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Lena has, she thinks, sat in this tree enough to make adjustments.
She shifts as she waits for the last of night to fall, and imagines burlap to smooth out the bark. Perhaps a blanket, similar to the one which rests beneath Walsh’s saddle, to sit upon.
A light flashes in the tower window, and Lena snaps to attention.
Three flashes. Three guards at Kara’s door. Five seconds of light. Kara can speak.
Well, as much as this counts as speaking, at least. Their system of lights isn’t a known code. It was created by two young noblewomen who only wanted more time with each other.
It isn’t a particularly detailed form of communication, but anything is better than nothing at all. It’s hope.
Losing Kara had been the only regrettable part of her banishment from the castle. Losing her, leaving her behind.
She needs to get Kara out from the castle—until the Queen, Alexandra, returns, at least. The princess is safe for now, but that state is subject to the capricious moods of Alexander Luthor, and Lena knows better than any not to trust in her brother’s mercy.
Lex had been the one to wrest control from the Danvers line.
Kara had been adopted into the royal family as a child. The Zor-El noble line was a long-distant offshoot of the Danvers, and when most of the family perished in the manor’s burning, the two surviving children were sent to distant relatives.
And this was the basis upon which Lex had stolen the regency, which should have gone to Kara in Queen Alex’s absence. The Luthor house has long served the royal line as advisors, even moving within the castle walls.
Lex’s argument, undoubtedly strengthened by his charm, declared that Kara lacked the experience necessary to maintain a queendom. She’d been adopted into the family over a decade earlier, but, Lex had insisted, she’d been raised first by a family long forgotten to such responsibilities. The Luthors, however, have reared their children specifically to serve beside the crown.
Lena hadn’t expected his argument to win out against Kara’s popularity. That was the start of her mistakes. And by the time she publicly dissented, it was too late. Her brother had her banished from the castle that very night.
A long burn. Ten seconds. News.
Then a series of mixed flashes and two-second burns, each of which correspond to letters of the alphabet, interspersed by a hesitation of darkness.
Lena’s heart climbs into her throat with each letter. Marriage.
She signals back hastily, Who?
Lex.
Lex. She had seen the name in lights, and yet it echoes in her ears. Lex.
She shouldn’t be so surprised. It’s exactly something Lex would do. And yet she feels carved out.
Lena knows his aim immediately. It’s probably the least subtle plan he’s ever conceived, and if the situation was anything but what it is, she would’ve enjoyed teasing him about it.
But she had lost her brother some time ago, and Lex is going to force Kara into marriage to give himself a legal claim to the throne. She doesn’t want to think about what’ll happen to Kara once he has it. Or to Alex, once she returns.
Lena won’t let any of it happen.
A cold rage pools in the hollow her brother left. She had been her family’s target long enough—she had grown used to it. But the resignation she feels for herself doesn’t extend to Kara. If Lex intends to go after the woman she loves, he should’ve killed Lena first.
It’s disappointing to know she won’t get much time with Kara tonight, but if she wants to stop Lex, she can’t afford to linger.
She signals as much to Kara, adding an apology.
Kara only signals back, Be careful.
Lena nearly smiles. Kara is trapped in the castle with a scheming Lex Luthor, too much like a fairytale princess held hostage by a dragon—and she’s worried about Lena.
But Lena’s hardly Prince Charming, and an ambitious Luthor is much worse than a dragon.
Putting out her lantern, she waits for her eyes to adjust to the moonless din of the forest. Then she sets back for camp. She knows the Rogues with help.
~V~
Myka shouldn’t be reading these letters again. Myka knows she shouldn’t be reading these letters again.
And yet.
As the newly appointed Head of Guard for the Queendom of Univille, there are too many important things she should be doing, rather than re-reading the accusing letters of an irritatingly competent criminal.
The first letter had found itself pinned to the castle’s door with an arrow a few scant days after Myka had been named Artie’s successor.
It had been addressed to her.
The contents had included a rather thorough repudiation of the Regent, the advisors, and Artie himself. It had laid out a list of crimes committed against the commonfolk of the queendom, their suffering at the hands of the nobles, and concluded with a count of commonfolk who had starved or been killed by ‘noble mistreatment as listed above.’
The signature had read H.G. Wells.
Artie had harrumphed the moment he learned the author, immediately dismissing the accusations he had that far been considering.
Myka had recognized the name as well, and while she’d understood his sudden skepticism, she hadn’t felt it. She still doesn’t. And each subsequent letter has detailed more crimes, more deaths, and left Myka more unsettled.
What else could she do but research?
The Wells were once a prominent noble family in the neighboring Kingdom of Nations, but they were brought low by Helena’s reputation. The male heir, her brother, Charles, works even now to restore it—not that Myka has much faith in his success.
Helena had more or less taken a battering ram to her family’s respectability. To bear a child out of wedlock, especially at their level in society, is still taboo. The loss of that child was an inexplicable tragedy.
But it’s the rumors of what Helena had done to the men who had killed her daughter that have so damaged the Wells’ reputation. That nothing can be proven is their only saving grace. The men had simply disappeared—as if they’d never existed at all.
Myka isn’t privy to the rumors themselves, to the details they boast. Nor is she sure how Helena had come under suspicion, save the nature of her tragedy.
But Myka does know that the woman was disinherited and banished from her house. Myka knows she crossed the borders into the queendom. But most of all, Myka knows Helena killed James MacPherson, an ex-kingdom noble, and took his band of rogues for her own.
Myka’s heart bleeds for the woman’s loss. And if Helena had done something to those men, well, Myka can abide that. Even if she shouldn’t.
But Helena did prove she can and will kill others when she murdered MacPherson, and Myka cannot allow the woman to continue such actions in the queendom.
Knowing all that is easy. Finding all that information had been easy. Finding the Rogues’ hideout in the bordering forest is another matter entirely.
Myka suspects they’re moving their encampment frequently, as she considers different markings on the map laid out on the table before her. Some markings designate where burn rings were found, remnants of what were likely cooking fires. Others designate damage to the forest: blade marks in tree trunks where someone might have trained; broken branches where they had been pushed out of the way; torn roots where something was dragged. The signs of living that people can never fully hide.
Artie had believed—still believes—the Rogues had somehow gained knowledge of the guard’s planned search and fled in response. He believes this was the case each time, and even suspects a spy amongst the guard.
But Myka thinks there’s a pattern to their movements that he hadn’t seen. There’s a finite supply of locations a party such as theirs can camp at, if only because the forest itself is finite.
Thusly said, the Rogues cannot endlessly go to new places the guards have never found. And while it’s entirely possible there’s still a slew of such yet-unknown locations, it’s equally possible there’s not. The guard works with a number of hunters and rangers and scouts who have the forest well explored.
To her knowledge, none have ever stumbled upon the Rogues when they didn’t wish to be found. That limits their ability to determine the timeline of the Rogues’ movements.
Still, the rangers are good at what they do, and Myka has been given a rough estimate—from which she now derives the possible pattern.
She isn’t surprised Artie never saw it. By point of fact, she’s more surprised to see it. She’d never expected Wells to be so obvious.
A book. A book written by Wells herself, published among many before her decline in status. There’s a pattern to the book that perfectly fits the Rogues’.
Myka has owned most of Wells’ work since the first publication. She loves the complexity, the imagery. Still, one had escaped her grasp, its publication coinciding with the reveal of her pregnancy, and being therefore cancelled.
Few copies had actually found their way into readers’ hands, ensuring its demand—and it’s high price.
