Eve hated him sometimes. It wasn't that he did anything to her directly; it was the way he acted that made her loathe him. During those times, she couldn't stand to look at his stupid face, or to be within a hundred feet of him. Even having him across the room in her office was nearly unbearable. It was even worse that he never seemed to notice her anger; he went about his life clueless to her changing moods. He made it seem that ignorance really was bliss.
She felt it most not in her office, nor in the bakery, but in the streets of town. It never failed that when he wasn't running errands for the bakery or working directly onsite a new reconstruction venture, he was milling about the streets surrounded by his adoring fan club. Of course they never said outright that they were his (unofficial) fan club, but it was still undoubtedly clear to anyone who looked… well, anyone except the knight himself.
She wondered if he ever thought about why the group of young women always stayed close to him whenever he wasn't busy. She was sure that, as innocent as he was, he was merely oblivious to the real scheme behind the dozen or so pairs of fluttering eyelashes. He was amiable with everyone in Labyrinthia, from the palsied old women and gruff elders to the teensy children tagging along with their older siblings on a trip to the market. He treated everyone exactly the same, with pleasant words and a large, friendly smile.
Miss Muffet was at the front of the group, of course. She had probably proclaimed herself the president of the fan club, considering that she was his 'number one fan'. When she and her swarm of fawning cohorts managed to corner him in the streets, she was always the closest and the most forward. She never failed to find some excuse to touch him, patting his breastplate or grabbing his arm, all the while giggling and flashing coy glances from beneath her parasol. Once she'd even devised an excuse to wipe flour off his face, all in the name of perfect, innocent civility.
Ugh, how she hated it all! Was he really so clueless to their flirting, or did he only pretend to be to save them from hurt feelings of rejection? Was he really so gallant that it could be mistaken for naivety? He might simply brush off the bold ploys as friendliness on their part; that was always a possibility. Still, if he was pretending, it only made the women work all the harder to get him to notice them. How… how… how infuriating it all was!
She glared at them from her half-hidden spot behind one of Labyrinthia's many fountains, mouth in a tight line as she watched the distasteful display. He was surrounded by women of various shapes and sizes; there was enough to nearly block off that side of the street as they crowded around, not-so-subtly vying for his full attention. He was talking animatedly to the one on his immediate left—to Muffet's chagrin—and then he smiled as she replied quickly with a blush.
She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms as she sniffed derisively. He had to be blind; otherwise he'd see how desperately the poor girl was trying. It was demeaning to act that way, wasn't it? But the young lady didn't seem to notice how stupidly she was acting as she continued to blush and waved his answer away with a quick motion, laughing all the while. He laughed too, shrugging his shoulders.
In the back of her mind, a voice sighed sadly. Why can't he look at me like that? She quickly banished the thought back where it'd come from, tightening her arms over her chest and tossing her head. Why on earth would it matter how he looked at her? After all, there was absolutely nothing between them, no matter what Espella hinted at. They were good coworkers who were also friends outside of the office and sometimes met at the bakery to eat dinner with their other mutual friends.
Yet… it would be nice to have a conversation where he wasn't either staring at his boots or stammering like a fool. He could hardly meet her eyes without losing his train of thought, it seemed, and if they weren't speaking about work he never had anything worthwhile to say to her. She would give her entire house for an hour's time with him where he'd speak to her like Espella spoke to her, friend to friend and not—whatever he thought they were.
She thought back to that night at the bakery a few weeks ago, where he'd caught her eye and—well, she wasn't exactly sure what had happened, but it had felt like they'd had an entirely silent conversation. It hadn't lasted very long, but during that time she'd felt like they were on equal terms for the first time in a long time. It had reminded her of when the town was first liberated of its dark secrets and they were able to speak easily to each other without the pressure of subordinate and superior. She'd kept that vein of free speech, but he'd lost it along the way and couldn't seem to get it back.
But even with all that strange behavior and incomprehensible stuttering, he still spent far more time around her than with all these other women. So why did she feel this way? She looked down at her rippling reflection in the fountain's base, seeing a frustrated, puzzled young women staring back up at her. Was it just because of his brighter attitude around others, or was it something else? Was it really because his attention wasn't on her? No, that wasn't it, she decided firmly. She was not on the same level as those pining women out in the main street.
