When Hitomi woke, the ragged horizon of distant mountain ranges lay shrouded in heavy, grey mist and a strange chill unusual for a morning in early spring seemed to cling to the stonewalls and the air that sifted into her room through the open window. Digging her face into her pillow and screwing her eyes shut, she tried to prevent the realisation that Dryden would already be on his way towards the Zaibach army from entering her mind.
She failed, of course.
Flinging the sheets aside and shivering as her bare feet made contact with the cold floor, she ran across the room and leant out of her window. She could see the stables from her room, and Dryden's remarkable grey stallion was gone, leaving the small courtyard strangely desolate and deserted in the faint, bleak light. Beyond the city walls, the dark green carpet of forest ran towards the horizon and disappeared into the mist. Hitomi's own breath danced briefly like a cloud of grey spectres before her face before melting into nothingness.
Hugging herself to prevent her skin from being too shocked by the sudden chilliness of the early dawn, she turned from the window and crossed the floor while a cold weight settled somewhere around her navel, gnawing relentlessly at her insides. It was foolish really, she thought furiously, pulling open the drawers in her wardrobe. Dryden had left simply to seek a truce. There would be no fighting, no killing, no dying.
So why was she so scared?
She stared with disdain at the white and soft blue dress that hung still and lifeless in closet. She hated it. She hated the frills, the smell, what it represented. Digging into the bottom of her wardrobe she produced an old, weathered shirt that had once belonged to her brother and a pair of worn leather breeches; throwing them aside she lay down on the floor, pressing her ear to the wooden bottom of the cupboard. Voices rose muffled and yet surprisingly distinct from the throne room below. Hitomi could make out her father's voice, tired and frustrated as he spoke with his advisers and Dryden's unparalleled favourite, Medon the Money Pincher.
War.
It was always about war now.
Sighing and feeling the block of ice sink further down into her stomach Hitomi sat up, brushing the hair from her eyes. She needed some air.
A soft drizzle fell from the leaden sky as Hitomi crossed the courtyard. The uneven cobblestones underneath her feet became slippery with water, and she had to watch her steps carefully. Once or twice she slipped when the people scurrying past her brushed her shoulders; they all had their own private errand to run, and nobody paid her any heed. Clad in a man's shirt, leather breeches and with her brown hair pulled back into a ponytail Hitomi doubted they would have recognised her even if they had raised their eyes to her face for more than a split of a second.
But it was wartime and everybody was worried. Everybody feared for someone.
The white doves that could usually be seen darting here and there across the square, lingering by the bread-seller in hope of fallen crumbs, were gone; only a single white feather came drifting downward, borne on the shadowy presence of a faint breeze. Hitomi watched it descend, turning, circling in the air until she reached out her hand and caught it softly in the hollow of her palm. Its touch was light and delicate, the tiny hairs near the bottom of the spine tickling her skin, and she smiled slightly.
It was a couple of hours after sunrise and still a dull, colourless greyness lingered between the thatched houses. Hitomi strolled aimlessly along the streets, feeling the incessant drizzle of rain slowly pasting the hair to the base of her skull and causing the shirt to cling to her shoulders in a rather uncomfortable manner.
Soon, even the slow, softly falling rain had soaked her shirt and drenched, Hitomi decided to return to the castle to enquire after her father and news of Dryden.
She had just entered the courtyard when the roar of furious men erupted from the stable-yard and Hitomi changed her course, rounding the corner of greying marble-stone until the yard spread open before her. To her right, along the cow-stalls, milkmaids were grouping together, shawls drawn around their heads and shoulders to protect against the wind and sleet, milk jugs hanging limply and forgotten from their hands. Hitomi followed the turn of their pale faces to the form of a young man, who was just then pushing himself back onto his feet as though he had been tossed across the yard like a rag doll.
A heavy-looking man with sloping shoulders and a bearded face shadowed with rage was approaching him with long, tense strides. The young man spun around, his closed fist meeting the jaw of the larger man, who had not expected such an attack and did nothing to avert it.
The blow was strong, and Hitomi watched in shock as the man barely even flinched, his pained grunt swiftly morphing into a raging bellow, and his strong arm came down and struck the side of the boy's face like a sledgehammer.