Myka had only recently received hers as a gift from Emily Lake, a maid in the service of the castle. She had briefly joined the staff a scant few months earlier, her stay lasting no longer than a fortnight.
She still isn’t sure how the relationship escalated so quickly between them. A few days of brushing against each other in the halls had led to Emily pulling Myka into a closet, and the woman was sleeping in Myka’s room by the end of the first week.
Then she had disappeared, without warning or goodbye, and all Myka had left was a book left atop her blankets with a note that read, Keep it, you can owe me.
H.G. Wells’ final book. How Emily had gotten her hands on it is still a mystery to Myka, but she’s grateful for the gift all the same. It had taken her two reads of the novel to put together the pattern in the book, and its similarity to the then-fractured version on the maps.
That had been the start of her push through the forest, to collect all the details they could, leading to this current version. And it’s enough to make her sure of her theory—to make her sure there’s time before the Rogues will move next.
And sure that she knows where they are right now.
~V~
Kara paces the length of her bedroom as the sun rises and wonders again if it was right to tell Lena about the engagement. It isn’t as though Lena isn’t already trying to free her and the queendom from Lex’s control. Knowing Lex’s matrimonial plans will only make her rush.
And as brilliant as she is, Lena is still susceptible to rushing.
And she is. Brilliant. She’s the smartest person Kara knows, and Kara’s known her fair share of intelligent people. Lena may have been just about to find the solution.
But if she was, then rushing wouldn’t matter, would it? Kara’s brow crinkles.
Her Zhao would tell her she’s worrying too much, but someone has to worry about Lena, and Lena certainly isn’t going to do it. Kara just can’t lose her for this. She can’t lose her in general, but she especially can’t lose her for this. At the hands of Lena’s own family because Kara failed to stop this.
Things never should have gotten this far—never should have started.
None of Lex’s arguments were strictly false. Kara was and always will be a Zor-El—but that doesn’t mean they were strictly true either.
No, Kara doesn’t come from a long line of royalty, and she hadn’t spent her childhood training for that responsibility. But she’s been with the Danvers as long as she’d been with her own family, and Kara’s never one to stay idle. Even as a child, she’d had to be doing something. Now she has thirteen years of training for her position.
It’s not as though Lex has the memories of his ancestors. He only has his training too.
Sure, perhaps he has a few more years of his own, but at a certain point, the only training left is experience. In that aim, Kara should be leading. She should have made the argument.
But… Kara doesn’t want to be a leader. She wants to stand with people. And if she must stand before them, she wants to protect them, not order them.
For all the good that wish has done her.
She needs to fix this. For herself, for Lena, and for Alex. She can’t allow her sister to come back to a queendom that has turned against her.
But what can she do now? She’s all but locked in this room, and the but of that is only when Lex needs a princess to parade around.
And yet these instances never offer her an opportunity. They look to him, now. The nobles, the advisors. Even the servant who asks to fill her cup at dinner.
What could she say that he couldn’t refute?
If only J’onn or M’gann were still here. They’re loyal foremost to the Danvers line—and though Kara doesn’t share their blood, the J’onzz family treats her the same.
But as the lead generals of Univille, their place is at Alex’s side.
If only her sister would return. If only Lena could come home. If only things could go back to the way they were, and Kara would only be the younger princess again.
It’s not that she wants to make herself smaller—Kara wants a great many things for herself—she simply wants to choose. She wants the ability to.
But it’s not something she’s going to get, and those with power have the responsibility to use it well.
So, how will she fix this? Or fix it enough to keep it from harming Lena. Or Alex. Or anyone.
Kara startles when the door opens. However, she isn’t surprised when Lex, uninvited and unwelcome, wearing the charming grin that makes her stomach curdle, enters.
“Beloved,” he says mockingly, and Kara has to stop herself from crossing the room to slap him. Lex holds out his hand and snaps as he might to a dog. “Come,” he orders. “I have a council meeting, and it’s a good time for me to share your presence again.”
More mocking. But honestly, she nearly prefers his control to the false love. She is a prisoner, after all. But the intimacy of loving her belongs to Lena.
Still, mocking or no, she knows better than to try and refuse. Throughout the overthrow, Lex has been relatively gentle in his effort. Kara knows better than to think such a thing will last. She knows, in fact, that if pressed, Lex could make things much worse for her—and anyone else who opposed him.
So she crosses the room. Kara doesn’t take his outstretched hand, but doesn’t pull away when he grabs her arm, either.
The firm grip is a reminder she doesn’t need.
~V~
Helena is most certainly not brooding. The very idea of it is ridiculous, as she had told Claudia when the young woman had accused her of it.
More specifically, Claudia had said Helena is ‘Fulfilling that brooding Rogue Queen air entirely too much,’ in that quaint way she has of speaking.
Helena had, of course, informed her she isn’t brooding. And instructed her to never call Helena a queen again.
Brooding. Helena would never brood. She’s simply thinking; she has quite a mind after all. She does so often.
Thinking. Considering. Remembering.
She’s doing too much of the last now.
Helena may not accept the title of Rogue Queen, but these are her people. Her friends. Her family, should she be allowed.
And if any of them were to face hardship, as one now does, then Helena faces it too.
Hardship. It’s almost laughable. How could such a simple word hold the loss of everything one held dear?
Lena has already lost her home and her family. Is separated from her love.
And Helena… What has Helena ever lost that simple hardship could answer for? She has lost her daughter, her family, her home, and even her comfort.
She hadn’t come to the queendom simply to leave the kingdom. If such had been her aim, she’d have gone far enough to find those who wouldn’t recognize her name.
She had landed in the queendom thanks to an ill-made decision.
She had known MacPherson for some time. He had helped her find the men who had killed her daughter, had helped dispose of them after. So when he invited her to join his rogues, she had easily agreed.
But MacPherson had quickly revealed himself to be nothing more or less than a liar.
She’d first met the man in the high societies of the kingdom. His family had been noble only in the legal sense. A scandal some years earlier had damaged the family’s reputation.
Helena sees the parallel.
In MacPherson’s version of events, he’d left high society in protest to its treatment of each other and the commonfolk. He’d formed his band of rogues for the same reason. To needle the nobility and aid the commonfolk in any way they could.
She doesn’t know how voluntary his departure truly was, doesn’t particularly care to know—but the only commoner James MacPherson was ever interested in helping was his newly-disgraced self.
Helena had been more than happy to arrest carriages. To seize the coins and baubles of pearl-clutching ladies in opulent dresses, and their posturing gentleman.
She means to claim no moral high ground. Though she was pleased to help those who need it, the endeavor was little more or less than vengeance for her. These were the same nobles who blamed Christina for existing. Who overlooked her death as a course of nature. They’d had the gall to gossip about Helena, as if avenging her daughter was worse than doing nothing.
So perhaps she enjoyed their loss. That doesn’t mean she wanted it to be meaningless.
And perhaps she’s a suspicious creature. After everything, how could she not be? Curiosity so easily fouls.
He was more conspicuous than he’d believed himself to be. Many of the rogues wished to join his deliveries to the commonfolk. He’d refused every time.
She’d followed him. She hadn’t disabused his notion that he’d taught her all that she knew, and so she’d employed the tactics he hadn’t known to watch for.
What she saw was disappointing, but not surprising. MacPherson had gone right to the victim nobles and sold their jewels back to them at inflated prices. Sweetening the pot with an offer of amnesty, he took nearly half the household earnings.
And yet the donation he made to the commonfolk amounted to little more than a handful of coins each. Barely enough to feed a family for the night. The amount he kept could have brought the town to life.