He said something and the group burst into giggles again; she huffed, glaring at the reflection as though it'd done her a personal wrong. Why did she care so much? She just couldn't figure it out. They weren't a couple; on the contrary, they were the farthest thing from being 'an item', as some of the modern-day people she heard on her various trips to the mainland said. No, he was perfectly free to speak to any woman that he wanted to, just like she was free to speak to any man that she wanted to.
Maybe that's what she needed to do—go find someone else to talk to. It had been quite a while since she'd made a trip to the garrison, hadn't it? She could say hello to the Storyteller, converse with some of the knights to make sure they were still up to par, and maybe even visit the Archives afterwards, if it wasn't too late. It was a perfect day for such a thing, seeing as Espella was busy helping out in the bakery and she was caught up on her workload at the office.
Yes, that sounded like a plan. She stood from the fountain, a serene smile spreading across her face. She stepped out into the main road, walking calmly as she ignored the ex-Inquisitor and his little fan club. She could probably get by without being noticed by any of them; she had lots of practice in being unnoticed while she did things, considering the double life she led before. When she neared them they laughed again and she unconsciously picked up the pace, eyes locked on the road ahead. It wasn't likely that they were talking about her, but all the same she didn't like to hear them laughing when she was nearby.
"Miss Eve?" She never broke stride, even when she heard him call her name. "Hey, Miss Eve!" he called louder, and she was forced to slow down; there was no way she couldn't have heard that. Taking a deep breath, she turned on her heel and managed to plaster what she hoped was a friendly expression on her face.
"Good afternoon Zacharias, everyone," she greeted the small crowd politely. Perhaps her civility sounded forced, but she was trying her hardest to keep them from finding anything to laugh at later. The women threw out a few polite words of their own and seemed to be trying to block him in, but he wound his way through them and jogged towards her. "I thought you'd be working today," she said when he neared her.
"No, 'tis my day off…" Just like that, he lapsed into silence and stood in front of her awkwardly. She bit her lip and looked around for something else to say, waiting for him to explain why he called her back. A moment passed with nothing said between them, and she heard the women behind him whispering amongst themselves. She finally resigned him to his fate and watched mercilessly as he battled with his words, her gaze never wavering, even for a moment. As much as she hated to admit it, she liked the clothes he wore when he didn't don his armor. Even the tie suited him, though she'd never have imagined him to be the type that would look at a tie, much less wear one.
"Did you needme for something?" she sighed when he showed no sign of letting up. He looked up at her and his mouth worked wordlessly.
"Ah—erm—oh!" His eyes gleamed with something akin to inspiration. "As a matter of fact, I've got something to show you!" he announced happily. "It's at the garrison, if you've got the time to come with me and see it." He hesitated. "Were you headed anywhere important just now?"
"No," she replied slowly, trying to figure out what was going on in his mind. "I was just headed to the garrison myself, for a change of pace." She felt the need to add something else, but nothing came to mind; she crossed her arms again, her foot rising to scratch her calf. What could he possibly want to show me there, of all places?
"Perfect!" he exclaimed, throwing her off guard as he grabbed her hand. "Let's go together." She tried to answer, but her mind was frozen in shock. She'd only held his hand once before, when she'd nearly fallen off one of the machines after a malfunction and he'd caught her. He'd been wearing his armor then, though; the cool metal had made her shiver as he had caught her fingers in an iron grip. Now it was his bare palm against hers, warm and calloused from years of hard work. It still sent a shiver up her spine, but for an entirely different reason.
"A-alright," she stammered. A dozen pairs of eyes glared at their combined hands, and she felt the growing tension from the group of women. She didn't dare look in their direction; Barnham didn't seem to notice the pressure in the air. He merely grinned and began to tug her along in the direction of the garrison, turning back once to bid his goodbyes to the women he'd left behind.
