Forenote: Miracles can happen, plots can progress, and I can keep my forenotes short, useless though they may remain. Just thought I'd remind the readers with grudges.
Responses:
Fairytale lover – Actually, the day you reviewed was the day I finished that "next chapter", which is technically "this chapter" now. :grin: Here it is; enjoy.
Discompobilated – Lol, of course, I'd give you good people a cliffhanger. What else can you expect of me?
Mellem – Ah, and that is only the least of it. There are plenty more characters to introduce, and more intrigues to unravel.
Phillippa of the Phoenix – Her dress is actually one I wish I could have. :sigh: Well, if I cannot have it, at least a character of mine can. And of course Clement will try to rescue her… but if his attempt should be of success or not, I cannot tell. Well, at least not now. :broad grin:
Fireworksinmybackpocket – Lol, I'm glad you find it so. Don't worry; my life has become quite monotonous, so I'm writing a lot these days.
Elvislivesagain – Ah, the desired effect. Lol. And it's good that you like him, as I do too – immensely, which worries me indeed – but you must understand he is not perfect. That is explained under TrudiRose's response.
Kat Laleh – Arrivederci! Lol. Just thought I'd play a bit in your game with words there.
Poisonmoon – I do not regret this cliffhanger, sorry to say. ;-) The thing was already 18 pages long.
TrudiRose – You truly have something against him, don't you? Lol, there is nothing wrong with that, but you'll see that even though the selfish, prattish way Clement is acting seems egocentric, one would see – in a clearer perspective – that his reaction is ideal for his personality. Not that he's egotistical or anything similar – he is truly a good man, a great man – but as a prince, he can get carried away sometimes when he knows something is right. He is only used to having ideas and plans – and they usually work – and he knows this one can work for certain (having a future with Eszti, that is) for he knows she loves him… it is her stupidity that enrages him, and her chosen stage of denial, and the idea that she doesn't love him enough to get over herself and give him a change causes him pain. It is an ideal reaction, such as in 'Lessons in Love, History, Potions, or Otherwise' which can be found in my favorites. I did not copy the reaction, to those who might think I did, as I was already deep in the story (chapter 7, I think) when I found the fic.
Chapter 12: The Price of Freedom
All was dark, pure black, a great gaping space of nothing. Pure oblivion. For a moment, I chose to linger awhile in the refreshing emptiness, without worry and woe, without possibility of death, or anything else equally or a mite less horrible. I enjoyed every second of it, and was about to get pulled back into the grips of yet another strong doze when the sound of voices reached me, grabbing hold of my mind by the metaphorical ankle and bringing it to reality with a painful tug.
"… don't you get worried, Royleo, about the consequences? We'd all be hung from the fat of our necks."
"Ah, boy, you are a dense one, yes? Haven't you got it into your thick head that the 'Lady' could suffer too? She's a fraud, that one is. Like all women. A dirty liar. If need be, we can tell His Majesty the Pig that we captured her to turn her in, like good citizens. Rewarded we'd be, but that's not our mission, now is it?"
Indignant, I lay on the harsh animal skin and continued to feign sleep to the thoughtless eye. I sharpened my hearing and concentration, and inched a little bit closer to the voices.
"But did you see that little servant girl, watching us drag the brat away? She saw us, and scampered. Why didn't we take care of her, eh?"
My heart stopped, and started again, pounding as if I had run a mile.
"Because, you dolt, we would've been caught for sure. She'd scream, and be heard, unlike the princess in the back. And she was far enough to scream before getting attacked."
"Still, Royleo – "
"Stop arguing, Hinhma. We won't be caught, so stop pretending we've got the Merilian army on our backs!"
The man with the younger voice hushed, but I could swear he did so unhappily, doggedly. I lay on the skin, my heart thumping wildly, and ran over their short conversation in my mind.
She's a fraud, that one is.
My heart jumped into my throat, and I broke into a cold sweat. By the gods and everything heavenly… they knew.
And they knew how to use it against me, too. A lovely adventure this was turning out to be.
