Target Practice
If L'Arachel were less prideful, she'd admit she made a terrible mistake. The army was full of temptation, more so than her courtiers had warned. There were big men, tall men, men who wielded axes and men who brandished swords from horses. Each and every one of them sported dozens of scars beneath their heavy armor. Her dreams were full of them; it was all terribly inconvenient.
She was supposed to be banishing the foul creatures roaming Magvel, not admiring the glistening male bodies she'd been brought in to heal! That would be why she heard so little about her mission. For all her refinement and grace, she had done very little banishing. There were no feats for bards to commemorate in song, no acts of courage worth circulating among the villagers.
It was so pathetic she could cry herself to sleep. What would her parents think? They had given their lives to fight evil, and in her efforts to honor their legacy she had somehow become distracted by her baser desires.
L'Arachel's eyes drifted to Innes, Prince of Frelia, who had made yet another appearance in her dreams last night. He stood with Ephraim (whose shoulder seemed to be doing better) and Eirika (whose complexion was radiant as always), conferring with them about the battle ahead. General Seth was also there, presiding over the meeting with his cool professionalism.
L'Arachel wanted nothing more than to join them and offer her opinion of their battle strategies. If she were to be more precise, she wanted nothing more than to offer her opinion and then take Innes aside for a private conversation. She had a score to settle with the prince, who was as insolent as he was handsome, especially for one who nearly met his end at Carcino.
L'Arachel was sure he would have perished were it not for Eirika's intervention and the healing from her staff – yet she, at least, had received not a word of thanks. That itself would not have condemned him. She would have forgiven Innes for this oversight had he not reacted with derision upon learning that she once visited his kingdom and found the seafood lacking.
"I find it hard to believe the fish of Rausten is that much tastier than our own," he pondered idly before referring to her beloved kingdom as a land of foolish soothsayers … the nerve of him!
L'Arachel never said such a thing about Frelia's cuisine. She had in fact complimented Frelia's national dishes. It was just that the fish did not compare to that from her own kingdom, and she had no qualms about saying so, believing it was natural to favor one's homeland. But Innes had taken it as a personal insult and challenged her to a contest between Frelia and Rausten. They traded barbs all across the continent, comparing everything about their homelands: the food, the economy, the friendliness of its people, its natural wonders.
L'Arachel had no doubt that Frelia was a splendid place she would very much like to visit one day. What bothered her was the air of superiority in Innes's voice, which remained distant and hollow even as he described the most beautiful sights his country had to offer. It was a tone that refused to acknowledge her part in saving his life, refused to let anyone see beneath his composed exterior. It said know your place. And L'Arachel, princess as she was, saw no reason to comply.
One by one, the Twin Lords from Renais, the General, and the Prince of Frelia broke away to take up their positions on the battlefield. Innes headed in the direction of the cliffs, where he would scan the skies for Grado's advancing army. L'Arachel nudged her horse in the same direction. She was eager for another opportunity to spar with the prince. She wondered what she would do to get his attention today.
Innes thought he heard a twig snap but kept his eyes fixed on the horizon. The Grado army would be here soon if Seth's intelligence proved correct, and it was imperative that he strike at the first sign of wings in the sky. He wouldn't be caught off guard as he had at Carcino. All he had to do was maintain his focus and pick off the wyvern riders, one by one. If they ever showed up, that was.
So far there was nothing; not a single dot in the sky. Which was just as well, as there was definitely someone approaching him now. Their footfalls were soft against the silken grass, and he surmised that his new company was female. It couldn't be Tana, who had been avoiding him since he expressed concern for her well-being. (Why did she always have to be so difficult? As her brother and prince of Frelia, it was his job to worry about her.)
Nor was it Eirika, who was leading the charge against Grado alongside her brother. The pair from Renais was too preoccupied with battle preparations to be following him around, much less observing him with the intensity of this green-haired woman perched high atop her steed, staff in hand, dressed in the royal garb of Rausten.
"Hello, L'Arachel," he said, striding forward to greet her. "Imagine seeing you here."
"Hello, Innes." L'Arachel had dismounted from her horse and tethered it to a nearby tree. The strain in her voice suggested that she hadn't forgiven him for their earlier altercation, which saw him accuse her of savagery after she threatened to hit him with her staff. All because he hinted at – more like taunted her with – the rumors he'd been hearing about her… assertiveness.
And perhaps because he spent twenty minutes asserting Frelia's superiority over Rausten, deftly refuting each of L'Arachel's claims with facts and knowledge. Thank goodness his father hired the best tutors. Innes was a creature of logic and believed the path to victory was laid with vigilance and strategy, not prayer and superstition. Unlike a certain theocracy.
