Rory, too, was tiring, but he had youth and patience on his side. He had correctly guessed that Valeyna would go all out in a vigorous attack, thinking she could finish him off quickly and easily. In fact, he had counted on it, having studied her while she'd been sparring with Adare and noting both her strengths and her weaknesses. Her arrogance was her first weakness, he thought, and after that it was her reckless bravado. Despite his anger, he was patient, waiting for just the right opportunity and when it at last made itself known, he did not disappoint the weaponsmaster, but took advantage of it. Hoping to take Valeyna by surprise with an unexpectedly offensive move, he pushed forward suddenly and as soon as she was off-guard, swept the sword around to slice at the thigh she had foolishly left exposed and unguarded.

Blood bloomed on her skin, the thin slice he had taken from her flesh shallow but deep enough to cause pain and bleed profusely. Valeyna screeched in fury, using her shield to knock his sword aside as her own blade rose over their heads to take vengeance for his lucky swipe.

"Hold!" Dalan's voice boomed across the training yard as he shot to his feet, scowling fiercely. "First blood is claimed!"

The shock of being stopped was enough to make Valeyna falter, whirling around to face her mother. "This peasant has spilled royal blood, that is treason!" she screeched in fury, demanding without so many words that Rory be killed for his luck in the fight.

Velasca seemed torn for a long moment, tilting her head to listen as Gyre, the pale-faced wizard, bent to whisper to her. The Usurper nodded, and spoke. "First blood is claimed, the duel is over," she declared, rising to her feet. "But royal blood has been spilled. The boy will be whipped."

From across the yard, another voice entered the interaction, a single word torn from a horrified Adare as he pushed himself onto his feet, bursting onto the training ground before Dalan could stop him. "No!"

Rory threw up his sword too late to defend himself against Valeyna's fury, but before she could land the final blow, Dalan's voice boomed across the yard, calling the fight to an end and silently proclaiming Rory victor. "You would have spilled royal blood, if I had not stepped in!" Rory countered, his voice rising along with Valeyna's, though he knew few there would care what he had to say. It wasn't fair. He had only been defending Adare - it was what he had sworn to do. Rory fell silent, visibly paling as Velasca declared his punishment, and yet, he held his head high, proud of his defiance. If that was to be his punishment for teaching Valeyna a lesson in humility, then so be it.

Valeyna whirled, her hand snapping around to slap Rory hard about the face for talking back to her, for daring to accuse her of anything at all. But it was Adare that had everyone's attention as he strode awkwardly to where they stood, his eyes on Velasca, who was watching him as someone might a poisonous snake they'd just prodded.

The prince raised his chin, anger and eagerness to protect his friend combining to make his handsome face strong and brave as he spoke. "He is my squire," he declared, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear him. "I claim responsibility for his actions. Punish me."

Rory's attention, too, had been drawn to the young prince as he entered the fray, and he staggered backwards at the unexpected slap from Valeyna that was hard enough to leave a bruise. "No!" Rory shouted, echoing Adare's shout only seconds before. "I acted of my own accord. If anyone should be punished, it should be me!" He did not even look at Adare, aiming his appeal solely at Velasca, not realizing that by doing so, the Usurper might realize that punishing Adare would hurt Rory far more than if he were punished himself.

The Usurper Queen looked between the two boys, cold eyes hard and calculating as she considered her options. To punish the squire was commonplace, it happened every day and would therefore not be noted as cruelty or anything else. But to punish the prince ....It was tempting, very tempting. And to have Adare ask for that punishment played right into her hands. She smirked her cold smirk, and spoke. "My decision is made. The prince has claimed the right of responsibility. The punishment is his to take. Blood for blood. To balance the insult, his blood must be spilled."

A ripple of discontent made itself known through the servants and soldiers of Phalion who were witnesses, but a sharp sound from Dalan silenced them. Any hint of rebellion at this moment, and Valeyna might well cut Adare's throat for her recompense.

