That this chapter is here is pretty much entirely thanks to Patricia de Lioncourt. I told myself I wouldn't upload this one until I had the next one written, and thanks to her wonderful review I managed to sit down and dash off a chapter in pretty much a single night.
So: this chapter... has nothing to do with the last one. Or, well, very little. You'll see. I'll say it now: brownie points to anyone who manages to figure the various ins and outs of the plot before they're revealed—it's not too complicated. ;)
As always, many thanks to my capable beta, Kaj-Nrig. Much love and sunshine and other un-vampire-y stuff. (I haven't changed the dashes in order to be consistent with the lat chapter. I still have to look into it.)
Disclaimer: is found at the beginning of the fic.
The town was bustling: it was market day. The pungent odor of livestock mixed with the smell of ripe fruit, meat, dust, and people; the cries of merchants mingled with the exclamations of those they were haggling with. The moving crowd seemed almost to shimmer in the heat as people wove to and fro between the stalls.
Urchins and dogs prowled underfoot; some of the former were playing a game that involved dashing across the narrow market road just in front of pack mules, or other people, provoking angry shouts and oaths.
A little boy in a grubby brown tunic darted in front of a young woman, causing her to drop her basket in alarm. A number of dirt-encrusted mushrooms rolled out onto the ground.
"Gaétan," the young woman called reproachfully. The child stopped and turned.
"Oops. Sorry, Ilyena. I didn't know it was you." He grinned apologetically and scratched the back of his neck. The girl sighed and stooped to pick up the fallen mushrooms.
"You shouldn't play such dangerous games," she admonished. "You cause your mother worry. What if you were to be hurt?" The boy shifted from one foot to the other, looking faintly guilty. Ilyena sighed again, then straightened and smiled slyly.
"Instead of tempting fate, why not help your mother and mine weave? Or…" She looked around. "Why not help that poor woman get her pig across the street?" She pointed to the struggling old crone.
"What?" Gaétan cried, alarmed. Ilyena regarded him sternly for a moment, and as his shoulders drooped in defeat, she began to laugh.
"I jest, I jest! Go, play with your friends; I will do it myself." Putting the last of the mushrooms back in her basket, she put her hands on her hips; with a jaunty wave, Gaétan left to rejoin his friends, and Ilyena made for the old lady.
Just then, a commotion arose at one end of the market street, and a group of men on horseback hurtled around a bend in the road. People scattered like autumn leaves before them, for fear of being trampled. Ilyena, facing the other way, did not notice, for the market was always noisy.
The men were halfway down the market when she stepped boldly into the street.
When she noticed the pounding of horses' hooves, they were mere paces away. Running out of the way would perhaps have been the more sensible option; had Ilyena reacted immediately, there might still have been time to do so. But the thought of the old woman, whom she knew was behind her, flashed in her mind and, without thinking, she stood and cried, "Please, stop!"
She shielded herself ineffectually with her arms—but the expected blow did not come.
When she dared open her eyes, she saw that the man in the lead had halted the party and was now trying desperately to calm down his horse, which had reared up in fright. His men flocked to his aid, but only succeeded in further agitating it. As she stood rooted to the spot, heart hammering in her chest, a burly, black-bearded man dismounted and started menacingly towards her.
"You," he spat. "How dare you impede my lord's progress—even endanger his safety?" Grabbing her roughly by one arm, he threw her to the ground. Raising a fist, he said, "I will teach you your place—"
"Jacques. Enough," someone snapped. The bearded man froze as though he had been physically restrained.
"My lord…" he began uncertainly, and he turned to the man at the lead of the group, who had now managed to calm his steed. Ilyena's view from the ground was largely blocked by the horse, but she saw that he had light hair—she would almost have said it was white. Under the sun, it almost seemed to glow.
The man—nobleman—lifted a pale hand.
"We have no time for this." His voice betrayed his youth; it was commanding, but full of arrogance. "I must return to my father at once, and I require you by my side."
With one last malevolent look at Ilyena, the bearded man remounted his horse. Scarcely believing her good fortune, she scrambled to her feet and dashed out of the way before the horsemen departed.
She stood for a while, looking in the direction they had gone, eyes wide, breathing heavily, until a small voice at her side said, "Ilyena?" She started and turned to see Gaétan. He looked as terrified as she knew she must. She attempted a smile.
"I'm all right," she said, but it came out sounding forced. It was then she noticed two things. One, that there was a small crowd of onlookers staring at her (though most had started to resume their previous activities); and two, her mushrooms had gotten crushed by the horses. And not just the mushrooms, but the basket, too: she'd dropped it as she fell and hadn't picked it up. Ilyena sighed dejectedly; she would have to fetch another and begin anew. As she looked around, she thought ruefully that at least one good thing had resulted from the heart-stopping events: the old lady had not been trampled and had succeeded in moving her pig to the other side of the road.
"Gaétan," she said thoughtfully.
"Hmm?"
"Not a word of this to my parents, all right?"
Gaétan looked at her incredulously. "Word will get around anyway—it's just a matter of time until they find out."
Ilyena sighed. "I know."
---:::---
Jacques did not miss how his master glanced at him before throwing open the wide double doors. He knew the young noble abhorred speaking to his father, and as they stepped into the room, he was once more reminded of why this was so. The Count was a fearsome man, and every inch as arrogant as his son—if not more—without the benefit of greater education that his son had.
The Count stood as they entered. It was a habit of his. He loathed being looked down upon, either metaphorically or literally. Dressed in fine silks and a heavy fur-lined cape, he cut an imposing figure.
"Joachim," he greeted curtly.
"Father." The young man's shoulders were tensed.
"I must admit, I was surprised when you offered to take up the task—this is work more suited to your brothers. I take it by your presence that you were successful—or perhaps you weren't even able to find the bandits?" The Count folded his arms across his chest.