'Know your place, boy!' he thundered, advancing still further as the blow caused the young man to stagger backwards, a hand raised instinctively to his split eye-brow. Another blow to the side of his face almost sent him to his knees. 'Or I will string you up like the useless bastard you are!'
There was a scream from one of the milkmaids, and then a small, slim girl came scurrying across the yard, flinging her tiny figure in between the man and his victim her arms spread wide and her blue eyes sparkling ferociously. 'Don't hurt Van!' she yelled, tears trailing down her cheek where Hitomi with disgust saw the distinct imprint of a large hand painted in reddened hues.
It seemed the boy wasn't alone in receiving this treatment.
'Keep out of this, wench,' the man snarled and raised his hand again but Hitomi had seen enough. She strode purposely into the courtyard, her head held high and the rain forgotten.
'Stop that this instant!' she cried with the innate authority that came with having her orders obeyed since she was four years old.
The man shot her a disgusted look. 'Mind your own business, lil' lady,' he sneered, taking in her soaked, dishevelled appearance. 'Ain't no customers to be had here, so better be on your way.'
He thought she was harlot, Hitomi realised with a jolt and almost froze in her path.
But then fury erupted in her chest, flaring to burning life and reaching into every pore of her being; rather than slap the man or yell at him, she merely thrust her hand forward, the silver band of Asturia sparkling brightly from her index finger.
The man blanched, and a hollow, gurgling sound came from his throat.
'Pr – princess Hitomi!' he stuttered.
'Don't,' she warned. 'Don't even try. You disgust me! If you feel such an intense desire to punch somebody then enlist, join the army, do something for your country. Lords know you need the exercise!'
The man opened and closed his mouth in shock, looking like a huge, fat, deep-sea fish left gasping on land.
The blue-eyed girl stared incredulously from Hitomi to the ring and back to Hitomi again. Behind her, the young man straightened and fixed Hitomi with an intense stare in his dark, maroon eyes, half-shielded under an unruly mane of raven black hair. He took the girl's hand and tugged gently at her. 'Come on, Merle,' he muttered.
'Wait,' Hitomi called after them. The young man paused, and shot her a doubtful and uncertain glance, confusion creasing his brow. The young milkmaid still clung to his arm, practically leaning against him, and her mistrustful blue eyes cut into Hitomi as she met their icy glare. Every feature in the young girl's face was distorted and hardened by a protective hatred that felt too old for her smooth skin.
'Follow me,' Hitomi muttered, but neither the young man nor the milkmaid moved.
'Where are you taking us?' There was uncertainty, mistrust and a faint shadow of fear in the young man's eyes.
'She's soaked,' Hitomi answered awkwardly, pointing to the young girl. The rain was gaining in intensity, hammering loudly against the cobble-stones, and Hitomi almost had to shout to be heard above the noise. The large droplets lashed against her cheeks and forehead like tiny arrow-heads of spiked ice. 'She needs to change.'
'They'll dry,' came the monotonous reply.
'Yes, and she will get a cold,' Hitomi said, irritation creeping into her voice. The young man blinked uncertainly at her. The milkmaid was silent. Hitomi sighed. 'Besides,' she said, 'anybody would get a concussion from something like that... Just let me help you.'
His jaw tightened visibly. 'We don't want your charity.'
Hitomi felt her patience snap. 'No, but you might just need it, so stuff that hurt manly pride, okay!'
He blinked at her, like an owl that had been sitting long in the dark when the light was suddenly turned on.
Then his eyes hardened, and his grip on the girl's hand tightened visibly. 'No thanks,' he said stiffly and turned around, dragging the milkmaid with him back towards the stables.
Hitomi watched him leave, hurt, bemused and frustrated.
What just happened?
Neither the milkmaids still watching in tense silence from the long row of cow-stalls nor the stunned stable master seemed capable of answering that question.
Thank you so much for all the wonderful reviews! I had never thought the response to this story would be so big and so positive, so thank you all. :-D
Now to the apologetic part: I'm sorry about the length of this chapter. I did originally have a long sequence to follow this, but by long, I mean looooooong. In the end the chapter was pushing 4500 words and I had to cut it. Of course, the good news are that I managed to get this out rather quickly. So please review, and I'll try to get the next chapter out in a couple of days. :-)