"She always will be, but..." she tilted her head, the soft perk of her attention lilting towards the way his smile failed to ensue the bliss of something... neutral. Did he still like her after all? It was hard to imagine him taking a fondness to anything, though she would admit that perhaps such things were lost to the ebb and flow of her precarious past. "She's forgotten about me by now." The words were spoken softer, without the confidence she had come to know of him. This wasn't a hard, pointed observation or order. At least not from her point of view. She would give him a warm simper, encouragement. "Maybe she hasn't." She would offer as what she hoped was soothing. A slight hum would leave her chest, a warm sound, "Though.... the desert is a long ways away. I would be more than happy to go with you again! Maybe she's just waiting for you to come back."

However, the expression soon wilted and died in the face of Khalila. In the presence of that ominous fog that enshrouded her recollections, a beast she was unwilling to provoke least it swallow her whole. There was familiarity with that thought as well, a cold sweat that threatened to cascade upon her skin. She knew the way its savage teeth would rend and tear, just as much or more so than the ominous threads of the doctor's magic. She would try to push it away, to shove it from her, and yet it was relentless.

She thought she would drown in it, that horrible ink ocean that stole her breath. It poured in suffocating waves into her lungs until she felt as though she could no longer breathe. There was pain, a phantom sensation that seared her, a stake, a rusted bolt being driven through her temple with the ruthless ferocity of a craven monster. She shut her eyes tightly. Smoke. Smoke and fire. Cruelty. Betrayal. One that had cost more than she could have ever fathomed. 'You've done well, Khalila, however... you will never be one of us.' The scene was distorted, blurred and frayed like distressed cloth. Through the haze, however. Was you. The you she now had a name for. Khalila. But why? Why did you...

It was the glissade of his touch that drew her from the fervid claim of what felt like a fever dream. Her eyes blinked rapidly as if to clear them, but her vision was clarion in the present. Though it was filled with the sight of him. He was a mere breath away. It was easy to inhale the soft scent of sandalwood that clung to his clothes. The more intimate hint of his very skin. She could feel his soft exhale on her own and the sensation sent a resounding reverberation through her bodice. It made her skin prick with gooseflesh as the already rosen flush of her face deepened still to a garish carmine.

However, soon, distance prevailed, but it didn't stop her thoughts from their dizzying cyclone. She brought a hand to her temple, releasing the breath she didn't know she'd been holding. He withdrew completely, reclining into the opposite door. "No." She didn't feel... as surprised as she should have by that revelation. However, it didn't stop the color from draining from her. She watched him palm his head. "You were never sick." Again, came that horrible sensation of dangerous recollection. Even the part of her that yearned to once again be whole shied away from what he had wrenched her from. She didn't want that. If she could simply have everything else but that. She would release a shaking breath. "Then I'm not your sister."

The carriage croaked and groaned in response to her misguided optimism.  I couldn't blame her for it, not entirely.  Nor could I place blame upon the ache which thundered in my chest and feasted on its strings.  I wished I could say that this sensation was new to me, that I wasn't familiar with this woeful dread.  Unfortunately, I couldn't.  We were intimate - sorrow and I - since returning from our trip overseas when Arabella's illness grew dire.  In the dark hours of the night, we held hands, we hugged, we crawled into bed and dreamt of one another.  Then we'd wake and dry the tears.  Put on that strong face of indifference and march forward.  It taught me to be stalwart, and ready, but it could never prepare me for this. Part of me wanted to be cruel to her.  Tear her apart the way that I was rent asunder.  Destroy that warm smile the way mine had been taken all those years ago.  But I couldn't punish her for this.  Not when she couldn't even remember her own name let alone mine.  No, my rage was reserved for the deserving.  The sire and dame, the scheming duo that would sell their souls to the red-skinned devil for a single pence, were the sole owners of this festering ire.  Daesn'yri did not deserve this nor did Arabella. "Then I'm not your sister." My fingertips gently massaged the space of my temple as if to ease the turmoil clamouring within.  Admitting the truth meant arresting Arabella's fate, damning her to whatever torture their parents could commit.  They claimed wanting to help her, to ease her burdens, to seek a cure for the illness that kept her bedridden.  How, then, could they threaten the same life they promised to save?  I could tell her now in the secrecy of this carriage.  I could liberate myself of the guilt that had been gnawing at my conscious since beholding that sterling band.  And I could ruin her with this truth.  It took some time before I could find my voice and when I did, it was low, hesitant.  Almost a whisper against the rattling of wood and metal, of hoof-worn cobbles.  "No, Daesn'yri,"  My lungs ached as I drew in a deep breath then continued.  "you are not my sister."  Languidly I turned to look at her, to accept whatever punishment she'd deliver.  I was wholly prepared to take the brunt of her anger.

