The King's Guard

Chapter 58

The sound of rain had always marked Kyna’s earliest memories.

Not gentle rain, but hard, punishing sheets that lashed the woodlands outside her home in Virell’s border province. She remembered standing barefoot in the mud, small hands clenched tight, her father’s shadow looming over her with his hunting spear in hand.

“You keep your stance low,” he told her. “Or the ground will take you before the prey does.”

She was seven. Her knees ached, her toes cut on stone. But when she faltered, his voice cracked through the rain.

“Again.”

Her teeth chattered as she tried to adjust her footing. “It hurts.”

“Pain is a tutor,” he said coldly. “It teaches what words cannot.”

Kyna’s small fists trembled. “But I don’t want…”

Her father snapped, voice hard as the downpour. “Hush, girl! Wanting has no place here. Do you want the wolves to wait until you’re ready? Do you think raiders care for your tears?”

Her mother had appeared at the doorway, face half-hidden by the hood of her cloak. “She’s only a child, Meroth.”

“She won’t survive if she stays a child,” her father snapped back.

The rain blurred their voices, but not the weight.

Kyna remembered slipping in the mud, striking her palms, crying out. She expected comfort. Instead, her father crouched down, seizing her wrist, dragging her back upright.

“You fall, you rise,” he said, eyes hard. “No one else will do it for you.”

Her lip quivered. “But it hurts…”

“Then you fight the hurt,” he cut in, shaking her wrist once to drive it in. “Pain means you’re still alive. Dead men don’t feel pain.”

Her mother stepped further into the rain, voice softer but steady. “She’s not a soldier, Meroth. She’s a girl.”

“She’ll be prey if I leave her a girl,” he answered sharply. “The border doesn’t care what she is. Raiders won’t care.”

Kyna wiped her muddy face with the back of her hand, whispering, “I don’t want to fight.”

Her father’s gaze narrowed. “Then you’ll learn to. Because the world won’t ask what you want.”

Her mother’s cloak dragged in the mud as she knelt beside her, putting a gentle hand on Kyna’s shoulder. “You don’t have to harden everything inside you. Let me carry some of it.”

Meroth’s jaw tightened. “If she leans on you now, she’ll crumble later.”

“She’ll break if no one shows her kindness,” her mother shot back. “Strength without warmth is just cruelty.”

Kyna had looked between them: their words pulling different directions. In that moment, she realised love came in two shapes: harsh steel, and hidden shelter.

Years later, when she was older, she learned what her mother truly meant. The woman’s network threaded across Stormhaven’s markets, carrying secrets instead of grain. Her mother’s warning voice often came in whispers at night, as though walls themselves could betray.

“Don’t trust every order, Kyna,” she once told her. “Some men hide behind commands the way others hide behind masks. Learn to see the difference.”

Her father never contradicted her. He simply trained Kyna harder.

The memory faded like smoke, and Kyna found herself staring at the campfire in the present, the woods still heavy with the stench of battle.

Kael sat opposite, sharpening his blade with mechanical rhythm. Reyna leaned nearby, rolling her shoulders, gaze flicking between them.

Kyna broke the silence. “You know, I was raised to see lies before blades.”

Kael looked up. “Lies?”

She nodded, expression flat. “My mother dealt in them. My father… in steel. Between them, I learned one thing: both cut just as deep.”

Reyna frowned. “Why say this now?”

Kyna’s eyes glinted with firelight. “Because this attack, these mercenaries, it’s not just rebels. You saw it. Stormhaven markings. That’s not an accident.”

Kael’s jaw tightened. “And you think we’re being fed lies.”

“I don’t think,” Kyna said. “I know.”

Jared’s voice broke in from the shadows, lazy but sharp. He’d been listening, leaning against a tree with arms folded.

“Here we go again. Kyna’s spy tales. Secret networks. Mothers whispering in the dark.” He smirked. “Maybe you should write a book.”

Reyna’s tone cut. “Shut your mouth, Jared.”

Jared tilted his head. “Why? Because she’s spinning ghosts? Or because you don’t want Kael distracted?”