And, unknowing, they thanked him for it. They thanked him for the pittance of his generosity, gifting him with food and blankets to give his band of rogues. He piled their gratitude upon the hidden compartments in the cart where he’d stored his spoils.
Helena’s composure had broken when she followed him back to their camp, and he returned to a hero’s welcome. The rogues cheered at the gifts, tearing into fresh bread with joy and distributing the blankets.
All the while he’d smirked like a hero-king.
Helena had confronted him then, abandoning the shadows of the forest. The arrow she’d fired had slammed into the tree behind him, just above his shoulder. She’d revealed his falsity to the other rogues, revealed his hiding place.
That’d been the end of that version of them. There was a new divide—those who had known, and those who hadn’t.
A mutual bearing of arms had led to an agreement and an uneven splitting of goods which heavily favored MacPherson’s side. The band of rogues had split in three—those who followed MacPherson, those that followed Helena, and those that left the task completely—and parted from each other that very night.
But Helena hadn’t left things there.
Claudia, too young and new to be yet known as one of the Rogues had stumbled into the heart of the kingdom and alerted the guards to the location of the thieves who had ‘robbed’ her.
Perhaps they were a small and petty collection, but they had watched the raid on MacPherson’s band as a great diversion.
Helena had even attended his execution.
And yet, despite MacPherson’s departure, enough of his band remained to make the kingdom unsafe for her own.
With their limited resources, the neighboring queendom was the best choice for their relocation.
That didn’t mean Helena let them go recklessly. They became more than thieves—they became spies. And they began an investigation immediately.
Most of what they found was unsurprising. Disparity. Apathy. Corruption.
But they also found a queen who wished to change these things. And Helena was content to be a temporary aid. To retire her cause when they were no longer needed.
Then the queen, Alexandra, was called away to end a war that never should have begun, and all her reforms were halted. And it was unfortunate, but Helena understood how these things happened.
But then things began to worsen. The disparity deepened. Their thefts were more lucrative, and the commonfolk hungrier. And there was no reasoning for this, no understanding.
Until Lena stepped free of the trees that very first time with an explanation. And their second mission began.
As if called by Helena’s thoughts, the very woman steps free from the trees yet again. Lena’s eyes light up when she spots her leader, and the younger woman makes her way over quickly.
“H.G.,” she begins breathlessly, “I need your help.”
~V~
Lena can hear the others bickering. They’re debating the best way to stop a carriage.
Claudia argues for the ruse they sometimes employ. She would stumble from the forest into the road, battered from a run-in with bandits and begging for help. It’s brought them some success, but the young woman’s drive for it is simply her own desire to be useful.
She had come to them barely into womanhood, half-starved and dirty, searching for a brother lost long before. Still working with MacPherson, H.G. had used her remaining connections to find him, succeeding in only a few months, and Claudia has been her loyal attendant since.
Opposite her, Brainy argues for some incomprehensibly complicated set of events. None of them quite know his origin—he refuses to speak of it. But he had been a part of MacPherson’s rogues before H.G., and she had won his loyalty with her honesty. He had been a true believer in their cause, and followed her when the bands split.
Nia at last pipes in, with clear fatigue for their argument, suggesting they simply lay a fallen tree in the path. It’s inconspicuous enough—any tree might fall—and the carriage must stop to determine the obstacle.
The other two declare it logical—Claudia awkwardly sheepish and colorful, Brainy clinically and extravagant—and Nia shakes her head.
Nia had come to them as an outcast, ostracized by her own small village for her gender. She had admitted this as some great crime, but the others had shrugged away her anxieties, welcoming her unreservedly. Her loyalty had been bought then.
These, at least, are the stories she’d been told, and she chooses to believe in their validity.
Lena was the last to join, having searched for these Rogues after her banishment. They’re well-known throughout the queendom, reviled and beloved. She knew that if anyone was likely to help her, it would be them.
And they have. In some ways, it had almost seemed like they were waiting for her.
H.G. took the information Lena had given her and infiltrated the castle within the week. She had returned in a fortnight after a small incident, having left Lena and her Rogues ‘in each other’s capable hands.’
And with her return, she had brought news of an upcoming guard captain. A woman reasonable enough to listen, sympathetic enough to help.
Still, H.G. doesn’t trust without verification—Lena has little doubt her own story was investigated while H.G. was at the castle.
So saying, they’d drafted a letter of ills, addressed to the new guard leader, and affixed it to the castle door. They have yet to see the effects of their labor.
That doesn’t mean they’ve stopped. As dependable as the rising sun, H.G. delivers a fresh letter to the castle door on the first of every month. Their mission continues in the meanwhile.
“What’s wrong?” H.G. asks in that tone that has always brought Lena comfort.
H.G. can always be trusted to act. When she’s set her mind on something, when she believes in something, it takes a greater power to change her course. She has yet to meet one.
Having such a force on one’s side—at times it feels like having a knife in a brawl.
“Lex is forcing Kara into marriage.”
The bickering of the group ceases. H.G.’s jaw tightens as she clenches her teeth.
“He what?” the elder woman asks.
“He’s forcing Kara to marry him.” Lena huffs. “Doubtlessly, he means to find his way to the throne more permanently.”
“And he’d steal your lady to get it?” Claudia asks incredulously.
Lena nods.
“Cripes.” Claudia shakes her head. “That’s so unbrotherly.”
Lena gestures a shrug with one hand. That’s her family.
“We’re going to help,” Nia says. “Right?”
“Of course we will,” H.G. answers easily.
Lena can already see the wheels of the woman’s mind turning, and it brings her some relief.
“What we’re doing now isn’t working,” H.G. begins. “At least, not quickly enough. I’m sure Myka is the one to help us—but it’s time to take a more aggressive stand. We need to speak with her directly.”
“What makes you so sure about Myka?” Claudia asks.
H.G. contemplates her answer for a moment before saying, “I’ve known a great many people in her position or higher. And it’s much easier to find the apathetic among them than the empathetic.
“But Myka is definitively the latter. She dreams, as we do, and not simply for her own greatness. She truly wishes to help others.”
There’s a small smile on her lips as she says it, and Lena shares a suspicious glance with the other Rogues.
“H.G.,” Claudia dares to broach, “just how much time did you spend with the new guard captain?”
Helena smirks. “We interacted.”
Claudia laughs, tipping her head back as she cackles. Nia’s lips press together, hiding her own humor, and Brainy wears that same bemused expression he so often bears.
But Lena sighs, and brings up a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.
“Tell me,” she says slowly, enunciating every syllable, “that you didn’t break the guard captain’s heart when you left?”
“Of course not,” Helena replies, oddly indignant. Her affairs are hardly private. “One should never break the heart of such a fine woman.”
Lena blinks. Could H.G. have…?
But no—H.G.’s a consummate flirt. For someone to catch her attention, they had to be remarkable. But for someone to keep it—Lena has yet to see anyone succeed.
Nia’s thoughts seem to fall along similar lines.
“Love is a new color on you,” she remarks.
And H.G. falters. She doesn’t blush, doesn’t quite stammer, but there’s a delay in her response that heralds its falsity.
“Don’t be absurd,” she refutes. “I simply find her rather interesting.”
Nia and Claudia share an amused glance, but Lena clears her throat.
“As… interesting as this conversation is, can we please focus on helping Kara?”
H.G. turns to her, sympathy written across her features. “We won’t allow your brother to harm Kara, darling. We’re getting her out of the castle. Tomorrow night.”