For the first time since I awoke, I relaxed enough to collect my wits, pace my wild heartbeat, and study my surroundings, which were peculiar indeed. From what I could see, I was in a wagon – no walls; only a thick blanket of rope-textiles spun and spread over five metal arches that closed around the wooden floor, serving as a covering. It seemed that while I had been unconscious – for now all the memories of what had happened to me last had returned, and all of them vivid and rage-inducing – I had been thrown into a grubby, dust-coated corner of the wagon and indulged with only a prickly animal skin. Turning my head in the direction of the now-silent voices, I saw that a great flap of brown wool separated me from the drivers, and I could not see them through the fabric, as it was night.
We were being pulled – unevenly and gracelessly, I thought with contempt – by a single horse, and over generally smooth ground, indicating the presence of a real, dirt road. Absently, I snorted at the lack of ropes binding me – which more intelligent kidnappers would've no doubt thought of – and wondered if I could escape this dreaded wagon, if I were discreet enough. Crawling towards the flap that led outside, I pulled it open, but was immediately lost in a flooding of darkness, with only the wan light of the crescent moon lighting a shadowy sliver of the road. I struggled to see the Merilian palace in the distance, any tower point, any darkened flag - but it was no use, and anguished, I retreated into the wagon.
It was lighter in here, at least. A lantern stood burning in another corner of the wagon. To reassure myself, I edged the thing away from the cloth covering of the wagon, which could possibly catch flame. It would be a good opportunity to escape if our coach had caught fire, but I had no rations with me, and no possible way of finding the palace. Especially at this time of night. There was no hope.
At the thought of rations, my stomach grumbled horrendously, certainly shameful for a would-be noblewoman. And the thought of hunger made me aware of how chilly I now felt and how dirty I had become – dragged, had I been? It was no wonder. I grimaced at the thought. Maybe if I had been more careful, I wouldn't have been captured… if only I stayed in the dining hall like an obedient Lady. And look at me now: in a wagon most likely leading out of Merilian, held captive by a bunch of stupid bandits for some unknown purpose, threatened by them with exposure of my true identity to the Royal Family, which would be horrifying indeed, and hungry and cold, of all things. Sadly, I looked down and found myself still in my best dress, and I sighed in frustration. What a shame it was that ts just had to be wasted on a disastrous evening and an even worse night.
The flap to the driver's front was pushed aside and revealed one of the bandits – a young man – popping his head in. At the sight of him, I couldn't help but put on my best glare, one that made the majority of living things cower. And to my greatest chagrin, he could only smile maliciously – perhaps he was aiming for 'dazzling', but I could barely call it that. Had he been any other human being, it might've been so.
But… as I looked at him for a few moments, I began to notice something: his features resembled mine, in a general way. He had tan, brown skin – darker than mine, but that hardly mattered – and pitch-colored eyes the shape of almonds. His hair was curly but black and fine, and his cheekbones were exotic – much like mine. I began to panic.
What if… ?
My eyes wide and my angry expression fading a little, I breathed, "Who are you?" in an enraged manner, my tone dripping with repulsed scorn.
After being around so many fair-colored people for so long, I couldn't help but feel a bit hysterical at seeing one of darker complexion. But you couldn't blame me; it certainly meant something.
And the mere nerve of him – he chuckled! Laughed at my sufferance. His eyes dancing, he brought out his whole body from behind the flap, and sat on the corner with hay, leaning comfortably against the shelter opposite me. In a puzzling act, he tilted his chin up a little, and then brought his head down to look at me levelly. To this, I responded not – only stared at him in ire, rubbing my shoulders for warmth.
"It is too bad," I choked out, trying to release my frustration in one glare, directed at this bandit. "that I have to be kidnapped by bandits. If I had been kidnapped by those of a higher rank, I could perhaps be in a less impoverished setting than this. But what can I expect," I added dramatically, tossing my hair and lifting my chin. "from those who can only live off what they steal?"
"As if you and your kind are any better!" he barked, stiffening a little. I suppose my insult had hurt more than I expected it to, and I couldn't help but feel pleased, if a little ruthless.