"We found them," Joachim bit out tersely. "They had a hidden camp up in the hills: we were able to ambush them. But I have something more important to speak to you of."
"I see. And is it so important that you had to interrupt my meeting?" The Count gestured with one hand at the person sitting in the chair opposite his: an elderly man with a military bearing, who was watching the proceedings with an amused air.
"Perhaps." Joachim inclined his head. "Father, the reason I wished to go was because I had suspicions about the recent attacks—they were too calculated. At the bandits' hideout, I found evidence that someone has been supplying them with food, weapons—perhaps even information on where and what to strike, though I can't say for sure.
"I believe someone may have been intending to use those bandits to stage an attack on your lands, or on this castle—on you."
The Count was frowning heavily by the end of this. "And you think," he said slowly, "that I do not already know of this?"
Jacques saw his master's jaw twitch. He knew why: Joachim had been the first to draw these conclusions, after seeing the bandits' camp. There was no way the Count could have already known.
"Next time you apply your intellect to something, be sure to bring me information my spies have not already informed me of!" The Count said coldly, and turned away—a clear dismissal.
"Fine." Joachim turned to leave, but stopped a few paces short of the door. "As you seem to be so well-informed," he said, "I'm surprised you haven't chosen to reinforce the castle's defenses."
Then, nodding for Jacques to follow him, he swept from the room.
"Master—" Jacques began, hurrying to keep up.
"It's fine." Jacques didn't need to see Joachim's face to know he was scowling. "Whatever that fool wants to pretend or do is his own concern. At least now he might pay more attention to the castle's security."
They stopped as they came to a rampart; Joachim braced himself on the edge and looked down for a moment before speaking.
"I think I will take a walk in the forest. I need to get clear of this place for a while. See to it that the kitchen prepares the game we hunted."
Jacques bowed low and retreated. When his master felt the need to escape the castle—which was not often—Jacques had learned it was best to stay well clear and not irritate him. It was safer, wiser, and all-around healthier.
---:::---
Ilyena sighed and sat down for a bit, resting against the rough bark of a tree, before getting up again. Her search had taken her quite far—much farther than she would usually go—but she had finally found a small patch of mushrooms.
As she laid her basket on the ground, she wondered for a moment who the fair-haired noble might have been. She didn't think he was related to the Count; although she had never seen the Count himself, his two sons—muscular, bearded young men, both— occasionally rode through the village.
She was uncomfortably aware that she was close to the castle. One encounter with the inhabitants of the castle was enough for her; she wasn't eager for another. Best be done with her task quickly and then head back home.
As though this thought had brought fortune's cruel sense of humor crashing down upon her, a voice sounded behind her.
"Poaching on the Count's lands? I could have you hanged for that."
She sprang upright with a gasp of surprise and fear, the basket tumbling from her hands. Whirling around, she saw the owner of the voice; the young, white-haired nobleman was lounging against the trunk of a tree with a supercilious smile tugging at his lips.
"No—no please I—I wasn't," she stammered, eyes wide. "I didn't know, I was just—just gathering mushrooms—"
The nobleman laughed—not maliciously—and she fell silent, confused.
"Relax," he said. "I'll do you no harm." He paused. "I was only jesting."
There was a thick pause.
"Wh... what?" Ilyena said incredulously. Instantly, her fear was replaced with boiling anger.
"You—how—how can you jest about something like that?!" Her voice rose almost to a shout at the end. In two strides she closed the distance between them and delivered a ringing slap to his cheek.
A painful silence followed as she realized what she had done. Shock was written across the nobleman's pale face; his cheek was slowly turning a delicate shade of pink. Immediately, she dropped her hand as though it had been burned.
"I'm—I'm so sorry, my lord—I didn't mean—"
"It's nothing." He lifted a hand and she stopped. Then he smirked slightly. "Although nothing gives you the right to strike me, I dare say it might have been deserved."
"Might have?"
"Possibly."
"…Thank you." She couldn't tell if she was being truthful or not.
The nobleman pointed at the ground slightly behind her. "You seem to have dropped something," he said. Looking down, Ilyena sighed as she saw the basket lying on its side.
"These wretched things seem to be determined to cause me trouble! If I never see another mushroom I will be content," she lamented as she knelt to pick the basket and its erstwhile contents back up. As she worked, she realized the nobleman was staring at her. The back of her neck prickled, and rather than suffer the silence, she spoke.
"Forgive me if I am too bold… but might I ask who you are?" She almost winced as she said it; it had come out far too indelicately. The nobleman paused before answering.
"My name is Joachim Armster."
"Armster? But that's the name of…"
"The Count? Yes; he is my father."
"But you look nothing like your brothers!" Ilyena really did wince this time: she had spoken without thinking. Luckily, the noble—Joachim—seemed to find it amusing.
"Fortunately, I do not favor my father in looks… or wit."
Ilyena bit back a smile, but noticed that although he had spoken lightly, there had been an edge to his words. She decided not to say anything further, and instead stood and faced Joachim.
"My lord willing, I shall take my leave." She bowed her head and, barely waiting for a nod of acknowledgment, strode past him. As she left, she wondered if he gazed after her. But she couldn't tell; she was no keener an observer than the next person—and the fair-haired nobleman unnerved her. She was not about to look back.
It was an inauspicious start, but nonetheless, a start it remained.
So... yeah. Joachim's human here.
This chapter is about 600 words longer than the previous one. And the next one will be even longer... which is good, at least for me. I abhor really short chapters, and I don't like to think I'm short-changing my readers whenever I update.
In all honesty, I'm not as fond of this chapter as I am of the last one, or the next one. I think I like Elena more than I do Ilyena, really.
Man, I really should work on how I finish my chapters. I don't like it at all.