floor and yanked her blades from his stomach, wiping them carefully along her ruined dress.

Arya turned, her face icy cold, blood dripping from her fingers.

Her eyes met Jacan's. "His king?" She slipped her daggers into their sheath and clenched her fists. They both knew there was only one king with enough arrogance to try this sort of thing. The king of the Kaltlands, Altrys's northern neighbor. "That bastard," she snarled. "He used a fucking child to do his dirty work. A child."

"This is politics and war, Arya." Jacan said, sounding tired.

Arya ran a hand through her hair, realizing too late that her hand was still crimson with blood.

Jacan let out a low breath, sheathing his dagger. "Gods, you're bleeding, Arya."

She glanced down at the redness that soaked her bodice, then looked back at him. "This is an act of war, Jacan."

He was silent.

She didn't realize she was shaking until she looked at her hands, dark with drying blood. She didn't know whether the tremors were from fear or anger or the aftereffects of the killing calm she'd slipped into when the assassin had attacked. "I don't want to fight a war," she whispered. She felt too young, only just past girlhood, too inexperienced.

Jacan watched her, his blue eyes darkening. "Let's clean you up, love. Then we'll talk of war."

* * * * *

Who's your favorite character so far?  And how do you like Jacan? 

Jacan was really hard to write because he's a complicated character, as you'll see.  I loved writing the end of this chapter though, and writing Arya being a badass.  She's not exactly your typical female main character, which is one of the reasons I like writing her story so much.  

If you liked this chapter please vote!

Have a relaxing weekend!