Kael’s voice was low. “Enough.”

But Jared stepped forward anyway, smirk curling. “Funny, isn’t it? You all trust each other with secrets. Yet every time I speak, I’m the enemy.”

Reyna met his gaze coldly. “You made yourself the enemy.”

Kyna rose to her feet, eyes like knives. “And one day you’ll cut the wrong person.”

The air hung heavy until Jared chuckled and turned away. “Careful, Kyna. Shadows have a way of swallowing those who stare too long.”

When he was gone, Kael exhaled slowly.

“You’ve carried this since the well,” he said. “The markings. The network. Why not speak sooner?”

Kyna hesitated. “Because in this Academy, ears are everywhere. I wasn’t sure if either of you would listen.”

Reyna’s voice softened. “We’re listening now.”

Kyna nodded once. Then she leaned closer, voice dropping. “My mother’s seal, the spiral with two lines… you saw it, Kael. That wasn’t rebels. That was a route marker. Stormhaven’s routes. Which means these mercenaries weren’t rogue.”

Kael’s eyes narrowed. “They were sent.”

“Or guided,” Kyna said.

Reyna looked between them. “If that’s true… then who’s guiding?”

Kyna’s gaze slid toward the firelight, where Darius’s silhouette sat apart, silent. Then further to the memory of Archon’s eyes, always too sharp, too calm.

“That,” she whispered, “is the question.”

The camp quieted, but Kael couldn’t rest. He rose, moving toward the treeline. Kyna followed, keeping her voice low.

“My mother once told me,” she said, “that Archon dealt in the same currency she did. Information. Only he spent it to buy silence.”

Kael stopped walking. “You’re saying he’s covering this?”

“I’m saying,” Kyna replied, “watch your back. Orders aren’t always what they seem. Archon has his own games.”

Reyna caught up with them, listening. “And Darius?”

Kyna’s lips pressed thin. “I don’t know. But Archon… he’s dangerous.”

Kael’s hand tightened on his hilt. “Then why hasn’t Darius said anything?”

Kyna’s voice was sharp, almost bitter. “Because sometimes even commanders bow to silence.”

The wind shifted through the trees. An owl cried once in the dark.

Reyna broke the stillness. “If we’re walking into lies, then we need each other more than ever.” She looked at Kael, then at Kyna. “No more secrets between us.”

Kael hesitated, then nodded.

Kyna’s eyes lingered on him, unreadable. “Then you should know… this isn’t my first mission. My mother sent me here, too. To watch Archon. To see what games he plays.”

Reyna stiffened. “You’re spying on our own commander?”

“I’m observing,” Kyna corrected. “For my family. For the Virell network. But after tonight…” she gestured at the dead mercenaries beyond the firelight…“I think my mother was right to worry.”

Kael’s voice was quiet. “And now you’ve pulled us into it.”

“Yes,” Kyna said simply. “Because if Archon’s lies keep growing, none of us will walk out of this alive.”

The fire crackled, spitting sparks into the dark.

Reyna finally spoke, voice firm. “Then we stay sharp. We follow orders, but we don’t stop asking questions.”

Kael nodded once, eyes hard. “And we watch Archon.”

Kyna leaned closer. “And we watch Jared, too. Don’t think for a second he’s not part of this.”

Kael’s chest tightened. He thought of Jared’s mocking tone, his father’s shadow lurking in every move. He didn’t answer.

When the others had drifted to uneasy sleep, Kael pulled out his journal.

His hand moved quickly across the page:

> Kyna’s seal = Stormhaven routes. Mercenaries not rebels. Archon hiding involvement. Kyna sent by her family to observe him. Possible double game.

He paused, then added:

> Darius silent. Why? Choice or fear?

The words blurred in the firelight. He closed the book, slipping it under his cloak.

From across the camp, Kyna’s eyes caught his for just a moment, sharp and knowing, before she lay back against her pack.

The prisoner’s whisper still haunted Kael. Stormhaven already inside.

Now, with Kyna’s confession added to it, the words grew heavier.

He didn’t know which blade would strike first: the rebels’, Stormhaven’s, or Archon’s.