~V~
Her guards—her friends—rise to their feet as she enters the barracks, and it’s still odd. Just a few months ago, she would have risen with them to greet Artie.
Pete still grins at her. He’s somehow prouder of her promotion than anyone. Steve and the Olsen siblings remain serious, at least. Their hands are clasped behind their backs, their expressions stern. Winn stands as they do, but nerves color his features. His typical role tends towards information gathering.
She supposes today he’ll receive the order he worries over.
“We have a mission,” she tells them.
Save Winn, a kind of anticipation settles over them. They call themselves guards, but they aren’t quite party to the Royal Guard. In idle times, they function much the same—patrolling the castle halls, the city streets. At times they even follow the Queen Alexandra on royal hunts.
But when something must be done—criminals found, information collected, Rogues ousted—it’s this small band that manages the work.
And it isn’t an easy group to join. One must show a certain valor or skill above the others to earn an invitation.
For most of them, they had earned their invitation by persevering over a particular criminal.
Pete had earned his hunting for a thief pillaging royal treasures. Pete hadn’t actually been the one to catch the man, but he had been instrumental in the re-collection of the stolen goods, and his skillset remains invaluable.
The Olsen siblings, James and Kelly, had received their invitations together, neither to be outdone by the other. They’d been travelling with two noble children as security when the caravan was beset by bandits. The two had managed to fend off the offending band, protecting the children.
Winn’s invitation had been a surprise. After the villainy of his father, many of the guards disputed his very presence among them. But none have an intelligence network like Winn’s. None else can obtain such information on the underground.
Steve is their newest addition. His ability to read deceit had distinguished him quickly after his joining the guard, but its consistency, its accuracy, had needed verification. Once obtained, his invitation was assured.
Myka’s own story is more like Pete’s and the Olsens’. A thief named Leo Bock killed a guard Myka had been close to. Myka had hunted him down, but it was the discovery of the traitor guard working with Leo, and his subsequent arrest that had won her distinction. Her meticulous nature had aided her in climbing the small ranks after.
“So, Mykes,” Pete prompts, “what’s the mission?”
“I believe I’ve found H.G. Wells.”
“You believe?” James repeats.
“How’d you do it?” Winn demands. He’s been searching for the elusive Rogues nearly since their entrance to the queendom. That even his remarkable network hasn’t yet found them is a particular hit to his pride.
But the man seems to realize just whom he’d demanded of, and offers her a sheepish smile.
“There’s a book,” she tells them, “written by H.G. Wells, herself—”
“A book?” James interrupts incredulously. “Myka, I know books are the be-all, end-all for you, but do you really think H.G. Wells is writing a guide to finding her in a story?”
“Maybe if you’d let her finish,” Pete returns pointedly, “you’d have your answer.”
The two men glare at each other, and there’s a collective sigh from the room. James’ natural skepticism and Pete’s more intuitive approach often clash, causing this rivalry between them that’s little more than obnoxious.
Kelly elbows her brother’s arm, and he turns back to attention, his jaw tight. Pete mirrors the action.
“As I was saying,” she continues sternly. “Wells’ books aren’t simply stories. They’re inventive and methodical, and this one in particular.”
Even James perks up at that.
“There are patterns in the movements of the characters in this books that I believe Wells is following, whether consciously or not. I’ve studied the maps of their camps and suspected timelines, and it’s a little too coincidental for me.
“If I’m right, then I know where the Rogues are, and I know they’ll still be there tomorrow morning.”
“Tomorrow?” Pete asks. “We’re not going after them now?”
Myka shakes her head. “I need the permission of the Regent before any mission. I’m meeting with him this afternoon. I don’t imagine he’ll refuse, so I thought I’d give you all time to prepare. We leave at midnight to reach their camp by dawn.”
“And you wanted to practice your pitch,” Kelly teases.
Myka smirks. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
~V~
Kara shouldn’t be terribly surprised when Lena doesn’t signal her presence.
And she’s not, truly! Undoubtedly, her Zhao is working toward some solution for Kara’s predicament.
She just… misses her. Misses her in a way even their signal lights can’t assuage. What she needs is time with Lena. To hold her. Kiss her again.
They haven’t known such time apart since their meeting.
They’d met near the day of Kara’s arrival. The Luthors’ position, their high status, ensured the two would meet eventually, but Lena had been even more insatiably curious as a child, and she had found her way to Kara within a handful of days.
And it had been an instant understanding.
The loss of one’s family—Kara’s parents, Lena’s mother—the suddenness of a new life, the unfamiliarity of the queendom capital. They each understood what the other thought hopeless, and a companionship bloomed between them easily.
With time, with attention and care, that had furthered into the chaste love of youth, and with age, into ardor.
They fell in love sneaking pastries from the kitchens and hiding in the gardens to speak undisturbed. It’d been in such a circumstance that Kara had confessed. She’d been ready to accept as much or as little as Lena offered, but she could no longer bear to hide the depth or the constancy of her feelings. She could survive a refusal, as long as Lena knew.
In the end, her anxiety was little more than that. Lena had been joyed to the point of tears at Kara’s confession, quickly affirming her own sentiments.
Kara had gently wiped her Zhao’s tears away, and kissed her.
Even just remembering it now makes her stomach flutter. She feels no doubt in the knowledge that Lena’s the one she’ll spend her life with. The bracelet is already made.
It’s not the queendom’s custom, but it is the Kryptonian Dukedom’s. And if there’s anything Lena understands, it’s remembering your home in new places.
Lena’s banishment is temporary, Kara believes that with everything that she is. Lex won’t be able to hold the regency when Alex returns. Her sister is too beloved, too sure in her position. She’ll remove Lex even if she has to oust him, and set things right.
They must persist until then.
The door opens, and without knocking, without permission, Lex enters.
His presence is insult enough, but there’s something in the vicious curve of his smile, in the sharpness of his teeth, that’s nearly terrifying.
“Beloved,” he croons, and she only just stops her lip from curling.
She doesn’t answer him, letting the silence stretch out in the closed room.
“Aren’t you pleased to see me?” he asks with mock hurt. “No kind word for your—”
“What do you want, Lex?”
He tsks. “Is that any way to speak to your future husband?”
Her glare only makes him laugh.
“What I want,” he answers, “is to give you some news. More specifically, I want to see you hear it.”
For a moment, he looks utterly lupine. The monster he truly is showing through the façade of civility. And real, crippling fear fills Kara’s belly for whatever this news will be.
“Of course,” he says, clasping his hands behind his back as if troubled, “I really shouldn’t be telling you this. You are, after all, rather attached to one of those Rogues. Who knows what you might do.”
Kara scoffs. It’s a taunt, not a worry. There’s nothing she can do from this damned tower.
“But that little Rogue is the issue, isn’t she?” Lex continues, keeping his tone light. “She’s the reason you’re still fighting how things have to go. Perhaps it’s time we removed this particular impediment so you can get past that.”
Her stomach clenches, her throat tightening, and Kara squeezes her hands into fists to hide their shaking. “What are you plotting?”
“Me?” He tsks again. “I have no hand in it. Our new guard captain, however, has proven her worth.”
Lex starts to pace leisurely, crossing before the door each time in another unnecessary reminder.
“She’s discovered the key to hunting down those obnoxious rogues. She informed me this afternoon, asking my permission to raid their camp. It was,” He stops, placing a hand on his chest and turning to face her, the very picture of the concerned regent. A wolf dressed in the skin of a respectable man, “of course an endeavor I was forced to approve.
“These rogues have made a great nuisance of themselves to my people. However fair would it be to them, to pardon these criminals simply because my sister is among their number?”
