But it had been days since that last battle, and "later" had never come. For the first time in a long time, Fiora hadn't sought out Heath once the chaos died down and the army regrouped. It wasn't intentional—at least, she told herself it wasn't. There had been much to do, and the three sisters had been assigned separate errands from Heath and Vaida. Florina was somewhat miffed that the First Lycian Aerial Cavalry had been pulled apart almost immediately after she brought it together; Farina had just been happy to get some distance from Vaida. Fiora wasn't sure how to feel. Knowing she hadn't yet made good on her promise to talk to him left her feeling anxious… yet a little relieved.
She wasn't blind to what was happening. She and Heath had become friends, good friends, after only a short time of knowing each other. And, while she'd honestly thought Heath was a little scruffy when they first met, she couldn't deny that she'd grown to find him attractive—as he obviously had for her. But shadows of the past were cast over any light Heath brought into her life, shadows she could not do away with alone.
Perhaps it was time to stop trying to do it alone.
She knew what she had to do.
And, as luck would have it, as she was leading her pegasus out of the forecastle, the door swung open, and there he was.
It took her a moment to register what was happening, but it took him even longer; he'd ducked into the door and had his foot partway over the threshold when his eyes chanced to meet hers. He froze, leg hovering awkwardly, head still bent to avoid hitting it on the bulkhead.
For her own part, Fiora hadn't budged since the door began to swing. She realized with horror that her mouth was hanging open; she forced it shut, then pursed her lips, and let it open again. "Hello." It was weaker than she'd intended.
"Hello." If she was nervous, he was clearly terrified; his voice cracked even more than her own. He did set his foot down, though, and straightened once he was fully inside the door.
"I haven't been avoiding you," she said after a brief pause. She immediately regretted it; the words sounded awkward, and perhaps even dishonest. Yet it was the truth—wasn't it?—and she had to get it across.
"You haven't?" He winced at his own words. "I mean… you haven't. I know. We've both been so busy…"
She smiled faintly. "Gathering supplies, delivering messages…"
"Hasn't left much time to talk."
"No," she agreed.
Silence hung in the air once more. She pushed herself. What should I say? What can I say?
"It looks like you're going for a flight," he surmised, glancing at the pegasus. He stepped to one side, motioning for her to move past him. "It's foggy out there, but not too windy. Good flying, as long as you're careful about where you're going." The corner of his mouth crooked upward, his eyes twinkling as well. "And have the presence of mind to bring along a coat."
A coat. She'd noticed his before, but never commented on it. He'd bought it shortly after the battle in the mountain fortress, when she'd admonished him for not bringing one. Ilian wool. From her homeland. She wondered if that was intentional. Then she wondered why she'd think something so silly.
"Come with me," she blurted.
It took Heath a moment to realize what he was hearing; she could identify the exact second he did, because his eyes widened and his lips parted in surprise. "Are… are you sure?"
No. "Yes."
"I-I-I just got back from one, and Hyperion's still tired…"
Making excuses. Just like I would. She took a breath. "Then ride with me."
His eyes and mouth widened even further. "What? Isn't that… I mean, don't pegasi only take female riders?"
"She'll take you as long as I'm there, too." She held out her hand. "Please, Heath? I promised we'd talk, and…" She swallowed back her fears. "And I'm worried we may not get another chance."
The silence lasted for a long time this time. She could see the thoughts scurrying about behind his eyes, his worries conflicting with his desires, his reticence struggling in the face of her boldness. Please, she begged silently. I've found the strength to get this far; now find the strength to come the rest of the way with me.
At last, the conflict in his eyes died, leaving only resolution in its place. He took her hand without a word. They'd touched hands before—although rarely intentionally—but feeling both the firmness and tenderness of his grip sent waves of warmth up her arm.
She didn't speak, either; she simply let her smile answer for her, before stepping forward and leading them back through the door, one hand clutching Heath's, the other the reins of her pegasus.
"There's only one place we can really go from here," the wyvern rider said softly.
"I know." She found herself fighting back tears. As happy as she was that Heath had agreed to come with her, the truly difficult part was yet to come. "But it's just as well. There's something I need to show you… something I need to tell you."
She looked at him as she spoke, and saw the comprehension dawning on his face. He nodded solemnly.
They were on the deck now, the sun barely peeking above the horizon, but painting the mist beautiful colors as it rose. A few members of the crew were at work with various tasks, nodding politely to the two fliers, but otherwise going about their business. Fiora led her pegasus to the rail, then stepped into the stirrup and swung her leg over the saddle. Once she was secure, she offered her hand to Heath, who took it gently before swinging up behind her. As she'd promised, her pegasus didn't object to carrying him once she was already saddled. She waited a moment, giving Heath a moment to get secure and the pegasus a moment to get used to the extra weight, before tugging on the reins and whistling a command. In an instant, they were in the air.
They passed the flight in silence. To Heath's credit, he was a perfect gentleman the entire time; he maintained a tight enough grip to secure himself, but went no further than that, years of riding experience helping him find the right balance to keep both of them comfortable. Well, mostly comfortable. He did appear nervous, despite his experience, probably because pegasi differed so greatly from wyverns, and every once in a while she felt his hands tighten on her waist. She tried to be professional about it, but couldn't help but feel some apprehension about being this close to a man. And a bit of a thrill at being this close to this particular man.
At last, they arrived. And at last, he understood the reason for the sadness in her eyes—sadness that was a perfect mirror of his own.
We chartered a boat to take us near to the Dread Isle, and flew the rest of the way from there. Our pegasi could have taken the channel in a single flight, but making sure they weren't tired when we arrived was worth the cost of passage. The ship was a little more reputable than Fargus's vessel—it's easier to find someone to take you close to Valor than straight to it—but no less rocky on the seas, to my chagrin. Still, I tamed my stomach long enough to hold a meeting with my closest confidants, discussing what to do when we arrived.
"We can establish a beachhead here," I said, pointing to a spot on the charts Pent had been able to provide. His knowledge of the island's interior was limited to ancient documents, but he'd been able to get sailors to survey the parts closer to the shore. I rubbed at my eyes with my other hand; the murky light of the swinging lamps was barely enough for me to make out the markings, and somehow seemed to make my stomach even more sick. "There's a low point here, protected from most of the island by forests. Once we're there, anyone on the island already will have a hard time seeing us, and we can dispatch smaller units from that site to reconnoiter the island."
"I like it," Sylvia said, nodding. "One or two knights will have an easier time avoiding detection, but we can bring our full attack force to bear if we run into any real trouble."
"We still have to get there unseen, though," Martha pointed out.
"That won't be hard if the mist keeps up," I said. "And if it doesn't, we go in low, four at a time, two abreast and two deep, allowing two minutes between groups. That should get us through unnoticed, or at least give us enough warning if there are enemies to worry about."
"I expect the mist will keep up, from what the sailors tell me," Sylvia added. From the way she was twirling her hair around her finger and smiling slightly, it was clear they'd been only too happy to tell her whatever she wanted to hear. "It sounds like a fairly regular thing on Valor, especially in the morning."
"The mist holds its own dangers, though." We were all a little surprised to hear Diane speak for the first time since we'd began. "If there's anyone out there, they won't be able to see us, but we won't be able to see them, either."