But after a moment, I too tensed. So. Just as they knew of my pretending, they knew my truer identity as well. So.
Putting on my most regal look, I stared him in the eye, summoned up the most level yet angered look I could. I thought of Marguerite, King Ignatius, and perhaps Clement, and my gaze grew more genuine. It made his smirk lessen a little – just a twitch.
"You never answered my question. Who are you?" I asked harshly.
"And what reason have I to answer that? You can no sooner condemn me to death than can the fur on which you lie."
"To protect your honor, perhaps? You know of my identity, more than I'd like you to. It'd only be fair that I know the same for you. Or maybe less."
He furrowed his brow delicately to consider that for a moment, and smiled a renewed grin of amusement.
"My name is Gehedrion. I suppose I can reveal that much."
"You certainly can. I can do nothing with only that."
He twisted his grin into a smirk, racking his shoulders a little forward as a result of laughter. "No, you cannot."
I chewed on my lip a little, wondering what brilliant move I should make next to further this man's opinion of me as an idiot, but then decided on a question that peeved me to no end. Looking up again, I decided to grant him so little as a half-smile, a disdainful smirk. In my mind, I prayed to all the heavens that my voice would not quaver.
"I cannot help but wonder," I said smoothly and strongly, for my prayers were indeed answered. "how you all have come to know so much about me, when I had barely known of your existence. And I think I shall spare you my full life story; revealing any excess information not already in your possession may come to harm me in the ultimate end. I prefer to keep my secrets." My smirk began to feel genuine. I certainly felt like I should've been seated beside a slick-mouthed wit of a man, swilling red wine in a thin, glass goblet and negotiating smoothly.
"Keep your secrets? You do well, Rozenta, except that my friends and I have… ways."
My glowered returned, and at full heat once again. I no longer pretended to bear the velvety, complacent wrath of a noble, and instead truly felt it.
"You did not answer the question. Pray do not dodge."
He tapped his chin in false thought, and a sardonic smile spread across his lean, thin face, alight with his own secrecy. "To avoid pointing fingers and speaking names, I shall only say that I had chosen the right bed."
Had I been consuming red wine at the time, I would've spat it back out. I stared in outrage, and wondered what sick servant could've committed such a folly. Clement had been so vehement and clear in his instructions to all witnessing servants to keep my identity a secret. But an angry chill of hope fleeted through me anyway; at least I had some slim chance of catching the traitor, should she conceive.
Feeling slightly faint with my disgust, I coughed out, "That is quite a horrible thought indeed that you had to win a lady's heart to accomplish the task."
He surprised me with a derisive snort, his eyes gleaming evilly. "Win a lady's heart? Oh, no, that'd be far too much work. I didn't say 'heart' now, am I right? I said 'bed'. Are you really so naïve? Although you have nice hips, very nice hips. Out of your captors in the night, Gypsy, I was the one that held your waist."
A wave of repugnance surged through me again, only more intensely this time. Following it came indignity and outrage.
"I confess I am, then. I really think I am."
Gehedrion only had time to smirk at me, clearly basking in the queasiness his story cost me, when the flap to the driver's front of the wagon was pulled open again, revealing a gnarled old man who looked a lot like a 60-year-old version of Gehedrion, although perhaps less good-looking. The hair about his temples were streaked mercilessly with white and lines traced around the ridges of his face like tributaries stringing out of a river drawn on a map, making him look very worn indeed. He had bleak, dark eyes through which he studied me quickly, and he pushed forth a basket of wicket, in which lay a pile of smaller loaves of bread. They were the less rich kind, brown and plain, but at the time, I cared not.
I could not refrain my hand from digging itself into the basket, pulling out the largest loaf I could find, and wolfing it down. Gehedrion watched with raised eyebrows and attempted to reach for a loaf himself, but the look the older man whipped him with made him jerk his hand back, looking very much like a displeased toddler who was denied a sweet treat.
