Vindication

Chapter Four

Six years ago…

It should have been perfect, damn it.

He'd been planning this for weeks—months even. Three whole months they'd gone without seeing each other. It had been this way since they had been deployed, three months apart and then barely a week together before returning to duty. Stationed at Deidon Hold, he often found himself standing on top of the fortress in the evenings and looking towards Capua Nor. Not that he could see her, of course, but it brought a bit of comfort to know that she was in that direction.

Every day was the same for him and even that didn't change a month ago when he earned his promotion. Awake at dawn, patrol the plains, kill the monsters, protect the capital and travelers headed in that direction. It was dull, boring work but he never complained. He just looked forward to the end of each day. Every evening he would eat supper, climb to the top of the fortress, write her a letter and then, in the privacy of the pathways atop the massive structure, practice with the guild weapon—a folding bow—she had given him.

It was a routine and though writing each day might have been considered obsessive, he knew how terrible army mail was and thus, of each ten, he could count on her to get one. She'd write back, telling him of her days in Capua Nor and how she was often selected to sail on the ferry to Capua Torim. She liked these assignments. Travelling on the sea, no matter how short the voyage, was something she enjoyed. Her letters never came often enough, though. After reading each one, he'd long for the next, praying it would arrive before his next leave.

Leave was a precious commodity. He would travel to her since it was easier that way and there were certainly more things to do in Capua Nor than in the fortress. This time, he had something special planned. This time, in the late spring, when the nights were warm, he took her to the bridge in the town. They'd stood there countless times before, watching the boats come and go and chat as the sun disappeared beyond the horizon. It was their place.

His hands were nervous with sweat and he kept wiping them on the pants of his uniform. His stomach was twitching with anxiety but he decided it was time to do this. He'd saved as much as he could over the past four months. His salary wasn't anything particularly spectacular, but the promotion had given him a bit more to enjoy. And thus, when he saw the perfect ring being peddled by a traveling merchant, he bought it without a second thought.

As twilight fell, she stood next to him, holding his hand and asking a question he didn't hear. She pressed the tip of his nose with a finger. "Are you even paying attention to what I'm saying?"

He grinned at her, but it felt sloppy for some reason. "Oh, of course," he stammered. It was a blatant lie.

"Right," she snorted playfully. "Anyway, want to get a drink? The tavern is usually pretty tame this time of evening."

"In a bit," he replied, putting his hands under her arms and lifting her up. Either she was getting lighter or he was getting stronger. He hoped it to be the latter as he set her down to sit on the edge of the bridge.

"You're not going to throw me off?" she teased, kicking her legs as she perched there in the position he placed her. "That's refreshing."

He tried to laugh but his breath caught in his throat. His mouth was running dry and he swore his legs were shaking underneath him. A few passersby had stopped. Apparently they knew what was going on, even if he wasn't sure that he was doing this right. Palms still sweating, he took a small box out of his coat pocket and placed it in her hand.

She raised a brow at him. "What's this?"

With his heart racing, he kneeled in front of her. "Open it. I'm not too good with coming up with things to say at times like this, so…well, you'll get the idea."

As she opened the box, her expression wasn't one that he had expected. Though nothing about her was predictable, he did imagine her to have a bit of enthusiasm or excitement or affection for him. But there was nothing but silence on the bridge and terror in her eyes.

He found his voice somewhere between his dry throat and his heart grating against his ribs. "Well?"

Tears welled in Casey's eyes as she confirmed his fear. "Schwann, I can't."

Three words. Three words he didn't expect to hear. Three words and it was all over. Just like that. Mortified, he stood up, noticing the people behind him who thought they were about to witness something romantic still hadn't dispersed despite her refusal. He glared over his shoulder at them but they remained.

Tears slipped down her face as she clutched the small box and slid off the wall. "I can't. I love you, and I will swear my life to yours, but I can't marry you."

"That makes no sense," he said, looking away from her. He wanted to jump off the bridge. There was no point to any of this now.