As for himself, Adare clenched his jaw, nodding in agreement. He turned to Rory, blue eyes sharp and for the first time demanding obedience. "Keep silent," he ordered his friend and squire. "Not another word." Or this will get a lot worse.

Rory's mouth was already open, ready to protest, ready to step in and accept whatever punishment was to be doled out. He had been the one who had interfered. He had been the one who had spilled first blood and was proud of it. He had showed Valeyna that he wouldn't be bullied the way she bullied Adare and that he wouldn't allow her to abuse Adare any longer, and yet, it seemed his plan had backfired, and the one he had sought to protect was about to by hurt by his folly. Though all the blood drained from his face, he clenched his jaw in silent rage, the sword still in his hand. If anyone dared draw more than a few drops of blood, they would meet his own blade.

As Adare turned back, Valeyna was grinning over his head at Rory, unpleasant triumph in her expression as she drew her belt knife. Adare knelt, extending his bare forearm toward her in preparation for that punishment, his lips moving as he sent out a very private instruction. "Brother, stay away. Stay away."

Valeyna raised her blade, gripping Adare's wrist painfully tightly. "Blood for blood," she declared, and with her own special brand of nastiness, drew that knife along the prince's flesh, cutting deeper and longer than was necessary. Adare's blood welled up, dripping onto the packed sand beneath them, but the prince did not make a sound, clenching his fist as he bled.

Rory was clenching his jaw so hard to stop himself from speaking out that it made his whole head ache, his knuckles white as his hand gripped his sword. Enough! his voice screamed in his head, eyes stinging with unshed tears, his heart heavy with rage and horror and guilt. There was nothing he could do. If he so much as asked for mercy, Valeyna would only cut deeper.

Rory closed his eyes, seeing her once again in his mind. How could he ever forget that face" It was indelibly etched in his memory forever, and his heart ached to see her again, though he wasn't even sure if she was real. "She-she was blonde. Hair the color of wheat. Blue eyes, like Adare's. Like mine. She was....beautiful," he told Dalan with heartbreaking honesty.

"My gods," Dalan breathed. "She really is still in there." Awed amazement crossed his face as he stepped away, sitting heavily down on a dusty bedframe, tears in his eyes as he remembered the promise the old witch woman had made - that the princess would be the image of her mother, when the disguise was finally torn away. And somehow, Rory had caught a glimpse of the real thing, hidden inside her brother's skin. He looked up at the boy, unable to hide his tearful smile. "You've been let in on the secret, lad," he said quietly. "Not even Adare knows the truth, not yet. It isn't time yet."

Rory noticed the tears in the weaponmaster's eyes and furrowed his brows, a puzzled look on his face. "I don't understand," he said quietly. "Do you mean Adare is..." He dared not say it aloud, he hardly even dared think it. The thought had crossed his mind, especially at the sight of that lovely face, but he'd thought he must be mistaken. There had to be another explanation. If it was true - if the young prince was in reality a princess, then she needed their protection even more than he had thought. If Velasca were to find out, she'd have Adare killed without another thought. "The blood moon," he muttered, remembering the ghost's warning. It all made sense now. Adare would bleed not because he was going to be wounded, but because he wasn't a boy at all.

Dalan nodded, awkwardly wiping his eyes. "I was there," he said. "I saw it done, on the orders of the parents before they died. Mila and I are the only ones still living in the citadel who know the truth, the woman who did it still lives in the city. And now you know, too. So you know the reason for the ghost's appearance." He stood up, back in control of himself. "For whatever reason, the Goddess who enabled the disguise let you see beyond it. Not a word, Rory. Not even to Adare. The moment he knows, the disguise will start to weaken. That cannot happen while Gyre is in the citadel, before we've made this place safe once again. Do you understand?"