After one loaf, I took up another and put a hand to my throat, very much desiring drink. The older man looked to Gehedrion and spoke sharply, as though there was nothing the boy could do to please him in the least.
"Have we water in the jar, boy? Have you checked recently?"
"I don't know, but we just set off. We can't be too low in supply."
"Mercy, lad, couldn't you have just said 'yes' or 'no', like any other with sense? Go to the front and check, and bring about a cup for the lady. After all her overall impressive trickery, she must be parched." He spoke of my imposter title without disdain or hatred, unlike Gehedrion and the man who had knocked me unconscious. For this I wish I could've summoned up respect for him, but my heart could feel nothing warm on this night. Or early morning, or whatever it was.
Frowning deeply, Gehedrion got up from his seat and slipped through the front flap, disappearing and speaking rapidly to the bandits at the driver's seating place.
As I waited for the drink to come, I glanced over at the old, a-little-more-than-middle-aged bandit and found him staring at me sternly.
Where Gehedrion had failed to intimidate, this bandit had succeeded, and soon I actually came to fear my predicament. I had been worried and furious before, but I never thought these seemingly stupid bandits could come to harm me. But the way this one spoke portrayed all the reasons his kind were feared.
"So then, imposter!" he barked commandingly, making me jump a little. "Have you any idea of the reason behind your glorious presence among us?"
Any desire for a muster of respect vanished instantly.
"If you place yourself in my shoes for a moment – "
"Oh, by any grace that can be mustered in this rotted world!" he exclaimed suddenly, his eyes wide with impatience. I was poked into annoyance. "What did I say that jolted you to call upon the godly?" I insisted, peeved. His severe expression returned like thunder.
"What did you say, you ask? Too much, I answer! You youths think it so grand to impress with words! Well, sorry to disappoint you all, but it is not! Not in the least! It's aggravating."
"To you, that is." I said a mite too sharply.
"To many others, I can prove, persistent wench," he snapped back.
My mouth fell open, and I could no longer think of water. "You filth! You knock me with a pan, kidnap me for no apparent reason at all, threaten me – no, BLACKMAIL me – and then have the nerve to call me a wench! That is a most disturbing conclusion forged by logic, I must tell you now."
His expression of stone did not change, so in turn neither did mine. "To set the record straight, I was not among the men to 'knock you with a pan', as you so excitedly put it. For that crime, you should accuse Gehedrion, Hinhma, Royleo, and Jonsol. And is that what they did? Low, no doubt. I will see to that later. I admit to being a captor of yours, in looser terms, though, but you haven't been so pure either. As we learned from a useful pair of eyes and a full red mouth, you seem to have prolonged your noble stay by seducing the Prince with your inborn charms. By our standards, you are a hussy, an enchantress, a sorceress – just like your people."
I felt as though I had been stabbed in the side – caused a multitude of pain, but not allowed to die… in this case, recover from. Never before had a slander towards my people affected me in any way, but strangely enough this one did now, coming from a man who thought he was speaking without judgment and purely from sense. He also touched a nerve when he mentioned Clement – I hadn't unconsciously played with his heart, now did I? But that was a ridiculous thought, a pure piece of nonsense. I had lost my heart too in the process, so I hadn't played him false at all – the love he gave me was returned. I just didn't know it until the end, until it proved to be a tad late. My heart turned over underneath my breastbone, and that old burden fell momentarily over my wits again, but I locked my jaw and matched the old bandit's gaze, filled with nothing but undiluted ferocity.
"What you say is untrue; had never been true, will never be true. I will not lash back with an ill-developed generalization to match yours; I harbor more honor in my heart than that. I know that I have been of some worth to others, and definitely more so than all of your men, and yourself. You may object, but I don't care. No one knows me better than I do, and this I know true. No one can tell me otherwise."
We stared at one another for a long beat, not speaking nor moving at all. We might've blinked once or twice, but that was pure impulse, not intended nor borne from fear or terror. After a few seconds, Gehedrion came through that accursed flap, carrying a clay cup filled with water.
"Here is that damned water you wanted so badly, you insufferable – " but he trailed off at the expression on the old man's face.