"No, Daesn'yri." It wasn't earthshattering, the way he said it. Her name. The true calling that felt right, like the glass slipper finally finding its home after living upon the paper dredge of Arabella for so long. For Arabella was a name she remembered - just not being addressed by it. It wasn't a destructive storm that she was to weather, it wasn't a hurricane of carnage when it left his lips on a sweet breeze. It was almost casual. Natural. It made her lower the hand that had rested at the side of her head.

And she was quiet.
So very quiet.
"-you are not my sister."

She waited, but he didn't say more. She felt his eyes on her, but she made no effort to meet them as she stared emptily at the dark curtain where the window would be. Where she wished there was something to look at. Eternity seemed to pass then. As she waited. And she waited.

And she waited.
But he didn't say anything else.

Her stare would finally leave the concealing veil that offered both a sense of privacy and at the same time ripped it from vulnerable shoulders. Still, it didn't drift to him. Instead, like silt, it settled upon the floor, unmoving. It left nothing to allow her thoughts to stray to, to let this news roll down her back. Her fingertips edged along the light curve of her arms, crossing and sere nails digging deep into the flesh beyond the cover of her thick woolen sleeves with the ferocity in which she sought to hold herself together.

Why was honesty so hard for these people?
Why did nearly every word they have to breathe be a lie?
Why couldn't this also be?
"Then it was you."

But that whisper never left the confines of her cerebrum. The announcement was merely anointed in the prison of her musings. It had been him she waited for by the pier, that hallowed promise that had crept through the shattered splinters of her broken sanity. A sense given that he could do something to save her. He, however, never came. Her brows rose, if but just faintly. The ghost of a smile pulling her lips. Despite much warmer, much larger reflections of the expression having crossed her countenance, this one in all its smallness, seemed gaunt. Like it was too much skin being pulled too taunt across an embroidery board where the ghastly expression was stitched unnaturally and painfully.

Suddenly, the callouses upon her palms and the sinew that lined her frame instead of malleable flesh that a bed ridden sick girl would attain made sense to her. She'd always found it odd, but inquiries had lead her to the doctor. Where she would emerge in a haze without those conflicting opinions. Would she ever get them back, these things they stole from her? Would she ever truly remember who she had been across the sea? Both the blue and the gold. Or was she lost? Plucked from the cords of history as if she had never existed? At least her own.

No further questions left her. Without realization, the strained simper had also decayed to naught. No sound escaped her, no further movement beyond her head pressing itself to the wall of the wagon. She didn't cry. She thought it would be such a large relief to finally be able to know herself, she had surmised beyond doubt that she would shed tears of joy. She could laugh with them again, she could feel at home again. But deep within her she knew the infallible truth was the faces she shared smiles with were dead. Her home was thousands of miles away and destroyed wholly. She'd seen it in her night terrors.

But she didn't weep like she thought she would.
She didn't cry at all.