Martha nodded her agreement. Sylvia pursed her lips, but didn't argue.
"That's true, Diane," I said. "But the mist affords us more protection than it costs us. After all, if we flew in after it lifted, we'd be perfectly visible, and anyone who wished to ambush us would only need to hide in the denser parts of the forest."
Diane nodded. "You're right, of course, commander. Just wanted to make sure we considered all our options."
"Of course," I said, repaying her nervous smile with a confident one of my own. "Don't worry. We can handle whatever's out there."
I didn't think I was being overconfident. I knew the dangers of our situation, given how little we knew about what we were flying into, and had every intention of being careful. But—Elimine help me—I believed those words. I believed that, whatever the danger, we'd be able to overcome it, the same way we had every other challenge we'd faced. Together, as a wing.
I couldn't have known. It wasn't my fault. That's what the others tell me. I doubt I'll ever truly believe them.
The mist indeed remained by the time we took off, as Sylvia's admirers had suggested, so we all went as a group. I felt much better as the ship vanished into the fog, taking its constant rolling with it, but didn't let my relief distract me. We kept low and didn't speak among ourselves, the beating of wings more than enough noise for my liking. Still, it wasn't far to the valley we'd chosen for our beachhead, and we were all on high alert. Diane was right, that while the mist hid us, it could just as easily have hidden unknown dangers; but I was confident in my knights, and in myself. We could handle whatever awaited us.
That's what I thought at the time, at least. I became less sure after the first volley of arrows slew ten of my comrades.
Chaos reigned briefly. We hadn't seen where the attack had come from; we'd barely heard the bows firing, the arrows racing through the mists at us. Some of my knights merely saw their comrades slump over in their saddles, not realizing why until seconds later. Others screamed as the arrows found homes in their mounts, and they plummeted uncontrollably downwards. The mists were stirred by a flurry of frantic wingbeats, and my unit struggled to regroup.
But regroup they did. We were knights of Ilia, after all, and while we'd lost a great portion of our force, we were ready to repay it in kind.
"To ground!" my roar carried through the mist. Our attackers couldn't see us in the air, but judging by the number of arrows in that first volley, they didn't have to; the beating of so many wings created enough sound and disturbed the mists enough that they could guess our general direction, and then they needed only shower us with enough projectiles that we couldn't possibly dodge them all. Better to take the fight to them.
Martha was next to me, looking around worriedly. "Shouldn't we try to outrun them?" she asked.
The thought had crossed my mind. But rushing ahead could just lead us into further danger, exposing our backs to our current attackers while leading us headlong into more hidden enemies. Besides, we couldn't risk being lost in the fog.
I didn't tell Martha any of this. I didn't have to. One look in my eyes was enough to quell her objections. "Yes, commander," she said resolutely, and we dove.
I kept my eyes and ears open, but the fog and the wind rushing past my ears ensured I didn't gain a bead on our attackers. I did hear the second volley, though, and was pleased that it mostly went over our heads, arrows ripping up the air we'd been seconds before. I didn't see the arrows well enough to figure where they'd come from, but Sylvia did. Within moments, she was at my side, motioning with her lance. "That way," she said. "Let's get them!"
I hesitated, but only for a moment. If we rushed them, we had a chance of taking them unawares and ending their threat before they could kill any more of us. But we didn't know what we'd be rushing into. If they had infantry supporting the archers, we could be in for a prolonged fight. And while we could guess at the number of archers from the number of arrows—which was a large number already—we didn't know if some were staying in reserve, waiting for us to appear before potentially wasting more arrows. But I'd already committed to attacking; we'd lost our chance to escape, especially now that we were at ground level. I'd already made my decision, and I was going to have to see it through.
I nodded my agreement to Sylvia, and gave the order. "Form up! Squadron leaders on me! Charge!"
We leveled our lances in the direction she had indicated, and charged forward, urging as much speed from our mounts as we could. I was in the lead, Sylvia, Martha, and Diane immediately behind me.
We were the first to see the archers. Which, unfortunately, meant we were the first to be seen. They were mounted, horses prepared to move as their riders sought their targets. And while I'd hoped to take them unawares, most of them kept resolute expressions on their faces, and loosed their volley with no sign of haste or surprise. I managed to avoid getting hit, by some miracle, but heard a cry of pain behind me. I forced myself not to look back; whichever of the three had been hit, I'd have to hope they were all right. I couldn't afford to worry about them now.
We slammed into their line. My lance found a home in one of the archers, and I could tell by the noise erupting behind me that several of the others had struck their targets as well. Many more archers remained, but at close quarters and with knights swooping down upon them, they had difficulty firing again. We had to be careful, though; in the time between striking down at one and swooping around for another pass, they had just enough time to nock a new arrow and draw a bead on one of us. We tore through their ranks quickly, but more of our number fell as we did so.
We'd felled roughly half our enemies—and lost half our own ranks as well—when they turned and ran. Again, we had to pursue; we couldn't risk them loosing another volley at us from the safety of the mist. I led the charge myself, hoping the others were behind me. I'd almost caught up to the rearmost rider when I saw what was looming in the mist. Too late, I realized my mistake. The risk of flying after opponents blindly in the mist was that they could lead us into an ambush. And that's exactly what happened.
A line of riders came charging into sight, their hoofbeats masked by those of the archers. They parted ranks just enough for their bow-wielding companions to slip between them, and leveled their lances at us as they approached. We suddenly found ourselves engaged in a many-pronged jousting match, and while the wings of our mounts gave us the maneuverability advantage, we were horribly outnumbered.
That was not the worst part, though. Even as our ranks struck each other, as lance met armor in a hideous joining, as riders roared and steeds screamed, I had one eye to the archers. Every moment we spent fighting these knights was a moment they had to notch an arrow and pick a target. I struggled to get through, yet could not safely turn from the riders around me; my own comrades each had at least one adversary to worry about, none of them able to break through. A few who tried to fly over the enemies found themselves dodging desperately flung spears, delaying them just long enough for our enemy to ready another volley. I remember suddenly seeing Martha nearby, her lance stealing the breath from a rider trying to sneak up on me, and feeling relieved that she was all right. An instant later, I felt a stab of fear as I realized I couldn't see Sylvia or Diane, and prayed to Elimine they were all right.
An enemy cavalier tried to engage me, swinging a blade in a deadly arc toward my head. A quick command and a sharp tug on the reins got my mount to beat back in the air, the sword falling short of its target even as my lance met its own. The instant I yanked my weapon free of his body, however, I heard bow twang and arrow whistle. My heart stuck in my throat for that brief moment before the screams began. There were more screams even than before. The archers fired without compulsion, not caring whether they hit friends as long as they got their foes as well. And we, unable to escape from lance or arrow, were falling one after the other.