"The Goddess?" he echoed, not quite understanding that reference either. It seemed the more he learned, the less he understood, but one thing was clear - Adare was not really a prince at all, and that one simple fact changed everything. It meant that he - no, she - could never, would never marry Valeyna, and that she was not only the true heir, but a true princess of the line of Arlan. Rory's heart started racing at the implications of this, excited at the prospect of restoring the true line of queens to the throne, but terrified for Adare's safety. He nodded his head fervently. "Yes, I understand," he assured Dalan. "No one is to know, but us." Not even Adare, he thought to himself.

The older man nodded, trusting the squire before him with a secret that barely even a fraction of the faithful rebellion were aware of. "I don't know exactly when everything is expected to happen," he warned Rory quietly. "The blood moon is supposed to be when the natural bleeding starts - the spell has held it off for a few years, but it can't do that indefinitely. When that happens, you must bring the prince to myself or to Mila. No one else."

"When the spell wears off?" Rory repeated, to be sure. His head was spinning with everything that had happened over the last ten days or so since he'd arrived in Phalion.

Dalan hesitated. But what was the harm in telling the boy exactly what their timetable was" He was the closest to Adare every hour of every day, he should know what to expect. "You must have heard of the eclipse the priests are predicting, yes?" he said, looking down at Rory quite seriously. "On that day, the spell will have to be broken. The blood moon will take place around six days before that day. The spell won't wear off, but it will weaken. And I believe that Adare will start to bleed, even though there is nowhere he should physically be able to bleed from."

"How can that be?" Rory asked, confused. He understood what Dalan was telling him, but he didn't understand how Adare could bleed like a woman while wearing a boy's body. He lowered himself onto an old dusty chest that stood nearby, as if his legs could hold him no longer. It all seemed so incredible, so impossible, and yet, it made perfect sense.

The weaponsmaster sighed softly, moving to sit down once again, clasping his hands between his knees. "I don't fully understand it, Rory," he admitted. "All I can do is tell you what I saw. On the night Adare was born, a witch woman - one of the nomads - was brought into the citadel on the promise that she could preserve the line of Arlan through her own magic. She never let the boy take a breath, denying him that first taste of life. But she removed a small piece of his rib and inserted it under the skin of the girl we now know as Adare. And as I watched, I saw them switch appearance. The boy became the girl, dead, unmoving. The girl became the boy. But it is like a mask, a cloak. She wears the face and form of her brother, but that is not who and what she is." He rubbed his forehead with a frown. "I have no idea if this is making any sense to you at all."

Rory's head jerked up when Dalan mentioned the nomads, but he remained silent until the weaponsmaster had finished explaining. "So the boy was never given a chance to live," Rory said with a frown, wondering if that was why the ghost always seemed so angry. "What will happen to him when the spell is broken" The boy, I mean. His-his ghost." He was pretty sure he hadn't been imagining things, and he wasn't the only one who'd encountered the ghost of Adare's dead twin.

Dalan went very still. "Kari never told us what would happen," he said quietly. "She said he would be free. But whether that means he will move on, or seek his revenge for what was done to him, I don't know."

"He's very protective of-of..." Rory broke off, unsure how to refer to Adare now that he knew the boy was really a girl in disguise. "He's angry, but I'm not sure if he's angry because of what was done to him or because he's trying to protect his sister. He's warned me more than once about the Blood Moon, but I didn't know what he meant."

"I think, to understand Brother, you will need to talk to Adare about him," Dalan suggested quietly. "So long as he does not harm the prince, I have no argument with the ghost. If I had ever suspected that he might harm my prince, I would have had Kari remove him somehow."

Rory nodded his head silently, knowing Dalan was trying to make him feel better, but the truth was that no one blamed him more than he blamed himself. He remained where he was, with his face turned away, hot tears making his eyes sting, clenching his jaw tightly against the threat of tears. He didn't want Dalan to see him cry; he didn't want anyone to see that, not even Adare. Whatever questions he was going to ask about the nomads and his mother were forgotten, unimportant in the wake of Adare's safety.