He slowed once they passed through an alley into the road leading past the marketplace, letting her catch up to walk alongside of him. She kept expecting him to release her hand, but he still held it tightly as they maneuvered around goats and children running through the streets, ducking under overhangs as greengrocers called their wares to the patrons searching for the best deals. Suddenly she couldn't bear to look at him, staring down at the cobblestones and letting him lead her through the winding streets. Why was this such a big deal to her? All he was doing was holding her hand. It wasn't like he had his arm around her waist or anything. It was a completely innocent gesture between friends; that was all…. right?
She didn't want anyone to jump to conclusions between them. When people jumped to conclusions, they were prone to gossip. The last thing she wanted was her interpersonal relationships to be broadcasted across town; even then, half of it wouldn't be right. They'd whisper in the alleyways about secret trysts when they were both Inquisitors, and in the tavern there'd be open discussion on issues of dominance in the bedroom. It would be more than she could bear; she wouldn't be able to walk down the street without hearing clucking housewives and seeing young men's grinning faces.
Honestly, all that from a little handholding? You're getting too worked up over this, you know, her inner self scoffed. Look around you; no one's noticing the two of you! And besides, so what if they talk? It'll only be a week or two before they find something new to say. Of course she knew that it was silly to think so drastically, but she couldn't help it. She was shy enough as it was; if people talked about her, she'd be walking around with a permanent blush on her face!
He finally let go of her hand when they neared the garrison gates and she pulled her arm close to her side, working her fingers as though trying to erase the feel of his touch. The knights saluted them and then opened the doors for them to pass through. On the other side, it was business as usual as metal-clad men ran to and fro, sparring or practicing formations as they worked tirelessly. Even though the Order didn't have to protect the city from witches anymore, they'd become a major tourist attraction. For some reason, modern people loved coming to gawk at the knights as they went around on their daily business or performed their duties during the few ceremonies open to the public that lived beyond the town's walls.
"Stay here," he ordered as he moved ahead. "I'm going to go make sure everything's in order." Before she could protest he was gone, lost in a crowd of armor as he all but ran towards the center of the garrison. She stayed put, watching the bustle with a sense of interest.
"Good afternoon, Lady Darklaw." She turned to see the leader of the so-called Vigilantes, the only one who ever seemed to have any sense. What was his name again? Boister? Bustlem? He saluted her with a stern expression carved onto his features. Boistrum; that's it.
"Good afternoon. I see that you're well," she replied in turn, offering her usual cool smile. She really had to try and talk to these people; the Storyteller had told her once that shyness could be overcome by putting yourself out there and conversing with others.
"I am, very much so." He drew himself up proudly. "I've never been busier; The Storytell—er, Mr. Cantabella, that is—has put me in charge of coming up with the formations for a new tourist demonstration." She felt the smile slip from her face. They could all remember not to call him the Storyteller anymore, but they couldn't remember that her name wasn't Darklaw?
"I see. And how is that going for you? Have you had a lot of luck?" Personally, she didn't see Boistrum as the creative type. However, if Espella's father saw fit to put him at the head of the project, who was she to say no? Maybe he had some hidden talent she didn't know about.
"Wonderfully, just wonderfully," he said with a vigorous nod. "I—oi! Come here, you two!" She turned to see two of the other Vigilantes stop walking and obey their leader. One she knew as Lottalance, but the other she didn't recognize. A moment's thought made her realize that the only reason she didn't know him was because his face was often in the dirt after voluntarily submitting to that brash woman's heel stomps. "Show the High Inquisitor the bridge of our formation."
The two men saluted and then stepped in time to imaginary music, performing a surprisingly well-thought-out series of steps that resembled something from the little figures on a cuckoo clock before stopping again. She applauded, thoroughly impressed. Perhaps Arthur knew what he was doing after all when he assigned the blonde man to the job.
"That's very good," she admitted when she finished clapping. "I'm sure it'll be quite a sight when it's finished."
"The Captain worked hard on this," Lottalance answered. "It's our sworn duty to uphold his visionary thoughts with our hard work!" She was forced to lean back as his next salute got a little out of hand and he off-balanced himself.