It was too late. We'd failed, most of our unit slaughtered, and all we could do was hope for some of the survivors to escape before the massacre was complete. "Fall back!" I shouted, raising my voice above the din of battle. "We need to—"
Something fell on me. I was cut off mid-sentence as this great mass tumbled onto both me and my mount, knocking us both out of the sky. I was so shocked, it took me a moment to realize that it was another pegasus; shot down while trying to fly above us, it had slammed directly into us as it fell. And we fell with it. My saddle tore free under the strain, and I had just a moment to see my pegasus tumble into the fog before I struck down. The muddy earth cushioned my fall, but the weight of the slain pegasus slammed into me with just as much force as solid ground would have. I screamed as I felt bones crack. The white coat pinning me down was slowly turning red, and I couldn't be sure if the blood was coming from the pegasus, or from me. My own mount was nowhere to be seen. I simply lay there, my screams fading to soft moans of pain, unable to lift the dead pegasus off me, unable to move out from underneath it.
I strained to see what I could through the mist. Sounds of battle raged all around me, but my limited field of vision and the light-consuming fog prevented me from seeing any of it. The screams of women and pegasi told me it was not going well, however. Soon, I heard approaching wingbeats; the tromping of hooves touching down, followed by the thump of the rider dismounting; and footsteps racing towards me. Soon, I sensed someone standing over me, and twisted around as far as I could to see Diane, just as she knelt down beside me.
"Help me," I croaked. "Together, maybe we can move this."
She hesitated for a moment. "Commander, the others… they…"
"They need our help!" Pain sharpened my tongue. "And the sooner we get this thing off me, the sooner we can give it to them!"
She nodded, though I was disappointed to see that my words had cowed rather than inspired her. Still, she braced herself, and pushed from above as I pushed from below. We gave it a mighty heave; however, no sooner did it start to shift than the pain in my ribs lanced through me afresh. I must have screamed, for Diane stopped pushing instantly. "What is it?!" she yelped.
"Broken," I gasped. I didn't bother to specify what was broken; as far as I knew, there were too many things to list. I tried to move my arm, failed. "Elixir… in my belt pouch…"
"Commander?"
"I can't reach my damned elixir!" I cried out. "I need to heal my wounds before we move this!"
She moved to go around the pegasus and get at my belt pouch, pinned beneath the beast. But she halted before she'd even left my vision. "Diane?" I called weakly. "What…"
She shook her head, eyes glistening. Her voice trembled when she spoke. "It's over, commander. Sylvia and Martha… they're gone. The rest of us will be wiped out in moments." She looked down at me. "If they think you're dead, they might leave you alone. I'll try to lead them away before they realize you're alive."
"No!" I was surprised my lungs could produce a shout of such volume, but produce it they did, ribs be damned. "I'm not going to let you abandon me! I'm not going to abandon you!"
"You have to," Diane said, her voice gaining an edge of resolve. "It's the only way you might survive." She vanished, and I panicked, thinking she'd gone already, leaving me there to bleed out, pinned under someone else's mount. But I soon felt her hand squeezing in beside my leg, fumbling for my belt pouch, and finally tearing it away. She returned, digging the elixir out of the pouch—miraculously intact, in hindsight. "Drink this," she said, pressing it into my hand, "but only when the coast is clear."
I struggled to pull the elixir from her, to down it right then and there, to help her with whatever mad scheme she was going to pull. But she held fast, and soon I realized she wasn't clinging to the bottle, but to my hand. I met her eyes, and saw for the first time the sadness in them—not just grief for her lost wing, but another level of regret entirely. "I'm sorry, commander," she whispered. "I never got to tell you just how much you meant to me."
I blinked. "Diane?"
She whipped her head around at a noise I couldn't yet hear, cutting off any reply she might have given. The sounds of battle were slowly fading—the screams of my knights and their mounts growing less and less frequent. But as I watched her, confused, I realized there were shouts and hoofbeats approaching us. She stood quickly, looked down, hesitated, and saluted. "It's been an honor, Commander Fiora."
And she left.
I opened my mouth to cry after her, but no breath came. Perhaps I saw the wisdom in what she'd said about playing dead; perhaps my lungs simply chose that moment to stop working. Either way, my last words to her died on my lips. I heard her leap into the saddle, and I felt the air stir as her mount took to the air. Moments later, the hoofbeats were upon me. I let my eyes shut, my limbs fall limp. I felt more than heard the riders passing around and over me as they rode after Diane, thundering hooves shaking the ground, sometimes seeming to barely miss crushing my head or arms. But soon it was past, and stillness took the mist.
I drank the elixir as soon as I was sure it was safe. Even then, it took some time before its effects were complete; until then, I had to deal with the discomfort of cracked ribs healing, open wounds closing. I was still unable to lift the corpse off of me, but once my bones were healed, I could at least wriggle out from underneath it, even if it took some time to do so. In fact, once I was free, the sun had dispelled most of the mist. I could see.
I could see all the death around me.
I can only guess that our enemy had retreated after the battle, for there was no sign of them, save their own fallen warriors. Those corpses, however, were matched in number by our own. I knew I had to move quickly, in case the enemy returned, but I couldn't help myself; I had to know.
I checked every single one. Sure enough, as Diane had said, Martha and Sylvia had fallen. The young redhead was clutching her lance even in death; the elder knight clutched instead a locket, her weapon forgotten beside her. I didn't have to open it to know what was inside. My stomach lurched as I realized I was going to have to tell her husband he no longer had a wife, her children they no longer had a mother. Then it seemed to drop away when I realized I was going to have to tell the same thing to so many others.
For they were all there. I could have just counted the corpses and come to that conclusion, but I moved across the shore, from where I'd been pinned under the pegasus all the way back to where the first volley had hit us, and looked under every single helmet, checked every single face. All of them were dead. An entire unit of Ilia's finest, gone—except for me. And, perhaps, one other.
I held out hope in spite of everything. I'm not sure why. In hindsight, it was foolish. Of course she wouldn't have survived. She'd led them away, sacrificed herself to save me. I think I knew that, in spite of telling myself she might be alive. But I found her. Arrows studded the ground around her, stretching a quarter mile back from where she'd fallen. She'd avoided so many for so long. But in the end, it had only taken one lucky shot to get through her armor and end it all.
She was face-down. I hesitated, as if somehow not seeing her face would make her death something I could avoid. But I reached down and turned her over anyway. Diane's eyes were closed, and her expression was somehow peaceful. I suppose she died secure in the knowledge that her death had purchased my life.
And it had. All of them had. So many knights dead, while I lived on. The weight of the grief was overwhelming, the thoughts I had… I cannot describe them even now. Death was a reality of being a soldier, but losing everyone like that, so quickly… Anger and loathing swirled in my mind, directed at both our foes, and at myself. Why did I deserve to live? Had it not been my decisions that got everyone else killed—my choice to come under cover of fog, my choice to pursue the enemy instead of fleeing? Why did Martha have to die before her children could grow up? Why did Sylvia have to die before she could find the man she was always dreaming of? Why did Diane—
I'm sorry. Even after all this time, I still get… emotional. They were my comrades, my friends. And, in one brutal assault… they were gone.
"You know the rest," she continued once the lump in her throat died down. "Fortune crossed my path with my sister's. Florina was able to talk me down from my rage, and I was able to avenge the others without hatred clouding my mind. Yet the hatred I felt for myself… that, at least in part, still remains."
Heath's mouth opened to speak, but a gesture from her returned him to silence. "I know what you're going to say. 'It wasn't your fault.' Florina's told me that ever since that day. Pent, too, once circumstances reunited me with him. That's why I was so anxious to meet with him during the fight in the desert, you know; not just because he'd hired me to do so, but because reporting in meant the job was over… that, perhaps, I could move on." She shook her head. "They all say the same thing. 'It wasn't your fault.' Even I say it to myself, when doubt takes me. Perhaps, someday, I'll even believe it."