“I know you like to hear yourself speak, Lex,” Kara snaps, “but I’ve grown tired of it. Finish what you have to say, and get out.”
A muscle flexes in his jaw as his teeth clench, and she considers it a victory.
Then he says, “The crimes committed by that merry band are capital offenses. I’ve given the guards leave to deliver judgement. Come this time tomorrow, I will be the only Luthor left. Perhaps then you’ll accept your new role.”
His sneer curdles into a horrible smirk. “There’s the expression I’d wanted to see.”
The words are slow to register. Rather, everything seems to have slowed around her, and flung themselves far beyond her reach. As if she desperately runs the length of a long tunnel, trying to reach the light at its end.
Kara’s never been especially skilled at hiding what she feels, but in this moment, for Lena, she tries.
But Lex laughs, low in his throat, and mocks, “Worry not, my dear Kara, I’ll come to you first with news.”
“Get,” she breathes, hardly able to do more, “out.”
With a courtly, insulting bow, he complies.
For a moment, all Kara can do is stare at the closed door.
Then she crosses the room to her armoire and yanks its double doors open. She pulls her riding habit from where it hangs and tears her dress from her, ripping seams, to don it.
Lena’s death isn’t something she can allow. It isn’t something she will allow.
To this point she had wished to remain in this castle to maintain a kind of foothold. A space to allow Alex’s return, a barrier to Lex’s complete control.
But she’s fooling herself, thinking her presence makes any difference now. Perhaps it would mean something for Alex’s return, but without Lena…
Kara won’t lose her. She simply won’t.
Lex had said, who knows what you might do. He’d said it to taunt her. And he was right, there’s nothing she can do in this tower.
Except leave.
Lena had taught Kara the pattern to their camp movements so Kara would know how to find her if she ever needed to. Now she’s particularly glad for it.
She goes to the window and peers over the edge. It’s a long way down, but she’s always had a good head for heights.
It won’t be easy to scale down or get across the grounds without being seen. It’s likely the very reason Lex keeps guards at her door, but not at the foot of her tower. What he’s forgotten is that Alex bears the title “Warrior Queen,” and that she trained Kara personally.
Lex may have locked Kara in her room, but it’s large enough that Kara could build a new regimen. And with the cover of night to aid her in hiding from the guards, she isn’t too worried.
It’ll be difficult, but it’ll be done.
~V~
Claudia, predictably, had been the one to ask why they had to wait. The young woman is brilliant, but she’s still too used to working on her own. She has to be reminded that a team needs a plan.
She tends to forget, also, that some of their faces are on rather pretty posters with rather pretty sums, a fact which makes her groan when remembered. Her groan is always echoed in the way Nia cringes, and Brainy looks away.
The three of them had begged for a mission—or, more accurately she suspects, Nia and Claudia had begged, and Brainy had gone along—while Helena had been on her own mission at the castle. Lena, whom Helena had left in charge despite her lacking seniority, had allowed it.
Helena doesn’t know the full story—they refuse to share it—but she had abandoned the castle once she’d seen the wanted posters of the three of her rogues. A bit of motherly lecturing may have ensued.
Once Claudia accepted that they couldn’t simply stroll into the queendom castle and stroll back out with Kara tucked beneath their collective arm, they were able to start on their plans.
They’d need a way past the guards. Equipment to get over the keep’s walls, and up a tower. The right timing to ensure they were far enough away before Lex realized Kara was gone. And luck.
Lena knows near-everything about the castle’s layout, and Helena had made sure to learn the guards’ routes in her brief time at the castle.
She does… feel some regret in using what she learned from Myka against her.
She knows the Rogues already suspect her feelings for the guard captain, but the truth is that she can’t afford to feel the way she does for Myka. Not while things in the queendom are still so uncertain.
The people she means to help, to protect, they’re important. Their suffering is real. It doesn’t fade for a pair of earthen eyes, brown as soil and green as grass. For chestnut curls and a laugh greater than the songs of the Seraphim.
Focus, Helena.
Myka hadn’t realized how much Helena had gleaned from the little she’d said of official matters. Why would she have? Helena had played the part of the smitten maid well.
Though, perhaps, too little of it had been playing.
She gave all that she learned to her Rogues. The guards’ movements, their number. Which of them might be an easy target, and which to avoid near any cost.
Lena likewise laid out the castle’s structure—each floor and hallway, and the hidden passages that she knew of.
A tentative plan had grown. Every plan is subject to the whims of actuality, but they’d had enough of one to start preparing.
Helena herself had gone to town for materials from the markets. Ropes with which to scale, clothing dark enough to hide in the night, and anything else that might prove useful. Lena had set about readying their weapons, sharpening their edges and oiling the metal. The remaining three had set about scouting the forest, and laying traps.
They would need the night of rest to aid in their mission. The day of would be spent making their way to the castle and finding there the best points of ingress and egress. They hoped to avoid raising any alarms, but should they fail, the traps they laid today in the forest, and tomorrow around the castle, should ensure their getaway.
Knowing they would need the rest is easy—they would need to be awake through the next day and night to enact their plan and move on, and they needed something to hold them.
Sleeping is harder. The anticipation of action, the nerves and small excitement, were hardly conducive to rest. Still, they laid in their bedrolls and tried anyway. Helena watched the stars most of the night.
They rouse as the sky lightens. They collect their gear and don the proper clothing, and converge to remind themselves of the plan once more.
Near the end, Nia says, “The greatest issue will be in getting the princess out, once we have her.”
“Kara’s more agile than you’d think,” Lena answers. “She was trained by the Warrior Queen herself. If we can get out, then she can.
“Our greatest issue is getting past the keep walls without being seen.”
But Claudia shakes her head. “Getting past the walls will be easy enough, as long as we can time it right with the guards.”
“Timing actually will be difficult,” Helena affirms. “Myka had noted a number of inefficiencies in the guards’ patrol—doubtlessly, she’s corrected them by now.”
“Not my authority,” a cold voice replies. “But I did alert the proper captain.”
Helena turns slowly, a chill skittering down her spine. She’s wise enough to feel some trepidation at the fury in Myka Bering’s expression, even as her heart leaps. Foolishly, most of what she feels is delight.
“Hello, my darling,” she says a little too sincerely.
“I presume Emily Lake isn’t truly your name.”
She gives a gentlemanly bow. “Helena Wells, at your service.”
“You’re H.G. Wells?” Myka demands, incredulity written across her features. Then horror dawns. “I had you in my grasp,” she whispers. “I had you in my grasp, and I let you go.”
“You had me quite in your grasp, darling,” Helena purrs.
A guard snorts behind Myka, and Helena realizes for the first time that the captain isn’t alone. By point of fact, the Rogues are outnumbered by one.
That’s not particularly good.
The sound of a sword being drawn captures her attention, and Helena watches Myka, fury written in her expression, level her blade at her.
“Surrender,” she orders darkly, “or we will take you all in by force.”
A whistle pierces the air, and every gaze snaps in its direction.
Lena, looking every bit as enraged as Myka herself, stands by the barrels where they had set their swords in preparation to leave. In quick, practiced motions, each Rogue holds out a hand to catch their sword by the scabbard as Lena tosses it to them.
There’s a succession of the metal susurrus of swords being drawn as even the guards prepare themselves.
Helena is the first to move, swinging her blade in a wide arc to command Myka’s attention. She has little doubt of the captain’s prowess, leaving Lena and herself as their better options to oppose her.