"Well, I'm proud that you take this so seriously," she finally said, not sure of what else to do. This seemed to be the right thing to say, however; the men fairly glowed with pride, twin beams of a smile shining from beneath their helmets. The one who liked to be stomped took her hand in a loose shake.
"Who can blame us when we have such good role models?" he laughed good-naturedly. "You, and the Captain and Sir Barnham… for as long as I remember, I always wanted to be a knight so that I could be someone to look up to, too. Its hard work, but I love every moment of it and now I'm inspiring other people to be knights... I guess I really should thank you for being sort of an idol to me," he admitted sheepishly, the visible parts of his cheeks glowing bright pink.
"Oh—I—" She was beyond flattered, but had no idea how to convey it. So instead she just stood in place, the coolness from the metal hand seeping into her palm. "Thank you?" she offered, not sure if this was something you thanked someone for. But the man only smiled harder, giving her hand another small shake.
A throat cleared meaningfully behind them and they all turned to see Barnham standing there. Eve blinked in surprise at the heated look he was throwing at the poor man still holding her hand. She felt the same violent tension that she'd felt earlier with the women; the man caught on quickly, nearly throwing her hand away from him as he and Lottalance made themselves scarce. Even Boistrum seemed affected, backing away a half-step in a clear nonverbal sign of surrender.
"Good afternoon, Sir Barham. I was just telling Eve about my preparations for the—er, the demonstration." His voice trailed off as Barnham's gaze moved from the retreating knights to his face, looking him over once before stepping forward.
"Yes, and 'twould be a shame for me to hold you back from your work any longer," he replied almost coldly. "I've just come to take Miss Eve where she needs to go." There was something hidden in his tone that she couldn't quite understand, but the meaning seemed to pass from man to man easily enough and realization crept over her. Was he… no, he wasn't threatening him, per say, but there was something very close to a challenge in the words. Boistrum responded with a low, respectful bow to him and a farewell salute to her before following his men across the grounds. Barnham watched for a moment before turning to her.
"Come on; it's this way," he said in a more subdued tone. She didn't follow him, and after a few moments he turned back around to look questioningly at her. "Miss Eve?"
"What was that?" she demanded to know, sweeping her arm across as if gathering up the entire spectacle into a neat pile. He considered her question, looking around the now-deserted stretch of ground before licking his lips. "Zacharias," She nearly smiled at the implications of his actions. "Are you jealous?"
"What?!" he squawked, face turning as red as his hair as he looked around quickly to make sure no one had heard her accusation. "That's—That's absurd! What cause to I have to be jealous of them?" he protested, taking a step closer to her.
"Well, you looked like you might just attack that poor boy," she noted, trying to hide her smile. So he was jealous of that little knight holding her hand, even for a moment. Was he the only one who could touch her now? What a silly notion! Still, it cheered her in a way that she couldn't explain. Somehow she thought that he wouldn't make such a scene for any of those other women…. "Tell me, why did you scare him off like that if you weren't just a little bit jealous?"
"I'm not—I have no need to be—" He paused. "Jealousy has no place on the battlefield! It skews the mind and creates unneeded tension!" he declared, rattling off another one of his Knightly Honor spiels. She stared at him and he wilted under her knowing look. "Ah, er… come along. We have to hurry." He turned and began to walk even more quickly than before, forcing her to jog to keep up with him. She could hardly keep in her laughter as she saw how red the back of his neck was, knowing that his face was still burning even if she couldn't see it.
He led her to the stables. It was surprisingly empty, the usual caretakers nowhere in sight. She breathed in the musty smell of hay and horse and manure, wrinkling her nose. One never got used to a barnyard stench, no matter how medievally one lived. The horses shuffled in their stalls, munching on their hay or standing quietly, their big eyes watching her as they passed by.
"Here." He held a finger to his lips as he motioned to the last stall, speaking in a whisper. "Come and see." She followed obediently to the heavy wooden gate; it was high enough that she could easily rest her arms on it without having to bend over any. Inside, one of the great horses that pulled the Storyteller's float in the Parade was standing, nuzzling a spindly-legged foal. Barnham was gracing it with his usual ridiculous grin, watching as it walked on its wobbly legs and stood shaking next to its mother. "She was born last night. Isn't she nice?"