"Am I not welcome here? Were you enjoying your own company? I hope my presence isn't an inconvenience." L'Arachel's gossamer sleeves fluttered gently in the breeze, and Innes thought the only inconvenience was that he should encounter her so far from camp. He was surprised, given the intensity of their little contest between nations, that she would follow him out to the middle of nowhere.
Perhaps she was simply lost. Yes, that must be it. She was lost and needed help finding her way back to camp.
Alternatively, he wouldn't put it past her to sneak out just to get a rise out of him.
"I do not mind your company, L'Arachel," he said. "I wonder what brings you here and whether you have permission from your superiors."
L'Arachel lifted her chin. "Princess Eirika gave explicit orders to stay back. The front lines are no place for a healer."
"That is true. Neither is it a place for an archer."
"We have that in common, at least," L'Arachel said, before launching into another of her manifestos that never failed to inspire a sense of foreboding in Innes. As nice as it felt to share company with someone who took their royal duties as seriously as he did, the execution left much to be desired. Entire armies had fallen before the hordes of dark creatures pouring out of Darkling Woods; a young woman and her two bodyguards didn't stand much of a chance. She may as well have been chasing windmills.
"I don't suppose when you accede to the throne that you will govern through righteousness and splendor alone?" he asked against his better judgment.
L'Arachel didn't miss a beat. "I imagine so. I am Princess of Rausten. It is providence."
"So it is," Innes conceded. And then, because he couldn't help but notice the juxtaposition between her grand words and current situation: "It concerns me then that you are toiling away in a military camp as a healer. Anonymously, no less."
L'Arachel's mouth dropped open. It must not be every day that the Princess of Rausten was so openly challenged. He relished the honor.
"How dare you speak to me that way…" she sputtered. "I suppose you think yourself a fine leader with your spies and strategies and… and…"
"Frelia's spies are second to none," Innes said coolly. "Our network spans the entire continent. I believe I've earned those accolades as their commander." He began loading his bow again, selecting an arrow from his quiver. If Grado wouldn't show up, he may as well get some practice in.
But L'Arachel wasn't finished. "I wouldn't be so proud in your shoes, always hiding in the shadows."
"Such is the nature of espionage."
"The sacrifice of other people – innocent men and women – to do your dirty work."
"...Only as a last resort. Those decisions are not made lightly, L'Arachel." Innes drew the string taut and released the arrow, which found its way into the bark of a nearby tree. It missed the mark he was aiming for, but not by much. "Why this line of questioning? Are you calling me a coward?"
L'Arachel was quiet for a moment. "Yes, in fact."
"You are mista–"
"Cowardice of the heart," L'Arachel blurted out before she could stop herself. "You may behave honorably in war, but you show no such consideration elsewhere. Otherwise, you would have properly thanked me for mending you."
Innes considered this new information. She was quick to come to his aid after that disastrous battle, which ended with him showing that traitorous councilman the price of his mistake. Before that, he recalled her urgent attentions, hovering over him with a look of fierce concentration as she tended to his injuries. He wasn't unused to such fuss, having enjoyed a certain celebrity among Frelia's pegasus knights. None of them had the audacity to demand something from him, though. They had a tendency to be deferential, afraid to step on his toes, whereas L'Arachel wasn't afraid of him at all.
He had to admire that. She had no qualms about defending herself or her country, and some of their conversations intrigued him enough to arrange a visit to Rausten when this blasted war was over. He would very much like to see Mount Mirmir and the Citadel of Light, he realized, and he wouldn't mind having the princess beside him as a guide. They could continue to argue the matter as they tasted each other's national dishes...or whatever the metric of the day was. Whatever game they were playing, he did not intend to lose.
"My apologies. I was remiss in giving you proper regard," he finally said.
"Truly? Well, that's refreshing to hear." L'Arachel seemed at a loss as to what to say next. Innes watched her carefully as she reversed course, marching back up the hill to where her horse still grazed. She didn't get very far before he cleared his throat and asked the question that had been on the tip of his tongue.
"L'Arachel. How do you want to be thanked?"
"Pardon?" She stopped halfway up, silhouetted against the sun. Innes approached her slowly, hands behind his back so as not to alarm her. He noticed that she practically swayed towards him as he crested the hill, confirming his underlying suspicion. Her lips were slightly parted, her green eyes wide with understanding.
"You said properly thanked. That means you had a particular gesture in mind."
They were very close now; he was practically stepping on her toes, and L'Arachel was mortified to find herself uncharacteristically speechless. She should have known it was only a matter of time before her lurid thoughts caught up to her. Innes was tall and clever and had a way of looking at her that struck deep within her core, making heat pool in parts of her body where it shouldn't. She could think of quite a few ways to answer his question.
"I suppose… I suppose I did," she whispered.
It wasn't long before she was once again on her horse, racing in the direction of the camp, hair askew and blushing furiously. Traveling with the army was a mistake, she told herself. A very grave mistake, if her racing heart was anything to go by.