Agrias felt wetness on her brow, which was immediately followed up a stabbing pain in her leg and hips. Through eyes blearily with exhaustion and fever, she looked mournfully at her wounded limb. The legging slit open, a clean bandage dressed around the injury, her thigh nonetheless held a sickly purple pallor—a sure sign of infection. But she also saw a white cloth beside her, upon which lay a few crude tools and an earthenware bowl. The yellowish-white stains along the cusp of the dish indicated that it had been used to drain the pus from her thigh.
Agrias had seen her share of war wounds in her career. This particular injury was far from the worse she had ever seen…but it was the worst ever inflicted upon her. The sickness raging through her raised sweat from every pore, making her tunic itch and chafe. Fortunately, whoever had been caring for her had the presence of mind to remove her armor and leather coat; had those articles remained, she would have much rather died than endure the discomfort of heat.
Her hand went up to her forehead, to inspect the wetness. A damp cloth fell into her palm. Then she looked around; the kidnapper—Delita, was it not?—sat by a lonely fire across from Princess Ovelia. It was an incongruous sight to the dutiful knight: someone as duplicitous as Delita talking amiably with the princess. But the princess seemed to be in no danger, and Agrias was still far too weak from the fever to do anything about it anyway…a fact that only frustrated her. The damp cloth was crushed in her fist.
It occurred to her that someone was missing from the unlikely group. Before she could try to locate Ramza, the young mercenary appeared at her side, a fresh bowl of water in his hands and lengths of clean cloth on his arm. He smiled cheerfully when he saw her awake, and knelt beside her with all the familiarity of a longtime friend.
"I'm glad you're finally awake," he said, setting the bowl of water down and dipping a piece of cloth in it. "The princess was very worried. I was, too." He gently placed the wet cloth across her head.
Agrias only grunted. His concern did not mean much to her; it was a knight's duty to give life and limb for her charge. But she leveled a hard look on him, holding him fast with her azure eyes. "You turned on Gafgarion," she said stonily. "You betrayed your employer, though he was doubtless being paid quite well for his own betrayals. Why did you side with us?"
The young mercenary shrugged his shoulders. "Call it instinct," he said. "Call it faith. But I couldn't just stand by and let someone innocent get hurt. Princess Ovelia has done nothing wrong. She doesn't deserve to be caught in a power struggle."
Agrias shivered, and not from the fever. It was disconcerting to hear her own beliefs echoed in this stranger's too-innocent voice. "Why did you ever become a mercenary then?" she demanded softly.
"It was a life," he replied. "I'm not particularly proud of it. But it was really the only option I had. I guess there could have been other roads, but I'm not clever enough to find them." Then he started undressing the bandages around her thigh. "I'm going to drain the wound," he explained with a slight shyness. "Please forgive my impropriety."
Suddenly, Agrias laughed, though it hurt to do so in her weakened state. "I'm a solider, Ramza Ruglia. I'm not one to be bothered by some boy tending to a cut on my leg. Just as long as you don't make it worse."
The young mercenary looked a bit flustered at being referred to as a "boy." But he nonetheless treated her wound with the meticulousness of a surgeon. Though he seemed so unsure about fighting, Agrias was surprised at the single-mindedness he exuded in his ministrations. His fingers were strong, yet clever and agile, working a lancet through the infected areas and pricking them open without eliciting even a spark of pain. When he finished, he cleaned and dressed the injury carefully.
"You're very good at healing," she noted with admiration.
He shrugged, as if brushing the praise aside. "It's one of the few things I'm good at," he said humbly. "Delita was always better at everything else." There was no envy, no resentment. It was a simple declaration of fact.
"You do not give yourself enough credit, it seems," Agrias countered. "You can outfight most warriors without harming them. That in itself is an impressive feat."
Ramza was taken aback by this continued praise. He murmured quietly, "I'm surprised to hear you say that, Agrias. I thought you didn't like me."
The holy knight settled herself into a more comfortable position. "I don't," she said bluntly. "Your fighting tactics are going to get you or someone else killed. Holding back in a fight's very stupid, Ruglia. But I can't deny the strength in you. Yet I can't deny the faults, either."
"Well," Ramza said with a shaky grin, "at least you're being fair."
Agrias was going to add more—some of it quite scathing—but then Delita called out, "Dinner's ready Ramza. What about the knight? Is she awake yet?"
