4Author's Note: Thanks to Rockerduck for beta-reading and giving well-meant suggestions that I'm too stubborn to take. More detailed and overly sappy author's notes at the end.
Journeys end in lovers meeting,
Every wise man's son doth know.
William Shakespeare
Epilogue
The same day
Crimson Sabatt looked at the wreck that was Rossotorres Marketplace, resisting the urge to smile. The head and shoulders of what was formerly a statue of the Red Prince lay in the now-overflowing fountain. Water seeped through the cobbles in all directions. Carts were overturned and crates were scattered; the contents of both spilled over the white stone. The destruction caused by the escaping Knights of Darion was certainly impressive.
For Lord Marcus was still a Knight of Darion. She'd known that for some time now, as she had told the Red Prince. What she hadn't told him was that she knew this was a lost cause. The boy – and his noble commander – were both too loyal and honourable for their own good. Particularly once they were together. It wasn't the first time a united front from the pair had subverted her plans with regard to Lady Alandra.
The better part of valor is discretion. Sometimes even she had to know when to step back and try another strategy.
The Prince stormed over from the destroyed fountain, face as red as his robe. "Have you ordered repairs, my servant?"
"Yes." She inclined her head. "Rossotorres will return to normal within a few days."
"And the prisoners? I expect their capture."
"Yes, my prince." No.
"Excellent." The grey-haired monarch turned and strode back down the main road. She followed him with a brief smirk.
She was Crimson Sabatt and she had not yielded.
She was merely flexible.
…
Vestholm, a month later
Marcus whistled tunelessly as he limped along the upper hallway of Castle Vestholm. He and Alandra had returned a week earlier, and it was good to be home.
Vestholm was home. He never would have said that a year ago, but it was. He could no more imagine returning to Challia than he could consider flying.
Of course, anything would seem favourable compared to Rossotorres Castle. The sight of the azure banners and grey stone ramparts had been an inexpressible relief.
It had not been strictly necessary, legally, but Her Majesty had arranged a quick trial a few days after he had returned just to prove everything was above board. Marcus had been insulted, but Alandra had convinced him to submit.
"She's trying to clear your name, Marcus," she'd said. "So be quiet and stop being difficult."
He had, and the trial had ended the day before. Now he was a free man, and he was only favouring his leg a little. Life was fantastic.
He reached the top of the main staircase and began to descend it, still cautious, one hand on the banister as he jogged down. Halfway, he stopped. Alandra was just beginning to come up.
She smiled up at him, new cape floating down her back. "Feeling cheerful?"
"Never better." He looked around, gesturing to the room as a whole. "I missed this place."
"Me too." She chuckled, then sighed happily. "It's good to be home."
"My thoughts exactly."
She reached him at that moment, stopping two steps below him, hand also resting on the rail. "You're not going to be so thrilled when you see the pile of paperwork I've got for you to do. I have two months of reports to catch up on, and I need help."
He bowed, grinning, surprising himself with how ready he was co-operate. Normally he'd at least suppress a groan. "At your service."
She returned the grin and seemed ready to continue on her way.
"Alandra." He cleared his throat. If he could rehearse a speech for three days and still get tongue-tied when it came time to say it, that did not bode well for his career as a leader.
"Yes?"
"Thank you."
She raised an amused eyebrow. "What for?"
"Everything." He hesitated. So much for practice makes perfect. "Back in Rossotorres, you – you saved my life."
"It was just basic first aid. You weren't dying."
"I wasn't talking about the arrow. If you hadn't been there, I would have rotted in the Red Prince's castle until the end of the war. You might not literally have stopped me from dying, but –" He trailed off rather lamely.
She was silent for a long time, looking down at the floor between them. "I think I owe you as much as you owe me. You risked everything to get me out of there, when I'd practically stabbed you in the back the last time we spoke."
"You think you stabbed me in the back?" he asked incredulously. "Who's the one who switched sides and then left you to be dragged away by the Red Prince's men?"
"You made up for it." She looked up at him. "Not only did you rescue me, but the information you've discovered about Rossotorres and the rest of Raudrlin will be invaluable."
A very faint smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Are we even, then?"
Her eyes danced. "For the moment."
Marcus chuckled, then glanced around. Both the upper and lower halls were empty. His heart unexpectedly slammed against his ribcage. He took a deep breath.
"Alandra, can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Would – would you consider –"
"Hey, you two!"
Kestral's voice sliced between them, and they shied away from each other like a pair of foals. Alandra was blushing furiously; Marcus could feel him own cheeks warming. He looked down the stairs. Kes was standing in the middle of the main hall, arms folded, both eyebrows in the air.
"What do you want?"
"I'm leaving for the harbour now. I'm going to go and help Wise Boy out in Janub, remember?"
"And?"
"Aren't you two going to see me off?" She smiled sweetly.
"If you insist."
Kestral spun and bounced towards the back door to the stables. Alandra began to race down the steps two at a time. He didn't follow.
She stopped at the bottom, then looked back up at him. "What did you want to ask me?" she inquired hesitantly.
"Nothing important."
Author's Note, Part 2: In January 2009, I acquired a computer game called The Settlers: Rise of an Empire. Around level three, I became convinced that characters Marcus and Alandra were absolutely meant for each other. In a bored twenty minutes with pen and paper handy, I wrote the first few paragraphs of Hopeless Sincerity. I've never looked back.
While Friendly Fire is the (current) conclusion of their arc, The Mathematics of Deceit is still my favourite of all my Marcus/Alandra stories. Even in the original, poor early drafts, it's a story of treachery, misunderstandings, intrigue and love. Hopeless Sincerity might be the start of their romance, and Friendly Fire – well, I won't spoil that.
But this story is when they prove they love each other, even if they're not quite ready to admit it yet. That's why I'll always like it the most.
Thanks for reading The Mathematics of Deceit; I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. A cliché sentiment, but still sincere.