That was the end of her story. She didn't signal as much, but it was clear by the way she let silence fill the air between them. She stood, her back to him, some distance away; he was seated on a fallen log about a quarter-mile back from the shoreline. The same mists that had shrouded the battlefield so long ago were there that morning as well, though they were beginning to retreat under the stern gaze of the sun.
After a while, Heath looked around at their surroundings, and cleared his throat, speaking for the first time since they'd landed. "When did you do…" he motioned around him. "All this?"
Fiora turned around at last. Not to face him, not directly; she simply took in the same area he was indicating. A large part of the earth had recently been disturbed, grass only just beginning to regrow over a large mound, a roughly circular shape some five yards in diameter. At the very center of the mound, a seven-pointed star, made of twigs tied together with twine, was itself lashed to the top of a large branch sticking out of the mound's peak. The marker was far more elaborate than the ones Heath had left in the mountains some months before, but no less somber.
Fiora lowered her eyes. "After we defeated Uhai, and the riders that slaughtered my unit, I came back here alone. I had every intention of digging until my hands bled. Fortunately, Florina followed me, bringing with her Lady Lyndis, the knights of Caelin, and the sense I'd apparently left behind. We dug together, and they helped me make the marker." She paused. "They deserve so much more… but this was all I could grant them."
Heath quietly stood up, crossing over to her. He didn't speak; he knew he was incapable of finding words that would comfort her. After all, what words would have consoled me? He merely placed his hand on her shoulder. He was rewarded moments later by her own hand, reaching up across her body to rest on his. He saw the faintest trace of a smile form on her lips as their fingers intertwined.
They stayed like that for what felt like a long time. The chill of the morning faded away as the glow of the sun warmed them. Within a few minutes, the mists that had filled the air on their flight in had faded away.
At last, a deep sigh escaped her lungs, and she gave his hand a squeeze. "I'm all right," she said softly, without turning to him. "Will you sit with me?"
They made their way to the log, taking their seats on either end of it, facing the grave and the shore beyond. Once, Heath would have worried about sitting too close to her; he'd feared making her uncomfortable, or seeming improper in the eyes of others. Now, though, he paid no heed to the distance between them. Any fool could see how close they were, and that it had nothing to do with where they sat.
Besides, he had more important things to think about than her physical proximity. Over time, it had become painfully obvious to anyone with eyes that Heath and Fiora's friendship was on its way to blossoming into something more. It was evident in the way the one's hand lingered on the other's, the way the other's smile made the one blush. But as much as they both could see where things were headed, neither had been able to bring themselves to actually take the first step in that direction. They both had secrets; they both had pain. As long as they hid their past tragedies from each other, they could never be happy together.
But now Fiora had taken that first step. Which meant it was now on him to take the second.
"Thank you for telling me," he said at last. He kept his voice soft, but found it was also scratchy with disuse. He cleared his throat.
"You're welcome," she replied, "although I think you knew already, in a way."
He looked at her, brow furrowed.
"You know what I mean." She lowered her head, eyes shut. "I know you've seen it in my eyes, just as I've seen it in yours. Looking at you is like looking in a mirror; I see the same pain and guilt I hide in myself." When she opened her eyes again, they were glistening. "If I'm being honest, that's part of what drew me to you. What made me approach you, that first day, when you were trying to clean your bloody lance."
Silence hung in the air, filling the space left by the dispersing mists. At last, Heath placed his hand on her knee. Her eyes opened at his touch. "You're right," he said softly. "I do know what you mean. I've seen it every time I've spoken to you since that first day." He gave a gentle squeeze. "I hope you know how much it meant to me, the way you came to see me so often. You let me know that I wasn't alone in my sorrow, even if neither of us was ready to share it."
She was looking down at his hand now, eyes distant. He wondered briefly if he'd gone too fast, if this was too much contact for her at this vulnerable point. But she silenced his fears when she leaned against him, closing the already small distance between them and laying her head against his shoulder. His breath caught as she put her arm around his waist. Having her against him like this was surprisingly comfortable. It felt right; there was no other word for it.
"I knew we'd be flying together," she said softly, "and that I'd have to get to know you if we were going to function as a unit. But I was afraid. The last time I'd flown with others, they all…"
She trailed off. Heath looked at her eyes, still far away, and realized she was watching Diane ride to her death, as she must have done hundreds of times since that day.
"Yet you found the courage to speak to me," he prompted. "And to befriend me."
"I did." She smiled a little. "Believe it or not, it was Florina that convinced me. When I saw her again, I was astounded by how much she'd grown as a knight. Yet she still looked up to me, both as her senior, and as her sister." A tremble entered her voice as she lowered her eyes. "The look on her face when she saw me torn apart by sorrow like that… I couldn't bear it." She looked up at him. "I couldn't just make the guilt go away; I still feel it today, if not as keenly as I did then. But I promised her I wouldn't let it consume me. Talking to you was my way of keeping that promise."
Heath smiled at her.
She smiled back, but turned away as a blush reached her cheeks. "And, honestly seeing her with Lucius… it inspired me." She shut her eyes, and shifted her head against his shoulder. "If she could overcome her fear of men enough to fall in love with one, surely I could overcome my own fear enough to at least talk to you."
He looked down at her, silence reigning once more. His hand was still on her knee, his arm pinned between their bodies. Slowly, carefully, he withdrew it, and hooked his arm around her shoulders as her own was around his back. She gave a sigh—he hoped it was a contented one—and held him closer. He tightened his own grip as well.
"On that first day," he recalled, "I told you it had been a trying time. Having you to talk to… I don't think I can find the words to tell you how much it helped." He shook his head. "After all that had happened, I was at what may have been my lowest point."
She must have sensed what he was trying to do, for she straightened up. He keenly felt the absence of her head on his shoulder, but not for long; she placed her hand on his cheek, her gaze full of sympathy. "It's all right, Heath," she whispered. "Like I've said, I can see it in your eyes. You don't have to tell me."
Don't I? Even if he didn't, he was going to; that much was clear. "You've seen my grave, and I've seen yours. I've heard your story; it's only right that you hear mine."
A smirk crossed her face. "So you're telling me out of a sense of obligation?"
"No," he said quickly. Then he paused. "Well… perhaps. But not necessarily an obligation to you."
Fiora blinked. "I see," she said softly. She lowered her hand, folding it with the other in her lap, ready to listen.
For his part, Heath leaned forward, elbows on his thighs, fingers interlacing in front of him. He looked outward, contemplating the grave, the shore beyond, and the sun shining on the ocean's waves. "Yes," he said finally. "I owe this to myself. I owe it to them."
Our intervention at Dallen could hardly have turned out worse. Drimhull had sent an advance unit of wyvern knights Vaida was unaware of, and her Raiders arrived only in time to see Isaac's friends and family chased and slaughtered like hunted animals. We rode to their aid, and though outnumbered, we were able to stop the massacre. But the rest of Drimhull's force arrived shortly thereafter, and not only were we captured, not only were we named traitors, but the general had the gall to pin the slaughter of the villagers on us. I'd gone from a knight of Bern to a condemned traitor in a matter of days.