Whatever I was expecting, her silence wasn't it.  She should have lashed out and struck my face with the fanning flames of her ire.  Her nails should have sunk into my skin like viper fangs and torn me apart with all of her furies.  That I had intended to guard this secret close to my chest all for the sake of selfish ambition.  Because I didn't want to risk Arabella's already declining health.  Because I was afraid of the turmoil it would cause them both in knowing some semblance of truth.  I wanted her to chastise me, to scream and yell, to do anything but sit there like a broken doll with a fractured smile.  Look at me.  My seeking gaze lurked on her crestfallen face.  Look at me, Dae!  But she turned to rest her head on the carriage wall.  It was all I could do not to bring her into my arms, to hold her close, to whisper how much I'd missed her in these many odd years apart.  That was selfish and I knew it.  But what was I if not a selfish man?  Instead of indulging that enticement, I let her linger in this silence for a while longer so that she could collect the scattered thoughts I was sure were racing through her head. "I'm sorry."  I shattered the quiet.  "I didn't realize.  Not until I saw the ring."  I breathed out a long, lung-aching sigh while leaning back against the seat to stare at the wooden ceiling above.  How had we gotten into this mess?  "Because that's the ring I gave to Daesn'yri... to you." There was only so much temptation I could war against, could brandish my resolution towards before it began to crumble and give way.  Hesitantly I'd reach for her hand to hold it firmly in mine and offer the smaller digits an endearing, comforting squeeze.  Something, anything, to chase away this tension and see again the warm smile on her face.  I took it back - those prior thoughts - that wished her harm and ruin.  Took back every wrong thing I'd ever thought about her being nothing but a penny glutton, fat, simple.  All the insults I used to whittle down the woman pretending to be my sister. "Look at me."  Despite the situation, there was a stern, underlying tone to my voice.  I needed her to know that I had no part in this, that I was equally the pawn in the Belevelron's game.  My head lowered to fully face her again, to see the plague that avarice had wrought.  "Please..."  The plea was quieter, softer, beckoning.

"I'm sorry." she blinked, and perhaps it was the first time she had done so in awhile, judging by how her eyes stung with the motion. "I didn't realize.  Not until I saw the ring." Yes, her greatest treasure. The most precious thing that she possessed. The only thing that made the trip with her across the brandished waves of the sea. The ocean tides swallowed the rest of the evidence. The fabrics that would mark where she was from. They were like those purchased at the market. The one that reminded her of the bustling hubbub of the port side city where they had found her. "Because that's the ring I gave to Daesn'yri... to you."

Things didn't return to her in a steady hum, or all in one piece, but those that had found their way home were being put together on a single thread rather than being chased away and thrown to the winds again. She was Daesn'yri. She was the daughter of Chief Ravsk'yri, the man she had been named after in lieu of the son he had always wanted. A joke had run through his lips as even the last of them that claimed the life of her late mother were doomed to be girls. He would never have a proper heir, and it was she that understood perhaps more than any of his other daughters that it wasn't such a condemnation as he always gruffly reminded them of. The eldest of them was where the majority of his focus in training politics had gone. The ways of their precarious world and how to lead - for as the first born and with no young lord to rip the title from her - she would one day inherit his throne.

She had died, however, before the real Arabella had left. She had been the first. She had been proud and kind and stalwart. She had been everything that Daesn'yri was not. For Daesn'yri was a warrior and a huntress, yes, but she shied away from the ceremonial slaughter of animals in sacrificial rites. She did not enjoy reaping the life of their enemies, and avoided it until she had no other course of action. 'Yay oli daa rahd, rerdil.' She would always say. As she often bandaged and tended to her wounds - ones received in their harsh way of life simply because she did not want to strike something down. As time went on, she didn't need that reminder, having learned her lesson. She buried the softness within her, that vulnerable heart caged in a wreath of thorns to guard it away from the world.

'Hi er mad vapemb xovq. Tui bels vess kei, omk duili er maduemb i'ay vom ka oxayd ed.' Would that Mierseri would know now that the sickly young lady had outlived all of them. All of them... but her.

His touch nearly burned her as his fingers glissaded over hers, clutching her hand within his own. The one that had felt so warm and safe when they were younger. The one she had blissfully held in the market as they went along their business. As he allowed her to masquerade as someone she was not. As he let her play the fool to the plans of his parents. It also scorned her to know that his father had originally come to them to merely make a profit. That many of his profits had first been offered to the king seeking to enslave them.