"Yukael, you sent me to fetch water, and I have brought it. Does she want it or not?"
The man called Yukael nodded gruffly, but fixed me with that flinty gaze. It was to me he spoke. "You will need the drink, woman, when you hear of our plans for you."
Taking the cup without bothering to be graceful – which resulted in a little splash of liquid onto Gehedrion's arm – I sent both him and Yukael sharp glances. "So there is a reason behind all this then? You are not after the possible reward for turning me in, am I right?"
"Oh no, you are far too valuable to us than that. We have a task for you to do… that is, if you value your freedom. Or, the freedom you had before. Under us and our threat, you can do nothing unapproved. You have only to carry out our task, and then we will let you go and cover your absence with a suitable story. It's that simple."
Doubtful, I gulped down my water, and then licked my lips, hastily and with harried thought. What were they up to? What did they hope to accomplish by using me, exactly? As far as I knew, no one had any reason to take any interest in me. In the noble society, I was barely known, and even the sordid reputation I carried was odious: the rude, apathetic, hermit, exotic noblewoman who was most likely an enchantress, ensorcelling the Prince under her every sultry word. I denied this every chance I got, but anyone who didn't know me well enough seemed unconvinced.
"I will make no promises; none of you frighten me. What is this task you insist I do before regaining my freedom?"
"None of us frighten you?" Here, Gehedrion laughed, although Yukael was the one who spoke. His outburst of sadistic mirth was sliced into silence by a supremely censorious gaze from the older man.
"That, my lady, is something I highly doubt. But that's an argument for later. You do not have so much time to make your decision, I'll have you know. By the time we get to Whitewhey, your decision must be made, and your mind willing to stick with it. If you refuse our offer of a way to obtain your freedom, I'm afraid we shall have to call justice upon you, and let the Royal Family know what sort of jest had been played before their very eyes. If you accept… then you will not regret it."
I wanted to snort, but I knew that would be a mistake; I sorely disbelieved they could have the nerve to call this an offer. This was no offer; it was a demand, with a threat. It was blackmail.
"Does this task bring about anything ill? Does it harm anyone, or kill, or steal?"
"Oh, no. No, no, no. Why call upon a woman to do that when a man can execute that without trouble? In fact, you may break a heart if you do not accept the proposition," Yukael said in a neutral tone. It was just like an old man to speak without passion on such topics.
"I am afraid that I couldn't care less what your bandits would feel."
"And what of your freedom and security of title? You are aware of the consequence for your deception, yes?"
I was very much aware. The cords in my neck stiffened. "Yes," I managed.
"Then this is what you will do: you will continue on with your noblewoman charade, but as another. We have prepared a name and identity for this new false character. We cannot have Prince Clement catch us all by hearing of the Lady Rozenta roaming the roads of Whitewhey, now can we? So you will be Lady Evetti, cousin of one of our men, who will also be masquerading as a nobleman. One of our men, Huvyl, will be Lord Huvyl, by your say. You will befriend a baroness by the name of Lady Asca, and try to match her up with Lord Huvyl, when you have her assured trust. It will be your responsibility to bring them together, in the terms of a couple. It will be dangerous, as she has recently been widowed and left with all the possessions and wealth of her dead husband, so she wouldn't want to be too social. But surely a girl like you can handle that, yes?"
I could barely come to terms with the demands he set for me. They were ridiculous, and absurd, and exploitive, and just plain vindictive, but there was something else about the demands that troubled me: they were barely what could be expected from bandits. Suddenly, I grew suspicious. What sort of bandits were these, really? It was either they were something more than bandits, or there was more to the story than they were willing to tell. I spat out, "But I cannot accomplish this! This is nonsensical! Do you expect me to really do this, to lie further?"
"We expect you to cooperate, Rozenta."
Another thing made itself known to me: they didn't know I was truly named Eszti. The servant Gehedrion coaxed was probably one that had seen me arrive as a Gypsy and knew of Clement's concealment of my presence. The right bed, indeed. They only knew the false mask I put on even as a Gypsy, and they considered that the real truth.
