What Matters Most by Sasha L. Miller Page A

Kyros had wanted to tell him at the ruins.

    *~*~*

    Mykon was much larger than Ourenville; it was large enough to classify as a small city, in Raslin's opinion. He and Ailynn had been settled in Mykon for six months. It was a port town, and it had been easy for Raslin to find work at the docks, slinging merchandise from ships to warehouses along the seafront. But it still didn't feel like home Ailynn missed Ourenville, but it hadn't taken her long to become friendly with the neighbors, especially the women who lived in the house adjacent to theirs. They had a nice little cottage, Raslin thought, studying the front as he made his way up the walkway. It was in good repair, bigger but more closed off, with actual rooms instead of the large, open area the cottage in Ourenville had boasted.
    It was also impersonal and there was none of the history of the homes he'd lived in back in Ourenville. He didn't want to return to Ourenville, though; he didn't want to be reminded of Kyros and everything that home was supposed to mean, but wouldn't in Ourenville.
    He also wasn't about to leave Ailynn alone, not after the news they'd gotten soon after they'd arrived.
    Kyros had been captured that night in Ourenville and dragged back to Alesdor. Raslin didn't know the specifics of what had happened after that, but at some point after Kyros had been dragged back to Alesdor, there had been a trial—a farce of a trial, Raslin didn't doubt—and Kyros had been sentenced to be hanged from the neck until dead. Mykon was large enough to keep somewhat up to date on news from the capital; Kyros' wanted poster had been taken down, and the constable hadn't had any more details than that.
    It still hurt, two months later, thinking that Kyros had been dead for months. Raslin couldn't keep himself from wondering whether, if he'd done something differently that night, it would have ended differently. He constantly wondered what Kyros had wanted to tell him. He'd come up with dozens of ideas, but none of them made sense.
    Raslin debated for a moment whether to go into the cottage. Ailynn wouldn't be home for a few hours, since it was market day and she usually spent the entire day bartering.
    Raslin would usually still be working for most of the day, but the ship he'd been helping unload had lost half its cargo in a squall, so he'd finished earlier than normal.
    Turning away from the cottage, Raslin headed down the street, the cobblestones clicking under his boots as he walked.
    He headed away from town, towards the ocean. Maybe he'd take up sailing, Raslin pondered as he walked. Once Ailynn was settled and truly happy, he could find work on a ship. The ocean was one of the only things he enjoyed about the move to Mykon, and making his living on it, while traveling, didn't sound so bad to him.
    The stretch of beach he was headed to was deserted most of the time. The beach was more rock than sand, covered in driftwood, dried seaweed, and broken seashells. Raslin climbed over the rocks, settling on a large, smooth stone that was close to the water.
    The ocean was calm, the afternoon sun glinting off the blue-green waters. The breeze blowing off the waves teased through his hair. Seagulls circled overhead, their squawking cries almost drowned out by the waves crashing against the rocks. It was peaceful, quiet, a far cry from the noise and rush of the docks.
    Raslin wasn't sure how long he'd sat there when he heard the crunch of someone's boots on the rocks and shells behind him. Raslin frowned; Ailynn didn't know he came out to this stretch of beach, and he doubted she'd follow him if she did.
    "I don't have any valuables," Raslin said loudly. He hadn't encountered anyone here before, and he was disappointed his solitude was being interrupted. The person behind him snorted, and Raslin turned, ready to run off whoever was disturbing him—only to find himself speechless.
    "I don't want your valuables," Kyros said, a hesitant smile turning the corners of his lips