Dalton's Journal

(written in elvish by a precise hand)

I left the prison. I sit in the castle as I write this, given a guest room down the hall from the regent himself. I thought surely that the closest I would ever get to him again was the gallows out front, but no, Kristoff tore those down within a month of Algot's death. Of course he did.

I promised myself that I would die in that prison. For the safety of everyone involved, that should have been my fate. But my promises have never meant much; breaking my oath to Gwyr and Akhiilor both is proof enough of that. All Anja had to say was that Kristoff needed me and my resolve broke like a fever. I spent so much of my time here praying to the Mother, trying to remake myself, but when it comes down to it, I will always be his hound.

As soon as I saw his face, my foolish heart started to beat again. By the gods, he looks tired but he's still as beautiful as the day I told him to leave me. He smiled at me like he doesn't see the blood on my hands. He tried to hold my hand as we walked through the halls to his chamber, the reckless fool that he is, and it hurt to pull away from him. All I wanted to do was cling to him, to kiss his weathered knuckles, to embrace him tight and breathe in his scent. I kept my distance. I tried to protect him from the old rumors that he hired me as an assassin to kill his brother. I hope it's enough. He doesn't seem to care, but I'm still Akhiiloran in most of his subjects' eyes. I can't taint him by association.

Anja has grown up. She's no longer the girl I splattered with Algot's blood. She thanked me for killing her father. She's grown to be more ruthless than Kristoff. Everyone recruited for this mission to Thornhedge has been branded by a magical tattoo and warned of some mysterious threat should we go off course. I understand if it was simply me or even Nix, but these mysterious strangers didn't come from the prison. They don't need a sword hanging over their heads to force them to obey. It worries me.

We leave tomorrow for Sulle sur Liore. I never intended to go there again, where the shadows of my sins are deep enough to drown in, but it seems I have no choice.

I have my mother's sword back. I sharpened it before writing this, though Kristoff has been tending it in my absence. It seems hungry. This is the longest that it's gone without being used. My fingers run over the elvish script that I carved into the crossbar after forsaking my oaths to Gwyr: naitya. To bring shame. I pray that I don't have to unsheathe it. I'm not fool enough to think we'll be that lucky.

(written in elvish by an unsteady hand)

Today was the first true test of my oath, and I failed it.

Akhiiloran soldiers. Half-elves like me. They had no choice but to be there. They were taken from their homes as I was, raised to die for Gwyr. Six of them. Three survived. I tried, by Mother Night, but I wasn't good enough to save them all. I watched three of them die by my companions' hands, and I don't blame my party for that. They didn't take my oaths; they did what they must to survive. I'm the one who wasn't good enough to convince my siblings to surrender. If I'd only had more time, perhaps I could have--

No. More time wouldn't have made me better at talking people into laying down their arms. I wish Kristoff was here. He wouldn't have failed. He could have even saved the cleric with his silver tongue. Me, I'm clumsy. Unpracticed.

(When I killed that cleric, I didn't only feel regret. There was a bloody satisfaction in striking her down. Would I have tried harder if I didn't have the memory of my captain haunting me? If I didn't have anger in my heart?)

Is this truly the path that Mother Night intends for me to walk? Am I strong enough to follow it? Or is Nix right and I'm simply going to get myself and my companions killed by my fumbling attempts to make peace?

(written in elvish script with several passages angrily scratched out)

He called me his love.

I'm used to being distrusted. I'm an Akhiiloran, a kingkiller, an oathbreaker, a traitor to my own kind and to Kristoff's. Those months that I traveled with Kristoff, dodging his brother's men, his advisors told him again and again not to turn his back on me. But I'm not used to being distrusted because I'm useless to the ones I fight with. At the very least they knew I was good in a fight. But Hollie said I was not to be relied on, and it's a wound to my idiot pride. A stupid reason to doubt my oaths, but knowing that she was right to say it...

What use am I to Kristoff like this?

Hollie has her reasons. A dead husband, her children taken from her to who knows where. Of course she has no patience for anyone standing in the way of getting them back. They were all of them right to be angry with me. I'm angry with myself. Nix asked why I refused to accept that I saved a few lives even if I couldn't save them all, and I didn't know how to tell her that Akhiilor has no tolerance for failure. I have the scars on my back to prove it. All I can do is try to redeem myself again and again. We're all stuck with each other to the end, this party of four, and I don't expect friendship but we need to be able to at least trust each other in a fight if nothing else. I need to be useful. I need to do better.

This oath was easier in prison.