"That is all?" I snapped with derision, abruptly feeling weary.
"It sounds simple, does it not? Not a hard task… an easy way to win your freedom. You will keep all this a secret, and you will stay in the home we deem proper, and you will be under our control until this game is done. You will ask no more questions, and seek no more answers. Is that agreed? But do not forget that you are responsible for bringing Huvyl and Lady Asca together, which MUST ultimately result in marriage. It must. Do not forget."
The emphasis they put on 'must' and 'marriage' startled me, set anew my suspicions. Was this about money? Well, well, well. I decided to risk just one more question.
"This Lady Asca… is she rich?"
Gehedrion retorted before Yukael could. "What did we say about questions?"
"Is she?" I persisted, directing the question at Yukael. "Speak truly."
Yukael paused for a moment, his face unreadable, and then said, "No, she is not." I caught the incredulous look Gehedrion gave him right before he swiped it away. That was enough of an answer for me.
Impatient, I settled on the fur, trying to make myself comfortable, trying to convince myself that with rest, I could gather enough of my wits to find an easier way out of this. This was certainly about money, and I knew this would bring about an ill fate for this Lady Asca, but I had to be able to stay around and stay in the bandits' graces. Or wherever I stood in their minds and plans. It wouldn't do to be cut from their inner plots just because of a malign at my pride.
Trying to look pitifully helpless – and by now I was passing good at acting and pretending, so I could tell by their faces they were convinced (Gehedrion was looking sadistically gleeful again) – I sighed and covered my face with my hands in mock-anguish. "Yes, yes, fine, fine! I will do… whatever fool task I have been set to! You have my word on that. Only, leave me alone now. I want to rest. This has been a…" here, I paused with convincing despair. "… a terrible ordeal for me. To be away from those that do care for me, only to be replaced into the company of those who don't give a sixpence if I die so long as I get their absurdities into motion. Just let me rest." And to top off this great drama, I cringed into the corner of the wagon.
From the corner of my eye, I could see Gehedrion's evil smirk, saying "Yes, you Great Royal Fraud" and exited the flap with a hearty laugh. I was confused, just a little. He had seemed friendlier to me earlier, and then suddenly he's leeching delight out of my negativity. Perhaps it was something I said, or maybe it was the fact I had gotten him into trouble with Yukael.
"Rest well. You have plenty of work ahead of you, in Whitewhey, where we will meet Huvyl and your… client."
"Please tell the other bandits not to disturb me."
"I will let them know," he said, surprisingly polite. I thought a bit, looking towards the wagon entrance flap, and asked him, "What time of day is this?"
"Some hours after dawn. Perhaps a bit more than 'few'. When we arrive in Whitewhey, you will be awoken and fed breakfast."
"Mmm." And with a hassled wave of my hand, he exited, as quiet as the stone he somewhat resembled. In the bitter silence, I was left with only my pounding head, my thumping heart, and a desperate burden. If I thought myself unlucky in Clement's captivity, then I truly am spoiled. Oh, what to do… what to do… how to get myself out of this…
Trying to concentrate on a proper plan, I stressed myself, and with stress came a deep sleep. I could barely deny myself the pleasure of rest, but even then I was uneasy: my half-conscious thoughts were full of a face that brought me a feeling of shame, guilt, and yet… I wanted so much to see him again. To hear his voice, to feel his hand place the lily in my hair just once more…
Unconsciously, I put a hand to the lily in my hair, but it was no longer there.
o…o…o…o…o
Yukael passed through the flap and looked around at the other bandits, his stare in its usual hard demeanor. Hinhma was pestering Royleo again as Royleo drove the wagon, and Gehedrion was lounging, leaning on the wooden pole that supported one of the metal hoops of the wagon. Jonsol, who had aided in the capture of the girl, did not come with them to Whitewhey. He was to stay in Arvette and keep an eye on the doings of the Royal Family and on anything that may get in their way, and then report them to their organizer conman in Whitewhey. Yukael was amazed at the conman's skill at scheming, for he was not even a bandit; he had a reputation to protect.