And yet Myka’s parry is still quicker than expected. Unwavering determination covers the captain’s features, and with a simple turning of her wrist, she presses her blade and forces Helena’s downward.
Helena can hear the sounds of swords clashing all around her as the Rogues and guards duel. But even just acknowledging the noise is too much of a distraction as Myka forces Helena’s blade out of the way and, in a quick motion, swipes for Helena’s exposed abdomen. Helena can only leap back.
Helena may be better hand-to-hand, and she may not be gifted with swords, but she’s still good. She can still hold her own against the better of guards.
It won’t be enough now.
So she looks to the guard captain with a charming grin and says, “As sporting as this is, my darling, I’ve the feeling I shall always fall to my knees for you.”
A strangled sound escapes Myka’s throat, and Helena corrects impishly, “Before you, I mean.”
Then she moves enough to see both Myka and Helena in her peripherals and adds, “Fortunately, I’m not our best.”
And she shouts, “Lena, darling, I’ve an adversary for you!”
~V~
Lena hears the call—and an answering get back here, Wells—and knows H.G. would only make it if the situation was irreparable.
So Lena regards her opponent—a large man with brown hair; strong but slow—and finds the opportunity to bat his sword away. She then kicks out, her heel slamming against his knee and making him stumble.
It’s enough for her to skip back, to turn and find H.G. racing for her. Lena steps aside so the Rogue leader can take over her fight, and starts forward to intercept the guard captain.
The captain tries to sidestep Lena—slashing in a simple, repelling way—to get to H.G., but Lena avoids the blow and swings her own blade upward toward the woman’s jaw, and she’s forced to parry.
They separate, taking each other’s measure. The guard captain is certainly quick, and roughly as strong as Lena, given that parry.
Lena was trained as a noblewoman, the captain as a guard, leaving them both some room for surprise in their attacks.
The only physical advantage Lena can imagine is that the guard is doubtlessly in better practice than Lena herself.
The captain moves first, swinging her blade in a high arc to build momentum. Lena wraps her second hand around the hilt and swings to meet her.
The clash reverberates through Lena’s bones. But the captain’s already moving.
She pulls her blade free of Lena’s, metal sliding against metal, and thrusts, aiming for Lena’s abdomen. Lena turns to avoid the attack and goes on the offensive. She brings her blade down against the captain’s, shoving the tip into the dirt—though her opponent keeps it impressively in hand.
Lena takes the brief opening to flick her wrist and slash at the woman’s throat.
The captain leaps back, her eyes wide.
Good. This isn’t a diversion for Lena. It isn’t silly or fun. Kara needs help. And if the Rogues fall today, or get taken in, then who’s left to help her?
The captain’s expression hardens. Her grip shifts on her sword’s hilt, and she lunges, sweeping upward. Lena tilts her blade to parry, then hooks it beneath the captain’s and forces them both skyward. She steps into the empty space, kicking at the captain’s knee.
But the other woman jumps back and to the side, pulling her sword free. She’s barely on the ground again before she’s darting forward, her sword arcing toward Lena’s shoulder. Lena parries, then spins, ducking low to swing at the captain’s abdomen.
The captain parries and kicks at Lena, forcing Lena to roll back before springing to her feet again.
She’s even faster than Lena had previously thought. And with their equal strength—Lena can only hope the captain has less to fight for.
She leaps back as the captain swings at her abdomen again. It’d be a debilitating wound, but not necessarily lethal. None of the captain’s blows have been necessarily lethal, save that testing thrust. Each one of them would heal, with proper care.
Why doesn’t she want to kill Lena? Lena highly doubts her brother asked for mercy. She’d sooner believe her brother had ordered her death.
So why is the captain holding herself back?
H.G. had said she’s a good woman—if she’s willing to disregard Lex’s orders, perhaps H.G. is right.
But Lena can’t risk her being wrong.
She lunges, thrusting her blade forward—but the captain sidesteps, catching the blade with her own, and guiding it harmlessly past her. Lena pretends to stumble, and when the captain turns to knock her off her feet, she slashes at the woman’s shins, drawing blood.
The captain cries out and falters back a step before straightening again. She launches herself forward, barely a limp in her step, and swings for Lena’s shoulder.
Lena parries easily, but the captain reaches out with her free hand and grabs Lena’s wrist. Lena grabs the woman’s wrist in turn, digging in her nails and pulling to try and free herself. But the captain grits her teeth and pushes against Lena’s wrist, pulling against her blade, until she forces the hilt from Lena’s grip.
She kicks the sword away the moment it hits the ground, and brings the edge of her blade to Lena’s throat.
“Yield,” the captain demands, “or be killed.”
Lena cuts a quick glance around their camp, hoping for someone she can call to her aid.
But the fights are over.
Brainy and a small, brown haired guard are both breathing heavily. One has a blackened eye, and the other a split in his lip, but they appear otherwise unharmed. Their swords are both tip-downward in the dirt.
Nia stands similarly beside a slim guard with a shaven head, though they are both rather worse for wear.
Claudia is struggling against the hold of two dark-skinned guards. The girl is still in the beginning stages of her training, but she has the determination of a feral tom cat, and the guards are both bleeding in several places.
The large man Lena had traded to Helena is sat on the ground, H.G.’s sword at his throat.
But H.G. is staring at Lena and the captain, trepidation written across her features.
Lena’s eyes burn. They’ve lost. The rest of them will surrender to save Lena.
She’s failed. She’s failed them and Kara.
Looking back to the captain, she says with far less fire than she wishes, “Fine, then. Arrest me. Put me in your jail, but you can tell my brother that I won’t stop. I will free Kara.”
The captain blinks, confusion flitting through her expression. “The princess, Kara?”
~V~
The utter hate, the desolation, in the rogue’s expression is unexpected.
Her words, more so.
“The princess, Kara?” Myka asks.
The Rogue’s jaw tightens as she clenches her teeth, and she nods.
“The princess is safely at the castle, where she belongs,” Myka says carefully, watching the woman’s expression.
Her eyes narrow, suspicion and loathing filling them, and she’s considering Myka, Myka realizes.
So she asks, “Why would the princess need saving?”
A small part of that suspicion slips into simple hesitance, and she says, “Kara is my beloved—we played together as children. My brother keeps her prisoner now, in her tower. She communicated such to me herself.”
And Myka doesn’t have Steve’s preternatural ability to tell when people are lying, but the Rogue’s conviction, her absolute belief in what she’s saying, is apparent.
So Myka lowers her sword. Releases her wrist, and steps away.
Surprise covers the Rogue’s features, but she quickly turns to Helena and beckons the woman over.
Helena complies, stabbing her blade into the ground first, leaving it beside Pete in an act of good faith. Myka offers one of her own, commanding the Olsen siblings to release the redheaded girl.
As if by unspoken agreement, the two sides congregate, the guards standing behind Myka, and the Rogues behind Helena and the woman Myka had fought.
“You’re Lena Luthor,” Myka surmises.
“Yes.”
“And the brother you speak of is Alexander Luthor, the Regent.”
“Yes.”
“Then why are you a traitor?” Myka questions. “What did you do to deserve banishment?”
Lena grits her teeth and answers, “I am banished because he is the traitor. I opposed him, and he had the power to remove me.
“When Queen Alexandra went to end the war, Kara should have ascended until her return. But my brother stole that from her. He worked with the other advisors and the royal guards to set himself as Regent instead.”
Myka turns to Steve, hoping he’ll refute the Rogue’s story, reveal her to be false.
But shock covers the man’s expression, and when he meets Myka’s eyes, he nods once.