(written in elvish script)

I punched the Duc in the face.

It was pure impulse. He struck Vissa, the one he claimed to love, as if it was his right to beat her like a misbehaving dog. It was a stupid thing to punch him in front of an angry mob, but I forgot my oath. I forgot reason. I forgot everything but my own anger, and the worst part of it is that the violence felt good. Righteous. This oath makes me the judge of whether someone is too far gone to redeem, and I don't know that I can trust myself to make that call when I'm still so godsdamned angry all the time.

Despite my lapse, we saved Aurielle and Claudia. We saved Vissa. We even saved the Duc, in a way, though we did it by prying the power of the throne out of his greedy hands. A happy ending. Aurielle and Claudia kissed with all the relief and longing of years of waiting to be freed, and I thought of Kristoff. The further I get from him, the more I wish that I'd been selfish enough to hold his hand and even claim a kiss before going on a road I might not come back from. I dream of a future we can't have, a peaceful little cabin outside Hamlin where no one will care if an ex-regent loves an Akhiiloran kingkiller, and I wake with empty arms. I hope he's being careful.

In any case, we need to finish our business and get out of this country. Rowan isn't safe here, even if Aurielle countermands her uncle's orders and drops the bounty. It's too easy for a villager out in the sticks to "accidentally" attack her and pretend that they simply hadn't heard the news. Rowan has a kind heart; she deserves better than to have this hanging over her head or to hear the ugly bullshit that people spew when they don't know a shifter is listening.

Soon. All we have to do is get through one simple celebration. We'll keep our heads down. It will be all right.

(written in a relaxed elvish script)

In prison, I took an oath.

It seemed like what I was meant to do. It had been three years without Kristoff, thinking I'd never see him again, and I wanted him. I treasured every word that the guards shared about all the progress the new regent was making. All of the things Kristoff passionately spoke about, his dreams for the kingdom and the future. A better jail. Better schools. Enough food for everyone. He made things kinder, and so I tried to do the same. I tried to be what he would have wanted. To be worthy of him. I took an oath to Mother Night in his name, promising to serve peace instead of violence and to redeem myself by trying to save others. I served in the infirmary's hospice. I prayed to Mother Night. When other prisoners would try to bait me into a fight, I didn't resist. Let them think I was pathetic. I've done enough harm in my life.

And then I was freed.

I probably should have seen it coming. All my good intentions couldn't keep me behind bars when Anja said that Kristoff needed me. I come when he calls. I always will.

I tried to be good, by the gods, but the oath was so much harder when I wasn't behind bars. I'm not the man that I wanted to be. Not clever enough. Too prideful. Too angry. What use was I to Kristoff, fumbling with words in Common to try to convince people to abandon their goals? To convince half-elf soldiers from Akhiilor to shake off their shackles at the cost of leaving everything behind, including their gods? To talk down a furious mob wanting blood and a duke filled with hate? I said that I believed everyone could be saved. I lied.

Tonight. The assassin came to me blindly. All he saw was that I was an Akhiiloran half-elf, and so I was meant to serve. He spoke of orders from my mother. He said he was on his way to kill the new regent. In a way, I should thank him. In that moment that he spoke Kristoff's name, the fog cleared away. I forgot the oath. I forgot trying to be a better man who's worthy of him. I remembered who I am. Who I will always be. I didn't hesitate. I drove the blade into his back like I was killing Algot again. I snapped that chain binding the holy symbol around my neck, and I was Kristoff's hound once again.

The shame didn't come. Not until Kristoff reached out to us with telemancy and I saw him standing in front of me, beautiful and untouchable. I couldn't look at him at first. I couldn't stand to see the belief he has in me despite everything crumble to ash. It was Hollie who blurted out that I'd broken my oath, and I'm grateful for that. I don't know if I would have told him tonight.

If he'd turned from me, I wouldn't have blamed him. He believes in mercy and redemption; he carries the torch of belief that I only pretended to. But Kristoff didn't even flinch. He told me to take a new oath. When I said that I'd only ever broken the oaths I've taken, he said that I should take one to him, then. I've never broken faith with him. He asked me to promise I'd come back to him as if that's all he ever wanted from me. It's the kind of oath my mother would scoff at. These weak Marchen folk, she would sneer, but it didn't feel like weakness when that oath snapped into place inside of me. It felt like hope.

He told me that he loved me. I believed it like I've never believed in the gods. Perhaps that counts as a miracle.

(written in elvish with the words pressed hard into the page)

Kristoff could have died today.