He felt her take his hand as she looked over his shoulder. "We're being watched."

Jerking away from her, he said nothing.

"We're too young, Schwann," she said, her voice trembling on the weakest of excuses.

He turned away. He didn't want to look at her. He didn't want her to see what she was doing to him. "We're nineteen. I'll be twenty in six weeks."

"Still too young," she said, stepping closer.

His reply was a mutter that sounded like it had been drenched in vinegar. "My mother had me when she was sixteen."

"That was a mistake," she said, before realizing the implications her words would have. Reaching for him, she stammered, "I…didn't mean it like that. I just meant…well, Captain Rosalind told me that her second cousin—your father—he wasn't a very nice man and that he likely—"

He shoved her back. Right now, he cared not to hear her voice much less what she was saying, even though he knew it to be the truth. "Just go away."

She was begging now, her hands folded in front of her as she tried to chase the last of the onlookers away with a scowl. "Schwann…there's more. Let's go back to the inn. I'll explain it there."

Spinning around to place his hands on top of the bridge's wall, he kept his back to her. "I don't want to hear any more about the 'mistake' that I am."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Go back to the inn yourself. I want to be alone right now."

"Schwann…" she said, her voice trembling against tears as she set the box next to him.

"Go," was the barely discernable grunt. "Go away, Casey."

When he was certain she was gone, he threw the box over the side of the bridge.

***

Hours passed. Night fell. Children were called indoors. Merchants packed up their shops and carts. The tavern had long since closed. The last of the drunks had made their way to wherever they intended to sleep. Capua Nor was dead. Life may have stopped for the time being, but he failed to notice.

In those hours of stillness, a bitter, pelting rain began. It was too fast to be romantic and too cold to be comforting, though he wanted neither of those things. On and on for hours it went, not once letting up for even a moment. Even as the moon rose to its highest point in the sky, the tiny sliver looking like a thumbnail peeking out from the clouds and darkness beyond, the rain had still yet to relent.

Despite the weather, Schwann still stood on the bridge. His hands gripped the rough concrete that made up the wall. Even slicked with rain and tears, the small bumps dug into his skin with each moment and each tightening of his grip. He was going to strangle that bridge. It was the only thing left to do since nothing mattered anymore. Nothing.

Footfalls behind him approached, cautiously, delicately. He didn't even have to lift his head; it was her. Perhaps she had come back to kill him. He decided that would be the most merciful thing for her to do at this point.

Casey called his name, but he didn't look at her. He couldn't look at her.

He couldn't feel the cold or the rain anymore. He couldn't feel anything. "What do you want? The room is paid for. Go back. Go to sleep. I'll come get my things in the morning and you won't have to see me ever again."

"Schwann, I don't want that," she said, her steps sloshing through the puddles between them.

"Then what do you want?"

"I want you," she said simply and with finality as she tried to put a hand on his back. "I just want you."

He shrugged her off of him. "I don't want you since I'm only good enough to fuck and not good enough to marry."

"You don't get it," she sighed, moving around to lean against the wall, forcing him to see her face.

Pushing himself up, he crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her. She was soaked through her clothes and her matted blonde hair snaked on her cheeks. "I think I damn well do. Just go find another guy to sleep with. That seems to be all you care about anyway. I bet you could find one in that tavern that would be all to happy to—"

Before he could finish the thought, his face stung as her hand made fast, brutal contact with his cheek. "Shut up! Stop feeling sorry for yourself and just listen for a moment! This isn't just about you, Schwann!"

He drew himself to his full height of nearly six feet, standing at perfect attention just as he'd been taught and glowering down at her. "It's fine. I'm done with you and this ridiculous excuse for a relationship anyway. Just go away, Casey."

She stood in front of him, her lips pouted as her eyes closed. The rain kept slapping both of them as she whispered, "You don't believe that. You don't believe this was a sorry excuse. You can't believe that. Not after all these years."