The truth, then. How could this possibly be the truth?
Myka had joined the guard to help. To protect people. To save even just one person from feeling what she’d felt when she lost Sam.
Has she only been serving the very kind of horror she’d hoped to stop?
“Why didn’t you bring this forward?” Myka demands.
“And to whom, exactly,” Helena returns dryly, “would she have brought this?”
Myka glares at the woman. “Well you’ve been leaving me letters for months,” she snaps. “You could have written it into any one of them.”
“For anyone to see?” Helena answers derisively. “And besides, it isn’t as if we’ve seen much success with you.”
“You have no idea what I have or have not done.”
“What have you done, then?”
“Everything I legally could,” Myka tells her, and it’s true. She’d looked into the Rogues’ claims, then taken the information to the advisors. She’d advocated for systems to help the commonfolk. And had still been advocating when she left in the night.
Helena snorts. “Legally,” she derides. “When has that ever helped?”
“And what help has illegality given you?” Myka presses. “What help is hurting people? Killing them?”
“We haven’t killed anyone,” Helena answers indignantly. “And we don’t harm anyone either. We rob, and even then we only take what they can afford to lose.”
“You killed James MacPherson.”
“I most certainly did not.”
“Yes, you did,” Winn blurts, and shrinks when all eyes turn to him. But he says, “I learned it from the underground myself.”
Helena rolls her eyes, but it’s Myka she gives her reply to, “I did not kill James MacPherson. I turned him in—and in the underground, that’s much the same. But James MacPherson was legally put to death by the kingdom.”
It’s odd, the way Myka feels the tension leave her shoulders. It shouldn’t be a relief to know of Helena’s innocence in this, but it is.
She’s still guilty of other crimes. Myka will still have to arrest her in time. But knowing Helena isn’t an indiscriminate murderer is a relief all the same.
Something must show in her expression, because Helena’s voice is softer when she says, “You don’t have to help us. But please give us time.”
Myka sighs, and rubs her forehead with her fingers. “Of course I’m going to help you.”
Several voices cry out in confusion or surprise, Rogue and guard alike.
So Myka says, “My duty may demand I obey the Regent, but my responsibility is to protect this land and its crown. If the princess is a prisoner, then I must free her.”
Amidst the surprise, joy and relief ripple through the Rogues, none more so than Lena.
But Helena is positively beaming when she says, “Aces.”
Myka’s lips twitch, but she turns to address her guards. While surprise exists among them as well, their reactions range closer to trepidation.
“I won’t require you to follow me,” she tells them softly. “It’d be a betrayal of the current power. You’d be labelled a criminal, and hunted. It has to be your decision.”
“I’m in,” Pete says immediately. She blinks at him in surprise, and he shrugs. “It’s the right thing to do.”
“I’m in too,” Steve says next. “You’re right, Captain. I made my vow to the queendom, not Alexander Luthor.”
Kelly answers after, “My loyalty is to Queen Alexandra. I’ll fight for Princess Kara in her name.”
“If my sister’s staying,” James says, shrugging. But he grins.
Winn sighs. “Oh, all right. If everyone’s in, then I’m in.”
Myka can’t help the grin that spills over her lips, wide and happy. Gratitude wells within her, but her throat tightens, damming it.
“Righty-ho, then,” Helena says cheerfully. “This betters our chances rather nicely.”
“We can save Kara,” Lena breathes, a beatific grin lighting her features.
But before anything else can be said, there’s a rustle in the brush, and a bright voice answers, “That won’t be necessary.”
~V~
Climbing over the window ledge had felt like flying.
Freedom not just from Lex and the room she had been locked in, but from her very position. Kara wasn’t meant to be a princess. Given the choice, she’d have been a guard.
And it was almost fun, in the way danger can sometimes be diverting, scaling down the side of her tower.
A princess locked in her tower. It was a terrible cliché.
Getting past the guards was easier than it should have been. She isn’t sure if it’s complacency, or perhaps simply sloth, but they lingered in the torchlight, restricting their vision to its reach. Kara needed only to remain in the dark.
The gate hadn’t been a viable option for egress, and so she’d scaled the stone again—up to the ramparts, to run across and scale down again.
And she’d been free. So painfully easy that she’d had to consider her lack of earlier effort. She’d made little difference in the castle—why then, had she remained? Her reasons seemed so weak beyond its walls.
Lena had taught her—as well as she could in their limited communication—the pattern to the Rogues’ movements. She also gave Kara their new location each time they moved, so that Kara could always find her.
Just in case.
The forest is familiar enough, by the grace of her rides. Those she took with Alex when they pretended they were hunting, and those she took with Lena when all they wanted was to be alone, unfound.
As such, she’d had some hope, stepping between the trees, that she’d find Lena. She’d had only to follow the landmarks Lena had laid out for her. Fifty paces from the fallen oak to the great rock. Thirty paces west, then, to the branches draped in moss—and so forth.
Still, there ‘d been room for error. Kara’s greater height meant longer strides, and she often reached the landmarks before the proper count. Once, the marker was inconspicuous enough that Kara was forced to backtrack three times before she found it.
Still, Lena is meticulous, and each marker was precisely in the direction she’d named. The paces acted as a sort of guide, allowing her some timing in where to look.
Nevertheless, it took her the entirety of the night to make her way through the forest to the camp.
But as the sun dawned through the branches of the trees, she was beset by the sounds of a skirmish, metal against metal, cries of pain.
She bolted into a run. Toward the sounds where the camp must have been.
She was too late to warn them, but there had to be something she could have done to intervene. She is still the princess—would the guards still have listened to her orders?
The sounds were strange in the forest. They bounced off the trees, dampened in the brush. She’d think herself at the camp edge, only to hear the ringing of swords sound behind her.
When she finally saw a greater light between the trees, the sounds from the camp had quieted.
Voices grew as she approached, and as she stepped to the camp edge, she’d realized they were speaking of her.
And so it’s with some amusement that she steps free of the trees, stating, “That won’t be necessary.”
And she’s here. She’s found the camp, the Rogues, and the guards are here, but they’re not fighting.
Then a voice, achingly familiar, sobs out, “Kara.”
Lena. Her gaze snaps in the direction of the cry, and Lena.
Kara can’t stop the sob that works its way up her own throat, or the happy tightening in her chest.
She starts—stumbles—forward, racing for her Zhao, and Lena runs for her as well,
They collide in a tangle of limbs and tears, and Kara lifts Lena from the ground, just to have her entirely in her arms. Lena releases a soft laugh, and brushes her lips over the tear tracks on Kara’s cheeks.
She’d missed her. Missed her the way she’d miss breathing if she stopped.
Lena is vital.
Kara eases her Zhao to the ground so she can cradle Lena’s face in her hands, and kiss her. Lena wraps her arms around Kara’s waist and pulls her close.
They pull apart at the sound of an indelicately cleared throat.
A woman who must be H.G. smirks at them, as do the two other female Rogues. The male Rogue simply looks bemused. The reactions of the guards more closely match his. One man among them grins, but while he looks as though he wishes to speak, he remains silent.
The captain kneels, dipping her head in deference. “Your highness.”
Her guards follow suit with varying levels of grace. Kelly offers her a smile, which she returns.
“I don’t think I’m anyone’s highness anymore,” Kara says, wrapping her arm around Lena as she turns to face the two groups. “With my leaving the castle, Lex will undoubtedly depose me.”
“Why did you leave the castle?” H.G. asks with her kingdom accent. Lena has mostly lost hers, having come to the queendom at so young an age.