"Look at me." Her jaw clenched at the whispered note of authority that he beckoned her with. There was no place with foolish, gentle softness in this gods forsaken world. "Please..." Alas, her stare would return to him, to find his features bowed to better face her. Her gaze was distant as she beheld him, as she searched his face with a distant disdain. One that wounded her already bleeding heart. Why didn't you tell me then? Why didn't you simply speak before you knew and tell me? You didn't recognize me when you first saw me? The list of accusations died upon her parted lips before she closed them. The dissonance of her attention strayed. She felt... sick.

Distraction was offered, however, as an odd sound thudded along the roof. Her brows furrowed, eyes startled as she looked to where a small wilt in the ceiling announced that something had settled upon the top of the carriage. "What-" before her question could fully form, the sharp edge of the blade would pierce downwards. She would draw in a sharp breath as the weapon bit through the shoulder of her gown, what would have perhaps been the curve of her throat should she not have moved when she did. Just as quick as it had plunged down, it withdrew, the smooth edge humming against the ceiling, leaving her fingers to curl against the puncture, immediately met with the warmth of visceral ichor.

I'd no right to ask anything from her.  Vile betrayer.  I knew that with clandestine certainty, a sickening clarity and overwhelming dread gnashing in the back of my racing thoughts.  My heartbeat wildly.  The pulse hammered in the veins of my throat till I was certain it'd burst.  She had every deserving justification to harbour hate in that golden heart and see it birthed from the loins of vehemence.  Vindicated malice.  I couldn't blame her - none of us could - but if she knew the circumstances from which I'd been hostage, would some inkling of forgiveness replace the bitter stare of those icy eyes?  Could she come to forgive this sinner for his selfish heart? That answer wouldn't come; none of them would.  It happened so suddenly that all I could do was stare at the mark of crimson rolling down her shoulder.  I watched the rain of splintered wood and cotton that lined the interior of our carriage as it fell around us.  I watched as the blade pierced the roof again and split directly between us, nearly biting into the thick of my thigh.  My shocked expression mirrored upon the tainted metal, then rage. My hand was less than gentle as it pushed her to the floor.  "Stay down!"  I growled out the command before kicking the blade forward, lodging it into the interior of the carriage so that our assailant couldn't so easily lodge it free.  Sweat slicked my skin, and dripped down the curve of my neck.  I flung open the seat across from us and rifled through the trunk of extra clothing until I wrapped hasty fingers around the hilt of my blade and the butt of the pistol.  I had no time for hesitation.  No second thoughts swayed me from kicking open the carriage door until it laid flat against the side, hinges busted and the compartment exposed.  I aimed the barrel of the gun at the person on the roof.  Its lethal roar resounded with a violent boom followed by a cloud of smouldering gunpowder that tugged at my nostrils with distaste.  The assailant's body rolled from the roof of the carriage onto the ground with a quiet thud.  My attention turned then towards our coachman who had met his unfortunate demise.  A dagger protruded from his throat, his body limp and barely hanging from his seat.  How long has our driver been dead?  How long did they wait before striking? "In the trunk!"  I shouted at Dae as I attempted to position myself at the reigns.  "There's a dagger and another pistol.  Keep them close!"

The anguish set in, searing her nerves alight with the sensation of the ruptured sinew and causing her next breath to exude on a slight hum bordering a quiet moaning whimper. Her eyes fixated upon the well of ruby, nearly black as it spilled out, her fingers coming away dyed with the crimson sluice. It was only the desperate wrench and cry of the metal trapped within the grasp of wood that drew her away from it. A silent thanks that it had held her steady, away from the dangerous spiral that was shock, eager to sweep her away.