He shook his head, his drenched dark hair spraying drops all around. "Just go."

She held her ground. "Schwann, I don't want to go. As much as you scare me when you're like this, I want you to understand why I can't accept."

"You already said it. We're too young."

"That's not all."

"Well, I know the other part," his voice was soft but the words were pointed. "The Union boss's daughter isn't good enough for Imperial trash. Don't rub it in."

"No, listen," she sighed, pulling her sopping hair behind her head and futility trying to wring it out. "The guilds don't believe in marriage."

"That's stupid. Why not? Easier on the conscious when you wake up next to some strange man?"

"No," she said, clasping his right hand in both of hers. "Marriage is an institution of the empire. We don't practice their laws. We don't want to do anything their way. We have our own ways and our own traditions."

"Of course you do," he said, pulling his hand from her grasp. "So, let me guess. You don't marry people. You just fuck whoever you want. Great. Have fun with that." He took a few steps back. He had to get away from her.

Casey was still not ready to surrender. Grabbing onto his sodden shirt, she pulled him with such force he nearly lost his balance. "You can hate me all you want but I at least deserve to explain myself."

"Hurry up," he answered, glancing away. "Looking at you just makes me want to jump off this bridge."

"Schwann," she sighed. "The guilds practice a different sort of ritual for commitment than marriage."

"Let me guess, multiple wives? Multiple husbands? How barbaric. Go back to your fucked up traditions since you love them so much and leave me alone!"

She raised her hand to slap him again but he caught her arm and forced it back down to her side. "Shut up and let me finish! We swear our lives to our life mates but we don't require an official document of a ridiculous, overbearing government to approve."

"That's just an excuse. You're not in a guild. You're a knight."

"I'm still a member of the guilds," she whispered as she reached to touch his face and brush the pathetic, limp twists of hair out of his eyes. "Besides, the Union boss' daughter married to a knight? Think of the implications that'll have on your career, Lieutenant Schwann."

He didn't push her away. As angry as he was with her right now, he couldn't hate her. He tried hating her in those hours he was alone and he couldn't do it then and he certainly couldn't do it now. "You're a knight." It was more of a sigh than a sentence.

"But I'm also the daughter of the enemy of the empire."

"No one knows that," he said, absently drawing her into his arms.

She pressed her cheek into his chest. "I'm sure someone does. And if not, they'll find out. When they do, it would be the end of you and your goals to stop the corruption and bring equality to the people from inside the knights. You know this, Schwann."

"You're either a knight or a guildsman. You can't have it both ways."

"I have to have it both ways," her voice muffled by the soaked fabric of his shirt. "I need both you and my father. You're my best friend and the one person in this world—besides my father—that I trust my life to."

He didn't release her and the words were tender despite their painful message. "You don't need me. You just proved that to me."

She sobbed into his chest as her hands wrung the water out of his shirt. "Damn it, Schwann! Are you that dense? Can't you see?"

"See what?"

She lifted her head to meet his eyes and her tenor carried the truth in her heart as she spoke. "I love you. I would gladly become your life mate by my own traditions, but I cannot marry you by yours. Doing that would be a slap in the face to my family. I love my father and as someone who was born into the guilds I must adhere to our beliefs, even if I have chosen to live among the knights and the empire."

He didn't look away. He followed her glances, as if their eyes were playing a game of chase. Long moments passed as they just looked at each other, the rain still caroming mercilessly on their skin. The water below crashed against the pillars of the bridge as if keeping time as they stood in silence. He rested his cheek on her head, the scent of the flowers she'd rubbed into her hair bringing back memories of happier times. He let her stay there, curled against him. It felt right. It would always feel right.

He knew she was waiting for him to say something. So, he whispered, "What does this guild ritual entail?"

"Two knives, our words and each other. That's it."

"Knives?" he asked, kissing her forehead.

"They're more useful than rings, wouldn't you say?"

"I…guess."

She took his hand, entwining her fingers with his before kissing it. "Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"Would you do this with me?"