“Because of them,” Kara says, gesturing to the guards with her free hand. “Lex came to taunt me. He told me the guard knew how to find you—he said he’d ‘given you leave’ to kill them,” she adds, looking to the captain.
The guards get back to their feet, looking more uncertain than anything else. Kara had only heard the agreement to rescue her. Having stolen that, she wonders how long this armistice will last.
The guards look as if they’re wondering the same.
The captain nods in confirmation of Kara’s comment.
“But you didn’t,” Kara says. “Why didn’t you?”
The guard captain bites her lip and tries to run a hand through her hair, but her fingers catch in her braid. She answers, “I don’t… disagree with their purpose. The people of the queendom are suffering, and the Regent fails to act.” She shakes her head. “Perhaps what they’ve done is a crime. That doesn’t mean it’s wrong.”
“Does that mean you’ll aid us?” H.G. asks with a softness Kara already suspects is unusual for her.
The captain meets H.G.’s eyes, and they simply regard one another. It’s consideration, more than any tumultuous battle of wills.
It lasts a long moment, long enough for Kara and Lena to share a glance. Lena clears her throat, as H.G. had, and the two women return slowly to the group.
“I’ll be staying,” Kara says, hoping it’ll mean something. “Lex won’t release the throne easily, now that he has it. I would give my sister a home to return to.”
“Our responsibility is to protect this land and its crown, Mykes,” a male guard tells her gently. “The princess is here.”
“Yes, she is,” the captain returns tonelessly. “Which means she’s safe.”
The captain shakes her head. Tries to run her hand through her hair again, but has the same trouble. She continues, “And yet, with the intention not to return, but to challenge the acting regent, where does our responsibility lie?”
A heavy quiet follows her question. Apprehension sits on every shoulder.
“Mykes,” the male guard starts, but Kelly murmurs his name, and he stops.
She says gently, “My allegiance is and always will be to Queen Alexandra. She is whom I swore my oath to. Princess or traitor, I stand with Kara in this.”
“I do as well,” James agrees immediately, and Winn murmurs his confirmation after.
Kara feels a rush of gratitude for her friends. Though time has separated them from their early days of training together, she sees the same kindness in them now as she knew then.
“Thank you,” she says.
The captain remains silent, despite the war being waged across her features. And though the woman debates turning against Kara, Kara can sympathize. She had only just overcome her own battle between heart and responsibility, after all.
And so it’s with honesty with which she says, “Captain, if you must return to the castle, we can part peacefully. You may leave this camp, and it’ll be safely gone before you reach the gates. We’ll change the pattern of movement.
“You can return in safety,” she finishes softly, “knowing your knowledge cannot help.”
Pain takes prominence in the captain’s expression, and the male guard steps forward.
But it’s another voice that says, “Myka, may we speak?”
~V~
Helena may have been born in the kingdom, but she doubts even her Rogues know the queendom forest as well as she.
It hadn’t been a purposeful learning. She simply likes to move, to explore and see new things. And so she’d begun to scout. Under the guise of seeking new campsites, she was able to stray father and farther from camp.
Thusly, she’s confident in her notion that she’s the only one who knows of the clearing by the brook.
Rather less fortunately, it’s a bit of a ways from their encampment.
“If you mean to kill me,” Myka begins dryly, and Helena suppresses a smile, “we’ve long passed where any might hear my screams.”
“It’ll be worthwhile, Myka darling, believe me.”
But Myka snorts. “Letting you kill me will be worthwhile?” she says, playfully scornful. “I’m afraid I’ll need more than faith for that.”
Helena turns her head to glare playfully back. “Where we’re going shall be worthwhile.”
The other woman mutters something Helena can’t decipher, then says, “Your queendom accent is atrocious, so you know.”
She gasps in mock outrage. “You never said such to Emily.”
“I was investigating Emily.”
True surprise suffuses her. Then delight. Only Myka can surprise her. Only Myka can match her subterfuge and interest in equal measure.
But she only remarks. “Were you.”
“There’s a real woman by the name, were you aware? A schoolteacher in the northern part of the queendom.”
“Tell me, Captain,” Helena begins, smirking, “do you always investigate individuals from the close-quarters of your bedroom? Or did I require a more… vigorous examination?”
She turns in time to catch sight of the expected blush before Myka can duck her head.
It’s harder, with the very woman before her, to pretend Myka is simply interesting. Helena’s position as a maid in the castle had been a falsity, but Myka… Myka had been real.
They reach the edge of the clearing before either need think up a reply. Helena pulls back some of the brush that markers the entrance, and gestures Myka forward.
Myka casts her a suspicious glance, but enters. Helena smiles as the woman’s small gasp.
“What is this?” Myka breathes when Helena stands beside her.
“A place of endless wonder,” Helena answers honestly. “That’s what I feel, at least, when I’m here.”
“I can understand why,” Myka murmurs.
But when Helena offers the woman a smile, she seems to shake herself, her expression shuttering.
“You wished to speak with me?” she asks.
Helena lifts her shoulder in a delicate shrug. In truth, Myka had looked rather overwhelmed, and she’d wanted to offer some respite.
But that’s a bit more than she’s willing to admit at the current junction.
“Are you truly considering serving Lex Luthor?” she asks instead. “Or are you simply afraid to turn against him?”
Myka raises a challenging brow. “Are you truly concerned for my decision, or are you simply afraid to have been wrong?”
“Wrong?” Helena repeats, puzzled. “How could I have been wrong?”
“You gave me the book.”
“So?”
“So, you knew I would decrypt your code. You knew I would find you. What I can’t figure out is why you would want that. Why would you take the risk?”
Helena goes to answer, but Myka presses on before she can.
“You knew my dedication to my position, and yet you risked it anyway. You could have lost everything, even your life. So why take the risk?”
“Myka darling, I know you. I know you tend toward following orders, and I also know you decide for yourself what’s right, and I know that once you’ve decided, you must act.”
Myka looks at her with open eyes, and Helena cannot read the emotion in them. Something like curiosity. Like apprehension and disbelief.
“I’d believed,” Helena continues softly, “that you would care about the commonfolk. And I’d believed you wouldn’t abide the inaction of the Regent.”
“You know, you believe, because you know me,” Myka muses, taking a step closer.
“Yes,” Helena answers, as Myka moves closer again.
“And what of you?” the captain murmurs, stopping within arm’s reach. “What do I know of you?”
Helena takes a step of her own, brining up her hands to rest them on Myka’s hips.
“My name,” she begins, watching Myka’s eyes, “is Helena George Wells, and I was born in the Kingdom of Univille. I came to the castle to find something or someone who might aid us against Lex Luthor. I have never otherwise been a maid in my life.”
Amusement flashes in Myka’s eyes, and Helena can’t stop herself from smiling.
She finishes in a tender voice, “And every moment between us was true for me. In those moments, you knew me.”
Myka’s answer is to close the distance between them, to cradle Helena’s jaw carefully in her hands, and kiss her.
And the last of Helena’s denial melts away. This could never be mere interest.
Myka pulls away, and Helena’s grip tightens on her hips as she wants, with a sudden desperation, for the other woman to stay.
“So,” Myka says, a lazy smirk stretching across her lips, “I assume you have a plan.”
Helena’s brow lifts. “Does that mean you’re going to help us?”
“You know me better than anyone,” she teases, “shouldn’t you have guessed that?”
Helena grins. “I would never deny you your autonomy, Myka darling.”
Myka huffs a laugh, and pulls her in for another kiss. Helena surrenders immediately.
They may have a chance at this, after all.