"Yes," the young mercenary replied. Then he turned back to her. "You should eat something to restore your strength, Agrias. I'll bring you something. Oh! I'm sure the princess will want to talk to you, too. She's been very worried." With that, he stood up and went to the campfire, leaving Agrias to her thoughts for a few moments.
She idly brushed her fingertips against the new bandages around her leg. A soft curse escaped from her lips. Wounded—not badly, but enough to be a liability for traveling. Agrias wanted to kick herself for letting Gafgarion's foul tricks catch her. Now she would be less capable of carrying out her duty…she would be less capable of protecting the princess. To the proud knight, that blow hurt a thousand times more than any knife. "Damn it," she murmured harshly.
Then she saw Princess Ovelia approach, bearing two small plates of river trout. "Delita managed to catch these," she explained, setting one beside the knight. Agrias did not miss the soft, demure blush that stole onto her face when she mentioned that name. It made the holy knight's blood boil; she did not trust Delita in the slightest, rescuer of the princess or not.
"Agrias," Ovelia said quietly, "when you were unconscious, I prayed to God that you'd be all right. Ramza kept on saying that you would. He said that you were a very strong person. I'm glad he was right."
The holy knight stopped eating at that. "Ramza said that, huh?" she muttered thoughtfully. Then she resumed her meal, putting the thought aside. "He's a fool, but at least his instincts are good," she said. Then she looked at the princess and smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, princess. As long as you need me to protect you, there's nothing in the world short of God himself who can stop me from being at your side."
"Thank you, Agrias," Ovelia replied with heartfelt gratitude, clasping the knight's sword-callused hand in her own smooth ones. "But mustn't overburden yourself. Indeed, you won't need to anymore; Delita will surely share your duties. He promised to protect me, as well."
That earned a withering look. "He did, did he?" Her tone was full of dryness, full of venom.
Ovelia blinked at this display. "Agrias?"
"I don't trust him, princess," she said sharply. "He's up to something, I can feel it. How could anyone in their right mind jump into a political mess like this without a good motive? You shouldn't readily accept his protection, princess. You shouldn't trust him."
The princess suddenly seemed to clam up, distancing herself from the holy knight. Agrias winced; the beginnings of a chasm had started to open between them. Of course, she blamed Delita for it, which only made her dislike him further. "It is hardly in your power to dictate what I should and should not do, Agrias," Ovelia said crisply. "And from what I've seen, Delita Hyral is a trustworthy and noble man who swings his sword in pursuit of God's will. Until I've seen otherwise, I won't stand for you vilifying him."
"Princess…."
"No, Agrias," she continued with full authority. "Please understand. I trust this man. He risked his life to save mine—without any coercion or promise of gold or glory."
Agrias cut in, "By whose word was this claim made?"
"His," Ovelia said sternly, overpowering the flaw in her defense of Delita by sheer charisma. "He is a knight at heart, if not in name, Agrias. Please treat him as such. We can trust this man, I'm sure of it. I'd feel much safer if the two of you worked together. You share the same mission, after all."
The holy knight was at a loss. The princess' word was her law, but Agrias still could not shake a sense of foreboding about dealing with Delita Hyral. He seemed amicable and trustworthy enough, and he had indeed saved the princess' life from the Hokuten. But there was a cold-bloodedness in him, a cunning in his eyes, that set Agrias' veins to ice. No honorable man could have such a demeanor.
But the princess' word was, after all, her law. With no small amount of discomfiture, Agrias murmured, "I'll trust him…to protect you." At least in that regard she could trust him to hold his own; she had no idea what his plans were, but they obviously involved keeping the princess alive.
But that simple statement was more than enough for Ovelia. She smiled pleasantly, her old humor returned to her young face. "Excellent! Perhaps, in time, we could all become friends. They seem to be very nice people, Agrias. Delita and his friend, Ramza. Did you know that they grew up together?"
"No, I did not," Agrias murmured. Then she rubbed her forehead, accidentally knocking the cloth off. "Ruglia does seem to be a nice person, though," she said absently. "Perhaps too nice for a fighter's life." Again, she rubbed her head.
Ovelia's brows frowned in concern.
"I'm feeling a little tired, princess," the knight explained.
Her charge smiled warmly. "Then by all means, sleep, my friend. God knows that you've earned it."