"Would you have asked me had I not asked you to marry me?" he asked, glancing down at a huge puddle and noticing just how much of a mess he looked.

"Yes," she whispered, kissing his cheek.

Her breath was a welcome touch of warmth in the shivering rain. "When?"

"I was going to wait until the winter, when we'd have a longer leave."

He sighed, deep and long before looking into her dark eyes. "I love you, Casey. I'm sorry for the things I said. You know that I believe that love allows for all our failings, but I don't know if you're willing to forgive me or if I even deserve to ask for your forgiveness."

She brushed his hair from his eyes and then traced her fingers down his dripping cheek. "I am, and you do."

"So, do I need to be in a guild to do whatever it is that you do in lieu of marriage?" The question sounded harsher than he had intended, but she didn't seem to mind.

"No. It has nothing to do with anyone but us."

He squeezed her tight against him and whispered into her ear. "Let's do it, then. If you'll have me, I mean."

"Of course," she said, slipping her hands around his waist and returning the tight embrace. "Right now?"

"We can do that?"

"It's just between us. We can do it whenever or wherever we want." She smiled at him. "Now is perfect."

He placed a chaste, tender kiss on her lips. "All right. Now, then."

She stepped back from him, passion and warmth filling her eyes. She pulled the slender, short blade she wore on her belt from its sheath and smiled at him. It was an exquisite piece of weaponry—one she had always carried. While the blade itself was impressive, the hilt was downright beautiful. Wrapped in brown leather, it was adorned with red designs and long, ornate gold tassles. Holding it between her teeth, she rolled her left sleeve up to her shoulder, fighting the wet fabric the entire way.

Taking the blade back into her hand, she moved it in two quick, elegant motions, leaving a simple, bleeding "x" etched into her arm. Her words came with an intensity that showed she had practiced this numerous times, looking for just the right way to say it. "I, Casey Whitehorse, full member of Altosk, dedicated member of the Union and sergeant of the Imperial Knights pledge my life and my soul to you, Schwann Oltorain. I swear this on the blood I draw and the knife I present to you in honor of this moment."

With that, she placed the stained blade into its sheath and gave it to him. Licking a finger, she helped the rain wipe the blood from her arm. "Now it's your turn."

It was so different and yet simple, so flawlessly simple. He was back to being nervous and excited at the same time, just as he was hours ago. At least the rain would mask the sweat on his palms this time around. "What do I say?"

"Whatever you'd like. What I used is considered traditional—in Altosk, at least."

"All right," he said, pulling his knife. It was a plain, ordinary one. Standard issue to the knights and not nearly as impressive as hers. Rolling up his right sleeve, he could feel his hands shaking. It wasn't the wound he was worried about. No, a little pain was nothing to him. It was the words. Damn the words.

She was smiling at him, waiting for him. Holding his breath, he cut into his arm just as she had. Then, he bit his lip and hoped the words would come. Miraculously, they did. He felt strong saying them, proud even. "I, Schwann Oltorain, lieutenant of the imperial knights, pledge my life and soul to you, Casey Whitehorse. I will always protect you. I will always love you. My life is yours from this point forward. I swear this on the blood I draw and I knife I give to you."

Her eyes were glassy as she took the knife and sheath from him. Covering the wound he had inflicted with her hand, she attempted to shield it from the rain. "That was perfect. Just as I always imagined it would be from the time I was a little girl." She brushed her lips against his cheek. "Perfect, Schwann. Perfect."

"Really?" he asked, still amazed at the simplicity of the ritual. It was better than a formal, imperial marriage. It was, as she said, just perfect.

"Well, maybe I didn't imagine it with the rain," she teased, kissing his cheek again.

He grinned and wanted more, so he took it. Gently cupping her chin, he gave her a full, deep, passionate kiss that sealed their words to each other. When it finally broke, he asked, "Now what?"

Twirling his bangs deftly around her finger, she replied, "Now, we go to the inn and dry off."