That was when Vaida gave the order. That was when we ran. If we were considered turncoats, we may as well actually turn their coats, she'd reasoned; stop fighting for a Bern whose soldiers attacked its people, and start fighting for a Bern in whose service we'd once been proud to be named knights. None of us were keen on the idea of deserting, even less so when she announced she'd be staying behind to cover our escape. But we didn't argue. We'd all been labeled traitors, so she was no longer technically our commander, but she'd earned our loyalty through her deeds more than her rank, and nobody entertained thoughts of disobeying her.
Vaida was acquainted with one of the guards, having befriended—or, more likely, intimidated—him some time ago. When he saw she was imprisoned, he was quickly persuaded to "accidentally" leave a spare set of keys within reach of our cell. Once we were clear of the dungeon, Vaida split off from the rest of us. No ceremony, no good-byes; that was her way.
In her place, Belminade stepped up to lead us. It made sense, of course; she was the senior member of the team. But I still was impressed at how quickly she made the decision, and at how well she took to command. Of course, everything about Belminade impressed me. She was quick-witted, kind, and as fierce in a fight as any—save, perhaps, Vaida herself. That, and I thought her the most beautiful woman I'd ever met.
…up to that point, of course.
She'd immediately laid out a course, explaining to us as we prepared our wyverns in the stable. We were heading for the border, for Lycia. We could make our homes there for a while, wait for our bounty to pass from the public's attention, and plan our next move from there. The route she'd set for us wasn't exactly a straight shot to the border, but it did keep us away from major cities and wyvern patrol routes. With any luck, we'd be in Araphen by that time the next day.
"Might it not be viser to spit up, lieutenant?" Lachius asked as he affixed his saddle to Oceanus. "Ze patrols and bounty hunters vill be looking for four vyverns flying togezer. Zey vould not look as closely at a group of two."
"Not as closely," Belminade agreed, adjusting her reins. "But closely enough. Once word of our escape breaks, they'll be looking for fugitive wyverns, and if they suspect anything, it won't make a difference if there's four of us or only one. I'd rather have everyone together." She glanced over her shoulder at the rest of us. "Strength in numbers, and all that."
Although, as you said, not always strength enough.
Lachius still looked dubious. "It still seems—"
"Lachius?" She fixed him with a stern glare. "Do you know what the commander would do to you if you argued with her this much?"
He paused for a moment, then nodded. "Point vell taken, lieutenant."
I couldn't help but grin a little. Lachius was always stoic to a fault, betraying almost no emotion through that accent of his. In some ways, it was a good thing, despite how irritating it could be; his steadfast refusal to lose his head helped the rest of us to keep ours in desperate situations. Still, Vaida—or at least the threat of Vaida—was able to get to even him at times.
I glanced over at the last member of our group, and my grin faded. Isaac saddled Rhea wordlessly, trying to keep his expression neutral, but failing to hide the rage and grief simmering beneath it. We'd stopped the attack on Dallen in time to save most of the villagers, but for someone who'd grown up there, "most" wasn't enough. People he'd known all his life had been run down by his fellow knights; at the time, he'd been so consumed by anger, we were barely able to keep him from getting himself killed. Now, he claimed to have things under control, but all it took was one look in his eyes to see that pain was still with him, and probably would be for some time.
Not that I could blame him, of course. We were all feeling the sting of the betrayals committed both against and by us. If, on top of all that, I'd lost my friends and family, I figured I'd be beyond comforting, too.
Belminade had picked up on Isaac's feelings as well, as I found out when she took me aside. We went to the far end of the stable while the other two continued working. "I want you to bring up the rear this time," she told me quietly.
I furrowed my brow at her. Usually, she and I rode two abreast behind Vaida, who always took point. Isaac and Lachius brought up the rear together. Obviously we couldn't use the same formation with four that we had for five, but I didn't understand why she was sending me all the way to the rear.
"I need you to keep an eye on Isaac," she explained, as if reading my mind. "He's in mourning, perhaps even shock. I can't trust him to bring up the rear on his own; he might try something stupid if he knows we aren't watching. And I'm certainly not about to leave him at Lachius's mercy. I don't think that guy would know an emotion if it grew wings and bit him in the ass while he was flying." She took a breath. "Which leaves you and me. And he doesn't need a leader. He needs a friend."
I was impressed, again. She'd quickly evaluated the situation, and decided on and implemented a solution immediately. What's more, she'd trusted me—me!—with that implementation. I was the one she wanted watching over him, and that meant more to me than it probably should have. I smiled at her, wondering if she'd picked up on how my heart was fluttering. "Understood, lieutenant."
She hesitated for a moment, then put her hand on my shoulder. "We're not knights anymore, Heath. And we're not just comrades, either; we're friends. Please, call me Belminade."
My smile vanished momentarily in surprise, but when it returned, it was twice as wide. "Understood… Belminade."
My elation didn't subtract from the direness of our situation, though. We needed to be far away by the time the other guards discovered our absence, which could happen at any moment. As soon as we'd gathered the bare minimum supplies we might need, we took to the air. The castle we'd called home for so long retreated into the distance, and before long, it faded from sight. I kept glancing over my shoulder at it as it disappeared. Belminade, I noticed, never looked back.
Our flight passed without incident, at first. As Belminade had planned, we managed to bypass most population centers, only unable to avoid smaller towns where they wouldn't be as aware of our situation, or as likely to set the patrols on us. And the settlements themselves became fewer and further between as we moved away from the capitol. Grassy plains gave way to rolling hills. Forests appeared as the elevation increased, then vanished once more as the ground climbed higher. As mountains rose up towards our sky, the terrain became rocky, barren, and unforgiving; I was thankful that Hyperion and his wings saved me the trouble of trying to cross it myself.
We did have to worry about patrols, of course. We knew where the outposts were, and had what we hoped was up-to-date information of how many knights were stationed there and how often they went on patrol, but we had no way of knowing whether or not things had changed. Word had undoubtedly spread of our escape by now—a messenger riding directly to an outpost would have made much better time than our circuitous route allowed us—and any knights, even this far out, would be on the lookout for us. Whether we flew close to the ground or as high as our wyverns could manage, the odds of escaping another rider's notice were poor at best. Our best bet was simply to avoid them altogether.
We were unsuccessful.
I was the first to see them. They weren't directly behind us, but off quite a ways to our left. They were moving north, perpendicular to our path, several miles away at the time. And there were six of them; not much of an edge in numbers, but it might be enough. I signaled the others, and Belminade glanced behind. "Have they seen us?" she asked.
No sooner did I look back then the dark shapes of the distant wyverns suddenly banked in the air, turning toward us and increasing their speed. "Blast," I muttered, then raised my voice for all to hear. "Yes, they have."
"Can ve still make it to ze border?" Lachius asked.
Belminade shook her head. "Given the direction they're coming from, they must be from the Rion outpost, which is less than an hour from here. Our wyverns have been flying all day. Maybe on a good day, we could have outrun them. This is not a good day."
"Then we fight," Isaac growled. He was already clutching his lance.
Belminade frowned, but nodded her agreement. "We fight."