"Stay down!" he yelled, his voice swimming to her as he shoved her down and she sprawled ungracefully upon the floor of the carriage. Fingers dug across her sundered skin as she cradled the wound, another sound fought to unwind from behind clenched teeth, but it found little purchase as she fought to regain her senses. It suddenly felt all too hot, her pulse hammering harshly against her ear drums. It was so loud she could have almost mistaken it for the roar of gunfire before she caught the glimpse of the assailant toppling from the roof from under the shield of the curtains.

Wild eyes searched for him, her brother. A sickening sentiment as the chilling breeze churned against her skin, fingers tearing at the long strands of her hair. She nearly leaned into it, but knew to do so was a further risk to her health. The disturbance seemed to have riled the horses, their paces growing just as panicked as the shrill sounds that escaped them. "In the trunk!" Came his order and she would cast her eyes towards the opening, picking herself up from the floorboards. "There's a dagger and another pistol.  Keep them close!" Unsteadily, she would riffle through the contents, finding both he had mentioned.

"You know I've n-never used a gun." It rested upon her lap regardless. Her nearly useless hand would drape over the sheathe of the knife, holding it as her slick fingers would release it from the confines. Inspecting it, she would gather the thicker cottons of her skirts and hold them between her teeth as she sawed through the fabric with the edge, concerned primarily at present with halting the flow of vermillion wine from her arm. She would wind the uneven, jagged strip over the weeping puncture, holing it taut with pressure as she allowed herself to drift from the cushioned seat and once more into the floor.

This certainly wasn't how she had imagined her day going.

My glance followed the length of the reigns abandoned by the dead men.  First, the coachman who still managed to maintain his place at the driver's box stuck between the footboard and the skeleton boot.  The would-be assassin was long out of sight, his threat diminishing further as the crazed horses lurched into the wilds woods before us.  It seemed that they had long since veered away from the familiar winds of the horse-trodden road.  We should have been on the path to Odersten, back to the estate.  How could I have let my guard down so easily as to not notice that another passenger was aboard our carriage?  I'd been careless.  "You know I've n-never used a gun."  I nearly groaned at the revelation.  Of course she hadn't used a gun.  Firearms and gunpowder were out of stock in the desert and most who could afford them certainly weren't the tribal people.  Unless they bought them from lord Beleveron, that is. "Point the long part at them and pull the trigger!"  I shouted to her from over my shoulder. Dust and fragments of broken twigs clung to my arms.  The sword in my hand was housed in its sheath while I positioned the body at my feet enough that I could grasp the reigns firmly in hand in an attempt to steady the steeds that were driven by sheer fear.  Unadulterated terror mirrored in the dark depths of their inky eyes.  Their hooves a cadence of primal dismay.  I couldn't blame them.  My hands shook despite my best efforts but it wasn't for fear of my own mortality.  I hoped her wound wouldn't be fatal, that they hadn't severed an important vein.  After some time and vocal swearing, the horses eventually came to a stop.  Where, I couldn't say, for the world around us was dressed in unfamiliarity.  There was a field, trees, and mountains far beyond the vista.  All I knew with sharp certainty is that there was only us here. With a deep breath, I dismounted the carriage to approach the broken door and the woman housed inside its ruined shell.  My eyes found the makeshift bandage on her shoulder and worry instantly flooded my gaze.  I looked at it, to the ruin of her dress and then finally to the contours of her face.  "How bad is it?"  I asked her with a heaving breath while offering my hand to assist her out of the carriage. "I'm sorry, Dae."  The muscle in my jaw ticked and my inquisitive, worried gaze swept over her entirety, dreading the possibility of seeing more of that red weeping from her wounded skin.  "Did he get you anywhere else?"

His shouted orders gave her leave to lift her head slightly. Once again, she would begin to reapply the pressure needed to rid herself of the bleeding in her shoulder. The careen of the carriage slowly came under control. The wild cries of the wheels slowing and hushing. Soon all motion came to a halt, and while there was a sense of relief, it was also followed by doubt. The surroundings she could see from the veil of the swinging door were very obviously not those even remotely close top the estate, and she had a feeling they weren't even across the boundary that would lead into Odersten.