Behind him, the weaponsmaster sighed, knowing that Rory was still a child in some ways. A child who had lost everything and been brought to a strange place, put into mortal danger, and been given share in the single most dangerous secret the lands had ever known. He gripped Rory's shoulder and pulled the boy to him in a gruff embrace, more fatherly in that moment than he had ever expected to be. "It will come good, Rory," he promised quietly. "You will always have a place with Adare. I'll make certain of it."

The embrace was unexpected and only made the tears harder to hold back. It had been a long time since anyone shown him any kindness or offered any comfort. He had been done his best to take care of his father, but he couldn't stop Velasca's thugs from taking him from him. He wouldn't let the same thing happen to Adare. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice breaking, apologizing for everything - for talking back, for putting Adare in danger, for failing to save his own father. He had failed everyone, even himself, and he'd never felt more alone in the world than he did at that moment.

Dalan held him for as long as he needed to, used by now to comforting a boy who just needed someone to care a little bit. He knew he had been hard on Rory, with good reason, but saw no cause to give hurt where there was no need. "It's done, Rory," he said, his voice quiet in the empty room. "You need not encounter Velasca or her bitch of a daughter until the morning they leave. I daresay Adare will take the opportunity to hide away for his recovery. And you'll look after him for me, won't you?"

Rory nodded his head silently again, not quite trusting his own voice. He pulled away slowly, embarrassed by his own weakness and softening. It was the first time he'd shed tears for his father since the day he'd watched them kill him. He wiped his face with a sleeve, sniffling once, afraid to face the weaponsmaster, afraid he'd think less of him for crying like a child.

Dalan bent his head to catch Rory's eye. "There is no shame in tears," he told the boy. "Nor in the grief you feel. Never be afraid to own what you feel and show it. No one who matters will ever think less of you for it."

"I won't let you down," Rory told Dalan, finding his voice at last as he turned his head to meet the man's gaze, eyes still shining with tears, though his face was dry. There was a bruise blooming on his cheek where Valeyna had struck him, his complexion blotchy from tears, but that look of youthful determination had returned to his eyes.

"I know." Gently patting the boy's shoulder, Dalan stepped back, returning to the questions he had never answered. "As to Kari ....yes, she is still alive, living in the city to be close to the prince. And you will meet her, soon, I expect." He smiled faintly at the young squire. "Did you really think I would force you to simply hand over your friend to me when he needs you the most, just for the sake of a secret you already know?"

"I don't know," Rory answered honestly. He knew as much about Dalan as Dalan knew about him. He trusted the man, had even started to think of him as something of a father figure, yearning for someone, something to hold onto to that he could call a friend, if not family. "I'm just a farrier's son. I have not known much kindness from strangers."

"You are not just anything," Dalan told him firmly. "You are Rory Brennan, squire to the last of Arlan's line. More importantly, you are a friend to that prince, the only friend he has or has ever had. I'm proud of you for standing up for him, though it could have been done better. And I am proud of him for protecting you in the same turn. You're good for each other. And when it comes down to it, Rory, there are three people here who are not strangers to you. Adare, Mila, and myself."

"I don't know how to be a squire," he admitted, though with Dalan and even Shaye's help, he was starting to learn. He found himself missing the First Blade, who seemed to understand him for some reason he could not quite fathom, but she was gone, and he wouldn't see her again until she returned with the rebels. Being a friend, however, that he thought he might be able to accomplish. Whether a prince or a princess, he already cared about Adare and would do everything in his power to protect him.

"Then we'll teach you," Dalan promised him faithfully. "But for now, you need to go to your prince. He will be worried you. That boy worries about everyone and everything. The least we can do is reassure him that you haven't been punished behind his back, yes?"

"Yes, sir," Rory replied, scrubbing his face with the back of a hand as he moved to his feet. A few days ago, he might have doubted that Adare worried or cared about him at all, but he had more than proved his friendship by volunteering to take Rory's punishment, and as guilty as Rory felt about it, it only made him love Adare more. Yes, love. Rory was just starting to realize the reason he felt so protective of the young prince was because he was slowly growing to love him, though he wasn't quite sure how to define that feeling just yet.