We had scant minutes to prepare. There was a peak dead ahead, a nearly symmetric point among the surrounding mountains. Belminade directed Isaac and I to the south ridge, as she took Lachius to the north side. We would lie in wait close to the ground, and greet them with javelins when they appeared, pursuing them into the air after. I was a little upset to be away from Belminade, but again, I took comfort in the fact that she was trusting me with Isaac's safety. It was little enough comfort. I hunkered down with Hyperion, trying not to think about the approaching riders, trying not to wonder if they were older knights I may have once fought alongside, or new recruits who couldn't yet realize they were being led astray. I focused on the task at hand: defeat the enemy, and protect Isaac—from them, and from himself.
Wingbeats alerted us to their approach. My arm tensed, clutching the javelin tightly. The instant the dark shapes of their wyverns appeared over the ridge, I stood, arm drawn back, and hurled it with all my might, the very moment the other Raiders did the same. As Belminade had predicted, they'd parted ranks, sending three riders around each side of the peak, hoping to catch us unawares between them. That meant two javelins for three targets. At the speed the patrollers were flying, we only had a moment to aim and throw our javelins; the tradeoff was that they wouldn't have time to properly evade our attack. In the end, their luck held more than our own. I managed to wound the wyvern flying over me, but not kill it or its rider. Isaac had similar results. On the other side of the peak, though, we heard a wyvern roar, a human cry, and then a series of loud thumps and thuds. I smiled; one of the others had found their mark. I was willing to lay odds it was Belminade.
There was no time to ask her, though. As the remaining five riders soared past us—two with injured wyverns, one nursing a fresh gash in his side—we spurred our own mounts into the air. We were already facing west, the direction they'd been flying, and within moments were in hot pursuit. Belminade was correct that, if we tried to run for it, our wyverns' exhaustion would catch up to them, and we'd be caught. But luck was in our favor this time: our mounts were the stronger, our experience the greater, and for a short time, at least, we were able to close the distance between us.
The patrol's leader realized we were gaining on them, and signaled to his riders. The leftmost and rightmost knights split off, the other three remaining in the middle. My first instinct was to split up ourselves and go after the lone riders, but Belminade had other ideas. "Stay in formation!" she shouted.
"Zey vill circle around behind us!" Lachius called.
"I'm well aware. Heath, be ready."
At those words, I reached to my back. I had a few more javelins strapped there, and any rider trying to come up behind me was going to have to deal with them. Occasional glances over my shoulder told me the enemy knights were making a wide circle on either side of me, and at last they formed up behind us. When the time was right, I sat up, twisted around, and hurled. I was rewarded with another cry, and one of the wyverns peeled away as his rider hung limply from his saddle. I didn't let myself get too excited, though; I'd caught him by surprise, and wouldn't be so lucky with the other one. I kept a wary eye on him, ready for his javelins, reaching for another of mine, planning my next attack.
"Isaac, no!"
I heard the cry too late, turning only in time to see the tableau playing out before me. The other three riders had flipped in the air and were coming back toward us, their leader taking point. Belminade must have had some plan to meet them as I defended the rear, but Isaac didn't wait for her orders. He'd rushed ahead, lance leveled, roaring with anger. I couldn't see his eyes, but I could tell they were burning with fury. "You bastards!" he cried. "I'll make you pay! I'll make you all pay!"
Belminade and Lachius had sped up to try and catch him, but he'd rushed by them so quickly, so unexpectedly, they had no chance. He and the lead knight were engaged in a mid-air joust, lances leveled, mounts flying straight toward each other. I hoped against hope that Isaac had something up his sleeve, that he was going to break away at the last moment, leaving the knight at the mercy of the rest of us. But I knew he wasn't thinking clearly enough for that. In the eyes of this rider, he saw every knight that had rained death upon that quiet village, and sought to repay it in kind.
They slammed together, the horrific sound of torn metal mixing with the cries of the colliding mounts. The wyverns themselves fought for a moment, clawing at each other in midair before parting. Rhea was the clear victor, bearing only a few scratches while the other slowly descended to the ground, nursing a large gash. For the riders, however, there was no victor; each was carried away with a lance in his chest.
Only three of them. But only three of us.
A cry of grief erupted from my lungs. Lachius's hand was over his mouth, his usually hard eyes wide with shock. Rhea took a moment to realize what had happened; when she did, she let out the most heart-wrenching roar I could imagine. Only Belminade did not react with surprise or horror; her face, when she turned it to me, was a mask of pure rage. "Stay on me, you two!" she shouted. "We've got to—"
She didn't have time to finish. The other two riders had been tailing their leader, and at that instant, they were upon us. Our moment of shock provided an opening for them to attack before we could get our bearings; without direction, our wyverns took it upon themselves to dive underneath the attack, but the enemy was ready for that. They dove to meet us, and we were trapped. Lances and wings went everywhere, mounts struggling to stay in the air, riders struggling to stay mounted, all while trying to get a bead on their enemies. I found myself engaged with one of the riders, our wyverns hovering side-by-side as he repeatedly thrust his lance at me. It came too close for comfort a few times. But his attacks spoke of inexperience; he had difficulty maintaining his balance while lashing out at me. If I timed it correctly, I could turn that to my advantage. I clutched one of the javelins—not having the time or space to retrieve my lance—and at the exact moment he leaned to thrust at me, jabbed it forward. His strike went wide, and his momentum carried him into mine. His face contorted into a look of shock and pain, and I remembered why I'd been trying not to look at it. He was just a few years younger than I.
I tore my eyes away and let him fall from his mount, javelin still in his chest. No time to regain my focus; the other two were still fighting Lachius and Belminade. He was locked in midair combat like I had been a moment ago, but she was being pursued by her adversary, twisting around the mountaintops in an attempt to get a bead on him. I rode to her aid immediately, circling around to meet them head-on. She rounded a mountain, and in an instant, saw me coming towards her and dove underneath me. Her opponent rounded a moment later, and didn't have enough time to dodge; my lance impacted against his armor, and he was lifted clear of his saddle. He screamed all the way down, finally silenced by a sickening thud moments later.
I didn't linger on his death. Only one left. We were going to make it.
I turned to Belminade, and my sense of victory faded. A red stain was growing across her back, centered on the broken-off tip of a javelin just beneath her ribs. She was clearly aware of the injury, clutching at her side, her shoulders moving up and down with labored breathing. I quickly rode to her side. "Hold on," I said, reaching for my saddlebag. "I have a vulnerary—"
"No time," she gasped. "Lachius…" She pointed as her voice failed her.
He was engaged with the last rider, struggling at close quarters as their wyverns snapped and clawed at each other. The enemy mount had its claws in Oceanus's wing, and the two of them were sinking together. The three good wings they had between them slowed their descent, but not by much.
Belminade was already spurring Theia onward; I did the same for Hyperion. I rummaged around in my saddlebag and retrieved the vulnerary, but had no opportunity to give it to her. I kept it in my left hand along with the reins as my right gripped my lance. We were flying swiftly to Lachius's aid, but I had no idea how we were actually going to help him. If Belminade had a plan, there was no time for her to share it with me, and all the while she was bleeding out…
With a cry, she dived straight toward the wyverns. Rather than raising her own lance, she whispered something to Theia, and the wyvern extended its claws forward like a bird of prey. Lachius and the enemy rider looked up just in time to see Theia descending upon them. She grabbed both wyverns by the neck, pushing down and outwards. Roaring, the enemy wyvern tugged violently on Oceanus's wing until it claws ripped free. The mount roared with pain, but Theia released his neck, and he beat himself and Lachius both back to safety, nursing his injured wing.