She listened closely, but there was only one pair of footsteps she could discern coming from the driver's perch. Had that poor man also met with their unwanted guest? A strand of guilt pulled at her heart. If only they hadn't found her perhaps this wouldn't have happened. However, it brought another musing to breach the cloud on her thoughts.

Where was the real Arabella?

She had regained her feet when he arrived at the door. Streaks of tears from watering eyes and sweat that ran softly down her temples accented her features along with the decorations of dust and tiny splinters from the broken ceiling. "How bad is it?" She would merely shake her head in answer, unknowing the true damage done. She had full control of the limb, but any motion at all was more than enough to send a sharp burn through the entire thing resulting it hanging limply at her side. "D-dont know." She added afterwards, stepping from the interior into the caress of the biting night air.

"I'm sorry, Dae." Again, she would tilt her crown in dismissal. She was still bitter, uncertain of how to proceed with this awkward situation. "Did he get you anywhere else?" She would give a cursory glance towards her front, turning her back to him as she slowly removed the cloth that had done its most to blot out the damage of her limb. "Well... w-what's the damage?" She inquired, knowing that the worst of the cut felt like it had speared down the back of her shoulder rather than the front. However, she didn't bother to look over it towards him, her sight remaining on the dirt near her feet.

"Where is she?" She asked,  her voice softer. "Where is Arabella?"

I drank her in from the mishappen tendrils of golden hair - mussed by the chaos - to the wet trail of tears still clinging to those girlish cheeks.  Remnants of fear, of dread.  Though our situation had teetered to the edge of dire complications, I couldn't help this sensation of relief which overwhelmed me in the wake of her stare.  Her face was warm with life and not yet kissed by the cold lips of death eternal.  The uncertainty in her eyes was not glazed over with the unknowing frost of grave sleep nor did her body lay stagnant upon the carriage floor surrounded by a tide of blood.  She was alive; wounded, but alive. With hesitance, I watched her remove the cloth that had held the weeping craig like black ink against her skin turned red.  My fingers were gentle as they touched around the laceration, the pad of my thumb pushing down on her skin in an attempt to see how deep it was.  If it required stitches, we were out of luck, out of place.  I didn't know how far the next town was and I surely couldn't guess whether they had the supplies necessary to suture it shut.  Thankfully it didn't appear serious enough.  A knick of the blade. I placed the cloth back over the wound and pressed her hand against it tightly.  "Keep pressure on it until the bleeding stops.  It doesn't look serious but once we get back we'll have a doctor make sure."  I murmured to her. How could I have let this happen?  "Where is she?"  I blinked once with confusion.  "Where is Arabella?"  Then my face fell into one of quiet turmoil.  I didn't want to answer her, to tell her of the girl locked in her bed where none could come and hold her, comfort her, to rouse a smile to those sickly lips.  Yes, that was why I had failed here.  My thoughts were not entirely my own. They were possessed by my melancholy knowing. An arid grip seized hold of my throat.  It suddenly felt swollen with aching, searing anguish that resonated down to the soles of my feet.  I didn't want to answer her so for a moment, I didn't.  My attentions were spent on the carriage whose wheel wouldn't endure a trip to the road let alone all the way to Odersten.  She deserves an answer.  But I didn't want to give it.  Humming in my ears, the violent pace of my heart.  With a heavy sigh, I stood and buried my face into the palm of my hand. "She's there at the estate..."  There was a strangeness to my voice.  A complexity that could only be described as morose sorrow.  "Trapped in her bed all alone.  I couldn't say hello to her.  I couldn't... I couldn't even go into her room for fear of worsening her condition."  I leaned my back against the carriage and languidly slid down until I sat on the cold ground below.  My head careened back, my eyes closed tightly as I drew in a breath.  "Mother said the money from the marriage will go to her cure.  If anyone found out you weren't her...  that's why I didn't tell you more until we were alone and far away from the estate.  I couldn't risk Arabella... dying."  I opened my eyes to look up at the faint flickering overhead stars.  "I'm sorry."