The boy looked up at Yukael's entrance, with a rather spiteful look on his face. "Is the Signora sleeping?" he snarled. "Sleeping and satisfied?"
Yukael nodded, taking a seat beside Gehedrion. "Yes. She has asked that no one disturb her, but she is aware that she will be awoken when we arrive at Whitewhey."
Gehedrion snorted. "Naturally. You don't expect us to carry her around as she oversleeps, do you? And besides, I shall have fun having her awoken by a bucketful of water, up to the very brim."
This time, Yukael replied sharply, once again displeased by the lad. "You will not. We have not even enough water for that vengeful act, and we mustn't abuse her so. Otherwise, our plan will never come through, and our organizer will have our heads on a pike. Do you understand?"
Gehedrion did not respond immediately; he was lost in scowling at the floor in ill-concealed displeasure. Yukael didn't know what to do with the boy. Yukael was more than willing, at the beginning, to take the orphan under his wing and teach him what it took to be a bandit, to be a true outlaw. But something had happened to the boy somewhere along the line, and now he was almost impossible to teach. All the promise in him was now gone. Yukael wished he could have the Gypsy girl to teach in place of this brat. She showed true potential as a bandit, and she was an excellent actress, and she knew how to plot and bargain and conceal. She would prove to be an adept pupil.
Finally, Gehedrion spoke. "You favor her. You do!"
"She would be a good student, Gehedrion. She has excellent potential; what other choice is given me right now but to favor her? If ever she were a student, she'd be one of the best in my history."
A shadow passed over the boy's face, and it darkened with jealousy and rage. Through the boy's wrathful expression, Yukael could see deep hurt, hatred, and longing. He fights for my favor, Yukael realized after a moment. How could I have not seen it before? He is jealous of this girl. My words have stabbed him.
Oops, Yukael thought. Inside, he smiled grimly. He was going to have to be a bit more careful with his tongue; now, without knowing it, he had just caused a great mass of enmity between Gehedrion and Rozenta. How unfortunate. This may well be an undoing for one or the other. What folly I have just demonstrated.
Perhaps Yukael would've been more worried if he took one more look at his pupil; once Yukael had looked away, Gehedrion had stared at the flap that separated him and Rozenta. His face was alight with resentment and a silent swear of vengeance.
o…o…o…o…o
Noon came and went with the passing of a few hours, and still Eszti had not awoken. It was the bandits' great luck to have seen a courier – one of Jonsol's men, the bandits realized – riding on the same dirt road they were taking to Whitewhey and slowed him, inquiring of the condition the city of Arvette was now in. The courier did not speak, but gravely handed them a letter and uttered, "I've no time for a reply, and Jonsol knows that. Unless you've got some important message for me to send to him, I've got to be on my way. Farewell, and ride fast."
Befuddled by the urgency in the courier's demeanor and tone, Yukael had the honor of opening the letter – which was not signed by a name, as was Jonsol's style – and reading it aloud to the other bandits. The letter was short and concise, but full of foreboding.
Arvette has been thrown into a whirl by the girl's kidnapping. The Prince himself is calling a troop of riders to him, and he is leading a search for the girl throughout Merilian. He'll be riding through Whitewhey too, so keep a low profile and hurry! The Prince had left with his troop at noon, taking the head road through Merilian – the one that leads to Kione in the end. You'll find it interesting that he knows bandits took her. That little, big-eyed servant girl had seen us, and proved to be a threat to us after all.
Do not reply to this missive; it's too dangerous. If you've got anything to say, leave the message with Seban. He is trustworthy. Be safe, and treat the girl well, if you value your lives.
o…o…o…o…o
Afterthoughts: A long chapter, and one that was finished quickly. I'm finally being useful, aren't I? I have not much to say except that wise readers would keep an eye out for everything written about Lady Asca and everything written about this mysterious conman who had organized this plan.
I must say, I do enjoy taking my readers for an unpredictable spin. There is plenty more to come.