Theia was forced to release the enemy wyvern as well when its rider's lance glanced off her scales, not seriously injuring her, but coming too close for comfort. Belminade pulled back, still holding her side, looking weaker by the second. The enemy put some distance between himself and us, now outnumbered three-to-one and having lost the advantage he had against Lachius when their wyverns were tangled together. He looked back at us fearfully, something glinting in his hand. I didn't pay attention, though; I realized I had my opportunity, and came up alongside Belminade. "Here!" I tossed her the vulnerary as I shouted. "While we have a moment!"
She hesitated, keeping a wary eye on the enemy rider as he circled around, but nodded. "I'm sorry," I called as she opened the bottle. "I took my eyes off Isaac, and he…"
"Don't do that, Heath," she replied, glowering. "There's nothing you could have done to stop him." She started applying the poultice to her wound.
I opened my mouth to argue. I felt I'd violated her trust, let her down in the one thing she'd asked me specifically to do. But she was right; I couldn't do that now. Not to myself, and not to her. What was I supposed to do? Grab him from his saddle? Tackle him in midair? Try to talk him down when he was already ignoring Belminade's orders? There was nothing I could have done. And belaboring the point now would have distracted her from the task at hand—that being getting us out of there alive.
"He might try to run." Belminade's voice brought me back to reality as she eyed the enemy rider. "It would be a waste of time to chase him, but we need to make ourselves scarce before he brings reinforcements. If he comes back, the three of us should be able to…"
Her brow furrowed, and when I looked at her eyes, they'd come unfocused. I reached out to her. "Belminade?"
"Sorry," she said, quickly shaking her head. "I just got dizzy… must've lost more blood than I thought." She glanced back at Lachius. "The two of you will have to deal with him if he"—she gasped—"Lachius! Heath, where did he go?!"
I looked over at our companion as well—or at least where he should have been—and my heart stopped. Oceanus was looking around frantically, his saddle empty. The straps had been cut, the leather jagged where it had been sawed through. I suddenly recalled the image of the rider with something glinting in his hand; that object resolved itself into a small, metal knife in my mind. Belminade must have realized what I did, for we looked down at the same moment, our faces both wearing the same look of horror. Far below us, Lachius's body lay unmoving on the ground. He hadn't even screamed on his way down.
Silence hung between us for a moment, finally broken by a scream of unbridled rage. Hyperion and I drew back in shock as Belminade swung her lance around, gave Theia a sharp kick, and raced toward the final rider, the forgotten vulnerary falling to the ground. "I've lost my home!" she roared. "I've lost my commander! And now I've lost half my force!" She leveled her lance at him. "But I will make sure you join them, you coward!"
I spurred Hyperion forward, and we rushed after her. We were far too late to do anything, though. The rider fled before her wrath, tossing a few ineffectual javelins back at her, urging his wyvern to go as fast as it could. But Theia was pushing herself to her limit, and quickly overtook the younger wyvern. Belminade was upon him in a matter of moments, and he turned just in time to see her enraged eyes, snapping braid, and plunging lance, before he saw nothing more.
And with that, it was over. We'd defeated six wyvern riders; even if they were relatively inexperienced, that was no mean feat. But we'd paid for it, losing both Lachius and Isaac, not just our wingmates, but our friends as well. In the silence after the battle, as we both hovered there catching our breaths, the grief started to set in. Belminade looked at me, eyes glistening. "Oh, Heath…" she gasped.
I was fighting back tears as I reached for her, longing to hold her, to comfort her. "I'm so sorry," I whispered. "I couldn't protect them."
"Neither could I." She turned away from me, tears beginning to run down her cheeks, even as she squeezed her eyes shut. Her hand went to her side again; the wound must have still been bothering her, despite the vulnerary. "Heath… We need to land." She gave Theia a gentle kick, and the wyvern began circling toward the ground.
Hyperion and I followed. Rhea was behind us as well, still wailing mournfully, Isaac's limp body still strapped to her back. The rage had faded from his face, but he didn't look at peace. He just looked… dead. The wyverns set down near Lachius's body. I tried not to look too closely at it, but I noted that his expression was the same as ever, stoic to the end.
Belminade unstrapped herself from Theia, and promptly fell to the ground, landing heavily on her side. I gasped in horror, and fumbled with my own straps. Theia was nuzzling her rider with concern by the time I stumbled to the ground and dashed across the barren mountainside toward her. I slid to my knees next to her, and gently rolled her over so she was facing up, her head resting in my lap. "What's wrong?" I asked, failing to keep the panic from my voice.
"Not sure," she groaned. "There's a lot of… burning… and bleeding…"
I swore to myself. She'd only used a partial dose of the vulnerary, and it evidently hadn't been enough. I thought briefly of looking for it, but even if I could have figured out where it had fallen, it would have been smashed against the rocks, useless. "Don't talk," I said. "There must be another vulnerary here somewhere." I dashed back to Hyperion, and began rooting through his saddlebags.
She reached for me. "Heath, wait… I think it's too late for that…"
"I said don't talk," I replied. I threw the bag against the rocks in frustration. Was that really the only damn vulnerary I'd brought? I grabbed one of Theia's bags and began going through that one instead.
Theia was licking at Belminade's wound, growling with concern. She reached up and patted the wyvern's snout. "Heath, I'm so sorry," she muttered, her voice growing weaker with time. "I tried to lead the Raiders, and instead, I got them all killed. I've let you all down…"
"Here we go!" I shouted triumphantly as I found a vulnerary at last. I sat down, pulled her head onto my lap, and immediately set out to rubbing the medicine into her wound. She gasped as I worked. "There, see? You're going to be all right. It's working already."
She squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. "Heath… promise me you'll be all right. As long as you live, the Raiders live. You have to carry on… fight for Bern… for the Bern we all loved, not the one that turned on us. They took everything from us… promise me you'll take it back."
"Of course I'll be all right," I said. "I'll have you to take care of me." I continued to rub in the poultice, even as she seemed to grow weaker in my arms. Why wasn't it working? Was she right that it was too late? I refused to believe that, and applied another portion of the vulnerary.
"Promise me," she whispered again. Her eyes met mine, and I sensed the fear in them. "Promise me you'll be all right."
"No," I said firmly. "I'm not going to be all right without you. I…" I swallowed. All my fears, all my reasons for not saying it, they all seemed inconsequential in that moment. It was time. "I love you, Belminade. I've loved you ever since we first flew together. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. So you can't die here, all right? We've got so much to do together. You can't die here."
No response. I stopped rubbing, shook her gently. "Belminade? Did you hear what I said?"
Still nothing. And I knew.
I sat there for a long time, her head on my lap. Theia let out an agonized roar, and Rhea and Oceanus took it up, all mourning their fallen riders. I barely heard them, lost as I was in my own thoughts. I'd finally said it… and she'd been dead by the time I finished. I had no idea whether or not she'd even heard me before she passed. The future I'd imagined for us would remain imagined, for it could never come true.
