Sunrise
She saw his body as they carried it out of the Chamber.
They didn't carry it out immediately, of course. There was a moment of silence, as everyone waited, sure that he would stumble out, wounded, maybe, but all right.
They were wrong.
Then someone, his knightmaster, she thought, walked to the door. She didn't see the expression on the man's face, but she knew that he was pale as a sheet. Instinctively she drew out her fan and snapped it open to cover her lower face. What could have happened?
He beckoned another man for help. One man held his wrists, the other his ankles. They carried his limp body out of the Chamber of the Ordeal, and placed it on the ground a few feet away. Many young noble girls wept and carried on – she was not one of them. She had not liked this man, though she had not wished his death.
"Yukimi," came a voice from behind her. She was startled, but showed nothing, and turned around to face Neal.
"He died in the Chamber." Yuki didn't need to say who 'he' was.
Neal's face hardened into an expression something like satisfaction. He didn't look surprised at all, though he didn't say anything.
Something in the older squire's face, though, set Yuki off. How could this man be pleased with death? Death bred nothing but death and death again. No matter how angry Neal had been with this man, he had no right to be so satisfied. Whipping around and trying to get herself under control, Yukimi closed her eyes and concentrated on other things. The cool wind blowing through her kimono, her hands tightly clenched around her fan. Trying to relax, she closed her fan and tucked it in her obi, not looking back at Neal.
Pushing her way through the small crowd surrounding the young man's body, she watched as one of the men searched his body for marks. There were no wounds on his body, and the only thing out of place was his face.
His face had four deep scratch marks on each cheek, as if someone had raked long nails down his face. Yuki looked down at his hands to see blood under his find blood under his fingernails. Even in death his hands were so tightly clenched that his knuckles were white and she would not pry his hands open if she could. His eyes were red and puffy as if from prolonged weeping to the point where no tears are left.
He did not look as if her were paralyzed with fear, or even sad. Worse, he looked like he had lost all faith in life itself, as if even death would not be a respite from his torment. As if he had been to the heavens and been denied, as if he had gone to the very depths of hell itself and left half his soul behind.
Yukimi backed out of the cluster of people, running away as fast as she could in her tightly-wound kimono. That man had not deserved her hatred. Yuki did not know what he had seen, but whatever it was she hoped she never experienced it in her lifetime.
She sat down on a rock, catching her wind. Gods, his face. She never wanted to see a face like that again.
"Yuki!" Neal was behind her, waving his arms worriedly. "Wait!" he caught up and sat down beside her, panting a bit. She said nothing.
"Please, don't say anything."
Neal sighed. "Gods, Yuki, I know it's bad, and it scares me witless, but…" he left those words unspoken between them.
"Why should I care about Joren of Stone Mountain?"
Neal was silent.
"I do not care for him, and everything I have heard of him has been bad… he has so many shadows inside him. But his face… I never want to see that again. He looked like…" she trailed off.
He's lost all hope of sunrise…