"Good lad. Come along, then." With a jerk of his head, Dalan led Rory out of the empty chamber and back to Adare's room, where Mila let them in. The usually cheerful woman was obviously concerned, though she tried to hide it for the sake of the younger men.

Adare lay in the bed, the bruises from the battering he had taken at the hands of Valeyna coming up over his skin as he lolled in and out of consciousness. There, in the center of his chest, was the crescent shaped scar Rory had glimpsed in that momentary vision of the prince's true form, more corroboration that the story he had been told was true.

Mila took Rory's sword and jerkin from him, brushing gentle fingers against his own bruised cheek. "You brave lad," she praised him softly. "They're all talking about it in the kitchens. You shed her blood. Good for you!"

Rory followed Dalan silently back to Adare's room, feeling only fractionally better than he had a little while earlier. The sight of Adare lying on the bed, bruised and battered and drifting in and out of consciousness made his heart sink, but at least, he was alive. He turned a tearful gaze to Mila at the praise he didn't think he deserved. Dalan was right. He had to learn to control the anger and hatred he felt for the Usurper and her daughter or he was going to get them both killed or worse. "It was foolish. I should have let her draw first blood. I couldn't stand there and watch her batter him anymore."

"Ah." She nodded, understanding perhaps a bit better than he might think. "As a squire, you have to abide by the rules of courtly chivalry in a situation like that. Valeyna can challenge Adare because she is - for the moment - his equal in rank. Now don't think I'm chiding you, because I am very proud of you for what you did down there. But when a duel is declared between two opponents, they fight until one yields, or first blood is drawn, and no one can step in to take over for either of them. You wear a sword, because outside such strictly maintained situations, you are the last line of defense. You are his bodyguard, the last person to fall before the prince himself falls. But that only applies when the prince is under attack."

"He was under attack. Valeyna's a bully. She knows she's stronger than Adare and uses it to push him around. It wasn't a fair duel. If I hadn't stepped in, she would have kept going. She's trying to break him. Everyone can see that," Rory argued against the unfairness of it. "Chivalry isn't about being a bully."

"But Velasca and Valeyna hold his life in their hands so long as they are here," Mila told him gently. "I know it seems unfair, and you're right, it is. But if Adare stands up to them too often, too openly - if the people known to be loyal to him stand up too often, too openly - then Phalion will be razed to the ground, along with everyone in it. We will all die, rather than be allowed to create a focal point for rebellion, and we have all known that since the night Arian and Farus were killed. The only reason Adare still lives is because his name has not been mentioned by the rebels at all. If they had chosen him for their figurehead, this city wouldn't exist."

Rory clenched his jaw at Mila's explanation, feeling the rage bubbling up inside him again. "I want to kill her," Rory mumbled quietly, either for her ears alone or for no one at all. He had never felt such hatred in all his life until now, but neither Velasca or Valenya had anyone to blame for it but themselves. If they were still hoping to use him for their own purposes, they were very mistaken. He would rather die than betray Adare, or anyone else loyal to Adare, and that included the rebels.

Mila moved over to him, crouching down to take his hands in hers, looking into his eyes with fierce understanding. "Then you do that," she told him firmly. "You do it, and you make sure it sticks. But do it at the right time. Because losing you would break our little prince now. But I promise you, the time is coming when Valeyna will not be protected by our need to keep Adare safe any longer. You'll have your chance, Rory."

Rory's gaze followed Mila as she crouched down in front of him and took his hands in hers, listening carefully to her words and nodding in understanding, and yet, there was still something she needed to understand, that everyone - perhaps even Valeyna - needed to understand. "I won't let her hurt him again."

Mila held his gaze for a long moment, that proud flicker of a smile making itself known once again. "Good," she said, with no hint of the censuring that Dalan had covered him with. She rose up, kissing Rory's forehead fiercely. "If she tries, you make her beg for it before you lop off a hand."

