Chapter 4: Bittersweet Remembrance

The Hero made certain to return many times over the next year, always coming exclusively to her. Grope became increasingly irritated by this; while Saber paid the price named, he monopolized Sophia's time during his presence (and quite often for a couple of days after), which cost Grope customers willing to pay handsomely for her services.

His ire increased immensely after an incident in which the Hero bought him drinks until he was uncomfortably drunk. The lecherous proprietor had repeatedly ordered Sophia to charge Saber several times the normal fee as revenge for this and numerous other problems he chose to lay at the Hero's feet.

After a couple of months of this, Saber had had his fill of Grope's antics, and had revealed his possession of the ownership papers and contracts. Grope had spluttered and cursed, then finally stormed out before the new owner could have the guards drag him away.

The result was a Bordello little changed, aside from her withdrawal from the offered list. Her new official duties consisted of nothing, though she had taken over the keeping of the books when Saber was away. During his visits, they simply enjoyed each other's company, often walking through the garden as they conversed. It was during one such time that the hopeful brightness of Sophia's world darkened once more.

With the cessation of her previous activities, her cache of gold no longer grew. She was now unable to earn the money to purchase her freedom. Her heart also ached for her friends, who were still trapped in the horrible occupation that had so long enslaved them. Thus, it was an easy decision to try to use her influence with the new owner on their behalf.

The discussion concluded less hopefully than she'd planned.

He hadn't turned the idea down outright, but he hadn't leapt at it, either. He'd simply listened as she made her appeal. Taking his silence as a bias against it, she'd decided to sweeten the deal by divulging the existence of her nest egg and had offered it up as a payment toward their collective freedom.

Saber had stopped her short at those words. He'd turned and stared fro where they stood at the gate up over the small property. Finally, he'd turned back to her and told her he would consider her words, practically biting out each syllable as he said so. As she gloomily returned to the house, she'd glanced back at him. She found in his eyes several conflicting emotions, not the least of which was a strong sense of hurt.

Now, the next morning, she looked back down at the bundle on the other pillow, her face pulling into a bittersweet grimace as she read her lover's note once more. The text was simple enough – he told her that he would honor her request and turn the property into a sanctuary. Toward that end, he was giving her the contracts and the deed to deal with appropriately. Indeed, she had but to look through the window to see the gate still barred and the guards simply…guarding.

The end of the note, however, broke her heart. Saber would not return to this place again. He was taking an invitation to the Arena in Witchwood, and then he would see what he would find to do. She at last had her freedom. Sophia couldn't help but wonder if her words had hurt him, and, in so doing, driven off the man she loved…

The other women had been understandably ecstatic at the news. They had danced and jumped for joy; Sophia couldn't blame them. Only Lucrezia had taken note of her mood. She sat down with her friend. "Are you all right?"

The former merchant heiress shook her head. "No." She began to sob.

Lucrezia pulled her into a hug. "Now, now, dear. Surely your Hero will be bac-"

The Samarkandian stopped as she felt Sophia tense; she pulled back to look the brunette in the eye. "As bad as that?"

Sophia cut to the chase. "He said he won't be back. I think I hurt him terribly by what I said."

The exotic woman smiled sadly at her. "If your man is hurting, he should tell you, not disappear."

Sophia shrugged and mutely walked back to her room. Both Lucrezia and Minzche looked in on her later.

The heiress simply stared out the window.

Sophia stirred from her reverie and mechanically went about her routine. The rest of the story was simple and obvious enough. She'd left the Sanctuary and come here to Oakvale. The village had needed a teacher; she had needed a job. They'd given her a house and a salary. That was over a year ago.

An intrusion came in the form of some of the village ladies all but swooning as they described a man in details that any of them would have blushed to have repeated. The teacher tried to disregard the ribald gossip, but soon resigned herself to not studying anymore until the ladies' conversation was over. In the meantime, she supposed there were some supplies she really should pick up.

She collected what she needed and walked toward the center of town and the shops, whose keepers regarded her with a healthy mixture of fear and respect. As she passed the entrance to the Memorial Graveyard, she couldn't help but notice a pair of weasely men trying their hardest (and failing miserably) to sneak into the graveyard without being seen. She rolled her eyes at the ridiculous sight and pressed on.

In the general store, Bart, the storekeeper, was busy haggling with a brawny-looking woodsman (who was likely the subject of all the gossip), so Sophia began to browse.

The haggling with the woodsman was getting rather intense. As she perused the shelves, she couldn't help but overhear the conversation between the shopkeeper and the woodsman. "I'm tellin' ya, we ain't heard nuttin 'bout any stolen jewels. An' just tryin' to get people to talk to ya will take some magic for a bloke workin' for Lady Grey."

The woodsman sagged in frustration. "Well, if anyone is able and willing to lend me aid, it would be greatly appreciated."

The response was delivered in a voice that chilled her. Oh, certainly, the tone was pleasant enough, but the precise diction and even the voice itself were familiar. The speech was clear, like someone who had traveled about a great deal and lost any regional vocal mannerisms. The voice she'd heard many times, in varying tones, such that she would recognize it to her dying day. It had haunted her dreams just last night.

She hazarded a glance at the "woodsman's" satchel near the shop door. As she'd expected, armor could be seen within. Sophia braced herself and finally turned her gaze to the face of the newcomer.

But no amount of preparation could have prepared her to once again see Saber.