A Cautionary Tale of What Not to Do

Thom was compelled to concede that his initial assessment had been flawed. He found himself studying her, truly seeing her for the first time. He had misinterpreted her quiet anguish as a sign of fragility. Now, however, he could perceive the core of steel in her bearing, a deep-seated resilience he had completely failed to recognize.

"Right," he said, retrieving the thread of his narrative. "The girl's name was Oriana. Another name befitting a princess. We all acknowledged her beauty, of course, but as I mentioned, our minds were occupied with other concerns. But Grimshaw… he was utterly and instantly captivated. His focus shattered. He was supposed to be leading our vanguard in the assault on that village. Instead, he simply abandoned his post, seized the girl, and fled to the north."

Hana released a breath she hadn't been aware of holding, the sound a soft, tremulous sigh in the heavy air. "Further north? But that is—"

Thom gave a grim nod. The Wastes. It was a death sentence for anyone attempting to outrun them, a desolate expanse of false hopes and bleak conclusions. "Grimshaw was aware. He knew Krysta herself would lead the hunt, that we would inevitably come for the girl. He led us there deliberately, hoping to lure us into a trap and eliminate us all at once."

"But he is dead now, is he not?" the girl asked. She brushed a stray lock of long, black hair from her face, but the gesture did little to mask the profound sorrow that shadowed her eyes. For a fleeting moment, Thom felt an impulse to rest a hand on her shoulder in a simple gesture of comfort. He might have done so, had she been a man and the action not so easily misconstrued. But he was sharply, uncomfortably aware of the other men, their vulture-like gazes perpetually fixed upon them.

"Yes," he answered, the memory still feeling raw. His voice faltered for a second. "Grimshaw died protecting her. We reached her, but… she was pregnant with their second child." He hesitated, fighting the tremor in his own voice before he could continue. "Her first was a boy she had adopted from a southern tribe. You see, Grimshaw was playing the long game. He was no fool, merely a man in a desperate hurry. His entire gambit was a feint, an elaborate attempt to draw our attention away from his children. The only variable he failed to account for was his wife's adamant refusal to leave his side."

A grim, sardonic smile touched Thom's lips. "He succeeded, in a way. He won her heart, despite being a monster larger and more savage than any of us."

"That is quite a story," she said softly. "Thank you for sharing it."

He raised an eyebrow at her unexpected tone but offered a silent nod, accepting the gratitude.

"Do not imagine it was some perfect romance, ruined only by the arrival of us villains," he added, his tone hardening. "We saw the bruises on her later. He beat her, thrashed her when she finally fought to remain with him. The only truly remarkable part of their story is that she loved him anyway."

"She had no bruises before?" The sharpness in Hana's voice cut through the dusty air of the warehouse. "He beat her for her loyalty? For fighting to survive at his side? And how can you be so certain she loved him? Is it not just as plausible that she was a captive, abused and coerced into remaining with him?"

Thom’s patience frayed, his eyes narrowing to slits. Why was she dissecting this? What did the precise mechanics of their love or their ruin signify now, after all these years? Perhaps his first assessment had been the correct one after all; she was nothing more than a sentimental fool, the strength he had perceived only a fleeting phantom. A disappointment.

"When we first found her," he said slowly, deliberately, "her skin was flawless. It was Grimshaw who prevented us from touching her, and we understood by the feral, pleading look in his eyes that he meant it. He was not a man of inherent loyalty, but he possessed just enough honor to never break a bargain he had begged for. We knew that much about him."

He paused, dredging the memory from the depths of his mind, his gaze becoming unfocused. "Whether he abused her for her decision to stay, I cannot say. But as for her love… a terrified country girl, abused and coerced, does not consent to a secret wedding in a neighboring village. Her parents were in attendance, if I recall correctly. And you must understand Grimshaw’s nature—he despised it when a prize attempted to slip from his grasp. He demanded absolute victory, at any cost." A perverse fire lit Thom’s emerald eyes. He had always, strangely, admired that quality in Grimshaw; he knew the feeling all too well.

"So they were proper village folk, in a way," Hana whispered, the words spoken more to herself than to him. She glanced toward Jiro.

"Mmf—huh?" The red-haired man jolted awake, hastily wiping a line of drool from his chin. "Is it over?"

A flash of annoyance crossed Hana's face. "You were the one who demanded the story," she chided. "The least you could have done is listen." Then, just as quickly, the irritation vanished, supplanted by that unnerving serenity. Thom watched her again, his intrigue renewed. She possessed a level of control, a discipline that did not fit the profile of a simple girl. Who was she?

"So Grimshaw, the great and bloody king of carnage, went and got sappy over some common wench," Jiro grumbled, his expression a mask of profound disappointment. "Boring."

"It is not boring when you consider the details," Hana countered, her voice silky smooth, betraying none of her earlier frustration. "Grimshaw was not merely a brute. The probability of a man of his nature changing so profoundly is infinitesimal. It suggests a rare kind of anomaly."

It struck Thom then that she spoke as if she had personally known a few such "rare" anomalies. He leaned forward, pressing her. "And what of your story? Were you not going to share it?"

He was met with a cool, unblinking stare from the woman he now knew was named Hana. "Some other time," she said, reaching for her pack. "For now, I am going to see Krysta."

Thom sprang to his full height, easily a foot taller than her, and moved to block her path. "I do not think so. Not until you have offered a little more of yourself. Who are you? Where do you come from?"

"The Ignis Clan," she replied, neatly turning his own question back on him. "Where are you from?"

She was playing games with him. Thom felt the familiar, ugly heat of his temper begin to rise. He moved closer, his voice dropping to a menacing growl as he felt the weight of dozens of pairs of eyes settle upon him. "You will answer me. Who are you?"

"Hana Suzuki," a new voice cut in, clear and laced with amusement. "Younger sister to Saku Suzuki and Ami Reddington, neither of whom understand her in the slightest. Inducted into the Ignis Clan despite being from a non-magical family. Born with half the strength of a giant and a remarkable talent for taking risks."

Krysta emerged from her stuffy little office, stretching her arms languidly over her head with a wicked, feline grin. It was a rare occasion for the men to see her in such a fine mood.

"Your storytelling was quite good today, Thom," she continued, her eyes dancing with mirth. "Better than usual. I have heard it all before, of course, but you brought out a few nuances that were rather… illuminating. You never did think much of old Grimshaw, did you?"

Thom inclined his head in a shallow, respectful bow. "No, Krysta." No one used titles with her; she detested them. "I only tell it as a cautionary tale."

"Oh, how dull," Krysta waved a dismissive hand. Her smile turned to Hana. "Things are about to become much more interesting with you around, Hana."

Thom watched his leader, a seed of skepticism taking root in his mind. Krysta ran their lives like a well-oiled machine; every command she issued was logical and precise. But this—this was irrational, unpredictable. It made Hana a wildcard, cut from the same chaotic cloth as Grimshaw himself. And Krysta was indulging it.

She was a problem.

Still, he was confident it was a problem he could handle. With considerably less enthusiasm, he watched as Krysta ushered Hana and the red-haired man into her office, the door clicking shut behind them. For a moment, Thom considered pressing his ear to the wood, to learn the secret that made Hana tick.

No. He would get what he wanted another way. He always did.

He turned to a stooped colleague. "Come on, Howland," he said, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. "I will unlock the cage on that fresh new plaything you have been waiting for."

Another round of torture would be the perfect balm for his frayed nerves.