"Very cute," Eve agreed as she leaned on the gate. He was standing close enough that she could smell the bakery on his clothes over the stable odor. "Why did you want to show me this?"
"Espella told me that you two visit the stables a lot, so I thought you must like the horses."
"Well, I can see the logic there, but Espella likes the horses more than I do." His face fell and she chuckled. "That's not to say that I hate them, Zacharias. Don't look so down. In fact, I'm glad you showed her to me. I might not have known about it otherwise."
"O-of course!" He brightened back up and reached out to pet the mother horse's nose. "Anytime. I enjoy spending time with you." He pulled his hand back and she watched his face for some kind of clue to what he might have meant. He meant spending time with her as friends, right? Or was that an opening for him to admit that he wanted to spend even more time with her?
He caught her eye and the smile faded somewhat while they stared at each other. She raised a brow in silent query, wondering what was so strange about her face that he refused to look away. His gaze slid from her eyes to her lips and he took a hesitant step forward. His eyes met hers again and she couldn't look away. His hand covered hers on top of the gate and squeezed gently as he leaned down. His breath wafted across her cheeks and her trancelike state was broken; she took two steps back, putting a reasonable amount of space between them again.
Her heart was thundering, knees trembling as she took a deep breath. He'd almost—he'd tried to kiss her! She finally mustered enough courage to look back at him, biting the inside of her cheek. He was still staring at her, expression stoic and unreadable. She gulped, her mind stuck like the gears of a jammed machine, trying its best to come up with a solution and failing miserably.
"I—I have to go." His shoulders slumped and he nodded, taking his hand away from hers and distancing himself. Her heart clenched in her chest and she opened her mouth and closed it again, wishing that there was something to say. What could she say? She'd just rejected him, hadn't she? It's not what you think it means. That sounded too corny. I'm not ready. That sounded like another rejection entirely. Don't be angry. That was too pleading. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yes, I'll be in the office for the morning," he replied quietly.
"Zacharias…" He looked up at her and her heart tightened further. She'd hurt his feelings. "Please. I—you caught me off guard and I—" She blushed and crossed her arms. "You just caught me off guard. Stop moping."
"Off guard?" She reached over and patted his shoulder comfortingly. Before she could pull away he caught her hand and held it in his, looking down at it. "I thought—never mind." His thumb traced the line down her palm and she felt her breath catch in her throat at the ticklish feeling. It sent a jolt of electricity right to her spine and she allowed herself the briefest tremor. He must have felt it, for he glanced back up at her and grinned; this time his lips held a more mischievous edge.
"What did you think?" He shook his head dismissively and she tried to back away, but he held her hand fast. "I've got other matters to attend to; you have to let me go."
"Before you go…" He bent his head and quickly pressed his lips to her palm. She swore that her heart stopped, refusing to beat until he closed her fingers around her palm. "Here; take it with you to use at your convenience, so that I won't catch you off guard again." He released her hand and turned back to the horses, reaching for its velvet nose once more. "Good day, Miss Eve."
"G-g-good—farewell." She left the stables without looking back, keeping her head down as she pressed on through the garrison gates. When she passed onto the road out of the town and into the woods she began to jog, then to run. Soon she was sprinting through the forest, dodging limbs and vines as she stumbled over the root-covered paths. She ran through the old Shade village where a few long-standing members still lived; they called out to her, alarmed at her speed and wondering if something was chasing her, but she didn't stop. Past the ruins, past the river, past the fields until her own house was upon her.
She ran through the front door and slammed it behind her, leaning against the cool wood as she gasped for air. She sank to the floor, drawing her knees up to her chest and struggling to catch her breath; she realized that her hand was still clenched into a tight fist and forced her fingers to let go, wiping her damp palms on her knees. She heard the blood rushing in her ears, face on fire and mind awhirl with bewilderment.
My God, Espella's right, she moaned internally, burying her face in her arms as she rested her forehead against her knees. I do like the way he says my name!