"With pleasure," Rory replied. Though in all honestly, he took no pleasure in killing anything, he was willing to make an exception for Valeyna. Mila surprised him with that kiss, further endearing her to him, breaking through the barriers he'd spent so long trying to build.

From the bed came a quiet groan. Adare frowned, struggling to wake up against the pull of the sedative he had been plied with, one hand rubbing at his forehead as he mumbled coherently for the first time. "Mila" Is Rory here" Is he hurt?"

Rory exchanged glances with Mila before moving to his feet and going to Adare's side. "I'm here. I'm fine," he told the prince quietly as he arrived at his bedside.

The prince gripped Rory's hand hard, stronger than he looked - and certainly stronger than the girl he was inside should have been. "Dalan didn't mean it," he said urgently, forcing his eyes open, despite not knowing what had been said. "He's just trying to keep me safe, he didn't mean to make you mad or upset. Don't leave, Rory."

"Shhh," Rory whispered gently, crouching down so that he wasn't towering over the smaller boy, letting him take hold of his hand. "I'm not upset, and I'm not leaving, but you need to rest. I'm not going anywhere. I'll be here when you wake up. Promise," Rory told the prince quietly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. It was a bit odd to know that somewhere inside the prince was a hiding a girl - a lovely girl with golden hair that was going to be a queen. The thought of it made his heart ache, knowing he would lose her then. She would go on to greater things, but what would become of him"

"There now, my bonny, you sleep now," Mila added, gently stroking Adare's hair from his forehead. "Rory'll stay with you."

Those disconcerting blue eyes fixed Rory for a long moment, pleading for that to be the truth even as weariness got the better of the battered young man. "M'sorry I got you hurt," he murmured as unconsciousness crowded in once again, deeply relieved that Rory was there, safe, and staying.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, my prince," Rory countered, but he sensed Adare was too weary and too sleepy to stay awake long enough to hear his apology, and on a whim, he leaned over and pressed what he hoped Adare would consider a brotherly kiss to the younger boy's forehead.

A soft flush colored the prince's cheeks as he felt that kiss, though no doubt he would have forgotten it when he woke in a few hours' time. He let out a low sigh and settled to sleep, breathing more easily now he knew his friend was safe and well.

Mila's smile softened at the obvious fondness the two boys had developed for one another, her expression touched with just a little bit of hope for that affection to survive the secret finally being revealed. She brushed her fingers through Rory's hair, and stepped away. "I'll be back later, lad," she promised him. "No one'll disturb you."

"Thank you, Mila," Rory replied, in a voice that seemed to have matured years in only a few hours. It could have belonged to a commoner or a king. His gaze never left Adare, leaning close to stroke his fingers through the other's hair and push it back from his face, looking for any hint of the girl he knew was hidden away inside him somewhere. He wasn't quite sure what he was feeling, but he knew it wasn't just friendship - it was something deeper, stronger, truer than that. Brotherly love, maybe? Would he still love him like a brother when his true form was revealed"

Unbeknownst to him, those same worries lingered in Mila's mind as she stepped out into the passage, drawing the door closed behind her. Dalan stood there on guard, trusting no one else with the boys' safety for the next few hours at the very least. He met her gaze, and in that look passed the knowledge that Rory had been brought into the secret. "Do you think they can survive it?" he asked the woman, and Mila sighed softly, glancing at the dark wood door.

"I hope so," she wished, nodding gently. "Let's just get them to the blood moon first. We can help them through what happens after."

Dalan nodded, reluctant to leave things so much to chance, but unable to do any more to help the prince along. In just a few weeks, Adare would learn the truth, and it would be Rory who stood the best chance of keeping him from falling apart. Which was why there would be a guard on both prince and squire until Velasca and her daughter were long gone. They couldn't risk losing either of them, not now. Not so close to the culmination of all their hopes. It was just a matter of time.

Dalan sighed as Mila walked away, cursing under his breath. "Gods, I hate waiting."

((Slowly but surely, we're getting there! Many thanks to Rory's player!))