"I promise," I finally said to the evening sky. "I'll do whatever it takes to survive. For you. For all of you."
"I released Isaac from his straps, and buried the three of them together," Heath explained. He was looking down at his hand, watching it tremble as he spoke. "I barely managed to scrounge together enough branches to make those markers. It might have been wiser to move on after burying them, since it was only a matter of time before the patrol's absence was noted, and other riders came out looking for them. But I had to do something to mark their passing… to prove that they'd once meant something to somebody."
He set his hand down, staring into the distance. "A few weeks later, a man approached me as I was drowning my sorrows in a tavern in Laus. He held a spear in one hand, and a wanted poster in the other."
"Eubans," Fiora breathed.
Heath nodded. "He didn't turn me in; said I could be more useful to him as a fighter than as a bounty. I signed up with his mercenary group at a reduced fee, and in return, he kept quiet about the bounty. He made it clear that would change if I didn't prove useful, though." He shifted atop the log. "I guess I was just thankful for work, at the time. Something to keep my mind off of all that had happened. I didn't start to think too hard about that work until a few weeks later, when the marquess of Laus hired us for some… questionable tasks. And then, even after the marquess disappeared, Eubans hoped to gain the favor of the men he'd been working with, the Black Fang, by attacking a group of the Fang's enemies that had holed up in a fortress after a young man in their company collapsed."
"And that's when we met," she finished.
"Yes," he said softly. His other hand had somehow found its way into hers. "That's when things finally started to go right for me again."
She smiled, but not as happily as either one of them would have liked. Their secret tragedies were no longer secret, but that made them no less tragic. Nevertheless, she squeezed his hand. "For me as well."
He returned her smile, but his eyes weren't focused on her. "I have so many regrets about all of it," he said. "I truly believe deserting was the right decision, even though the knowledge that I betrayed my home gnaws at me every day. But what have I accomplished since then? I barely kept myself alive, worked for a man who abandoned his morals for a healthy fee, and only recently managed to hook up with a group trying to do some good—and not even the good I set out to do. Belminade asked me to make her a promise with her dying breath, and I couldn't keep it."
"We rescued Zephiel, though," Fiora reminded him. "That must count for something."
Heath was silent for a while, then nodded. "It does. I hope they were watching."
She gave his hand another squeeze.
"For a while, though, that wasn't what bothered me," Heath went on. "It was that… well, that I hadn't told Belminade how I felt before she died. I'd always taken it for granted that I'd see her again the next day, that I'd have time to tell her later… and then, suddenly, I didn't."
She opened her mouth, hesitated, and spoke carefully. "You told me once that you loved her, but you never said whether or not you were… in love with her."
He was quiet for longer than she was comfortable with. At last, he shrugged. "It's hard to say, now. Perhaps I was. Perhaps it was simply a childish crush I hadn't quite outgrown. Maybe, if she'd lived, I'd have gotten over her and we'd have gone our separate ways." He took a breath, let it out in a sigh. "Still, it felt real enough at the time. And the idea that I never got around to telling her how I feel tore me apart. The pain has faded since then, but…" He looked over at her, eyes glistening. "I don't ever want to make that mistake again."
She looked down, hesitating a long time before answering softly. "You haven't, Heath."
A moment passed before a small smile crossed his face. "Good."
Silence hung in the air between them for a long time. Fiora released his hand, slipping her own back to her lap. "The others all seem to think we should be together."
Heath smiled. "I'd noticed."
"Under different circumstances, I'd agree." She leaned back on the log, lifting her left knee and tucking her hands around it as she studied the waves. The sun was getting higher every minute, and its light danced off the water beautifully. "But we're not ready," she finished at last.
"When will we be ready?"
"When you can look at me without seeing Belminade," she responded. "And when I can look at you without seeing Diane."
Heath couldn't argue with that.
"What was it you said while we were outside Roland's cave? 'We're always in danger.' Death is a reality of our profession."
Heath nodded. "But not a reality we're ready to face."
"Not with each other, no."
"Tell me, do you worry about Florina and Farina as much as me?"
She nodded. "Of course. Just as you do for Vaida. But it's not their smiles I look forward to seeing every day."
He was taken aback, a blush reaching his cheeks.
She shut her eyes. "I'm sorry, Heath. The loss of my wing has left me… broken. You deserve better than that."
He leaned forward, resolve returning to his eyes. "First of all, you know now that I'm just as broken as you." He took her hand once more. "And better than you? I don't believe that for a second. Fiora, you're wonderful. You're kind and caring; strong-willed, yet sympathetic. And…" he hesitated before going on. "…and I can say with certainty that you are the most beautiful woman I've met, and that what I feel for you is no childish crush."
It took Fiora a moment to realize she was blushing. Hearing him finally say those words aloud, rather than hiding his thoughts behind distant eyes and a sad smile, gave her a sensation quite unlike any she'd felt before. She'd had shades of it before, in the times when their hands had touched or when he'd smiled at her longer than usual, but the pleasant warmth in her heart was stronger than ever when he called her 'wonderful.' Was this what they'd been missing out on all this time?
Was this what she would lose if Heath died?
"What do we do?" he asked at last, bringing her back to the present.
She shook her head. "I don't know. I want to be happy with you… but I don't want to say I love you, just to watch you fall in battle today."
"Isn't that better than never saying it at all?"
Was it? After all, she hadn't been in love with Diane—although she still wondered about the young knight's last words to her—and that still pained her. As did Sylvia, and Martha, and every single other knight she'd lost that day. Still…
"You haven't said it, either," she pointed out.
"No." He paused. "I… don't want to pressure you."
"I appreciate that."
"But…" He straightened up a bit. "Sometimes, it's a good idea to let the past go. Wipe your slate clean, so to speak."
It took her a moment to remember where she'd heard that before. She smiled. "Are you saying it's time I took my own advice?"
"I can't tell you what to do," he said, shaking his head. "But denying our feelings doesn't change them."
"No," she heard herself say softly. "Whether I say it or not… I'd mourn you either way."
The sun was well into the sky by now. They'd need to return soon. The specter of the final battle was hanging over them, but neither was about to turn away from it, even at the risk of losing what they'd built together.
She stood up. Heath followed suit, studying her face. "Well?" he asked.
"We go back," she said. "Join the others. Fight the battle." She turned to him, facing him fully at last. "If you die today, Heath, die knowing that I respect and admire you more than anyone I've met. That you're my best friend, and that…" She blinked back tears. "…that I'll miss you horribly."
He nodded, his own eyes glistening just as much as hers. "Then you must know that I feel the exact same way, Fiora. Even if you die today, and this is all the time we get together, please die knowing that each moment of it was a blessing for which I'll be eternally thankful."
She nodded. "I will." She took a breath. "And… if we don't die today…"
Their hands had once again found their way into each other. He looked down at her, waiting for her continuation.
"Come find me tomorrow," she finished.
"And then?"
"And then we'll see."
A breeze picked up, rustling the grass, sending the sand drifting, and sweeping Fiora's light-colored hair behind her as she and Heath looked into each other's eyes, then leaned forward into an embrace, the sunlit water silhouetting their forms.
