Chapter III: Journey to Aquileia
"I would like to learn more about the story of Valdastico", Jacques said to Alisa as they rode on the large road past Thiene towards Marostica, on the first day of their journey.
Alisa was sitting onto a lithe roan mare called Fireflower, elegant and graceful, but strong and fast. The countess was dressed in male attire – she refused to travel in female clothes, as they were too impractical – and her bow hung across her back, strung and ready in case of need.
Alisa smiled at Jacques. "I really appreciate your interest about my hometown", she replied, clearly pleased. She paused to gather her thoughts. "Since the time of the ancient Romans, a road leading north to Trento crossed the Astico valley, but back then, the area was sparsely inhabited. The first castles and towers were built around four hundred and fifty years ago by the Bishop of Padua, as a defence against the Magyars descending from Hungary and threatening our lands. The first inhabited centre was actually a hospice of Benedictine monks, later turned into a nunnery called St. Mary in Valley, which is now led by my good friend the Abbess Caterina. In 1264, a new road was built, and at the same time, a fortress was established; in time, it became the castle you see nowadays. Alberico Malatesta was appointed with the fortress and given the title of Count of Valdastico. My father and I are direct descendants of Alberico. In 1311, the area's main town Vicenza became tired of Padua's tyrannical dominion and submitted to the Scaligers, the lords of Verona. Valdastico, being part of Vicenza's lands, followed its decision, but just a few years ago, along with other municipalities, we decided to be part of the Republic of Venice, which having a mostly mercantile vocation, promised stability and prosperity. Thus, the Winged Lion's emblem entered our house. The Scaligers, being busy enough warring against the Carraresi of Padua, chose not to fight the defection."
Jacques had listened with great attention. "So Valdastico changed lordship a few times: from Padua to Verona and now to Venice", he considered aloud. "This reminds me of France, where dominions change lordship following the most convenient political tide... For instance, several noble families and their lands supported England in our decades-long war, but, when France won, they changed sides."
"Aye, the world is pretty the same everywhere, I think", commented Alisa, quite matter-of-factly, and Jacques nodded in agreement.
They were silent for a while, then Jacques offered a new topic: "Are there thrilling legends regarding Valdastico? Epic stories from the past, battles, tales of star-crossed lovers...?"
Alisa smiled and shook her head. "Nay, nothing like that. However, there are a number of fables regarding mythical characters called anguane and salbanèi..."
"Tell me more, please", Jacques encouraged her. "I always loved fables."
Alisa raised an eyebrow in surprise at his statement. "Are you making fun of me, Jacques? Should I really believe that a tough, hardened warrior like you loves tales of fairies, wizards and legendary animals?"
"I would never dare making fun of you, Alisa", Jacques declared solemnly. "But aye, I truly love such stories."
"Oh... fine then", Alisa couldn't help but smirk. "Once upon a time, there was a clan of anguane living in Pria, along the river Astico. Know that the anguane are magical female creatures of the waters, who don't like humans interfering with their business..."
Alisa went on with the narration of a pretty ghastly tale of a widower who, one night, heard these fierce creatures singing and feasting noisily and, as he needed to sleep because he was a hard-working smith, he boldly demanded silence. The anguane fell actually silent, but the following night, they came and raided his house, stealing his baby boy to never bring him back as a revenge for having been disturbed.
Jacques was quite shocked. "And you're actually telling this kind of fables to children?" he asked incredulously.
"Aye", Alisa confirmed. "They're very good to keep kids in line, don't you agree?" She then laughed. "It actually worked well with me!"
Jacques chuckled. "So you were a little scoundrel?" he enquired. He could well depict her as a spirited girl.
"I was", Alisa chuckled in turn. "My mother used to call me a hellion whenever I gave her a hard time, but I know also that she was very proud of me, as much as my father was."
The captain sobered, although the ghost of a smile lingered at the corners of his mouth: he could depict her as a brilliant, smart and lively child, one he too would be proud to have fathered.
"Any other such appalling tales?" he prodded, arching an eyebrow at her.
"Oh, plenty", Alisa smirked, a playful glint in her dark eyes, and started a tale involving a wicked salbanèo – a creature similar to the French follet or the Irish leprechaun – who kept tormenting the priest of a church. The priest was so exasperated that he ambushed the puck and threw holy water at him, but as a result, he angered the sprite who burnt down his church in revenge, killing the priest in the process.
"Wait, but this means that these spirits cannot be driven away?" Jacques asked in disbelief. "In French folklore, there's always a way to get rid of them."
"Nay, you cannot", Alisa confirmed gravely. "You just leave them alone, and they will leave you alone in turn. If you ever chance crossing paths with them, show great deference and apologise for any inconvenience you may have caused them."
She looked deadly serious. Jacques suppressed the smirk that threatened to curl his lips and strove to look as much serious. "Understood", he said. He thought it was a bit ridiculous, but then, he recalled stories he had heard as a child in Normandy about similar episodes. They hadn't been narrated as fables for kids, but as true facts instead. "Aye", he said, with more conviction. "Better not offend them."
Truth or fiction, there was no harm in showing respect to unknown beings.
OOO
At the end of their third day of journey, Jacques was sitting across from Alisa at a small table in the bustling inn in Quarto d'Altino where they had stopped for the night. They had freshened up in the rooms the innkeeper had given them, and now their evening meal was spread out before them: a cereal soup, and roasted mutton with stewed mushrooms and carrots.
The journey so far had been uneventful, marked only by the quiet rhythm of riding and the exchange of stories and tales between Alisa and Jacques. The knight had decided to return the favour and had started to narrate legends and interesting facts from his homeland, much to Alisa's delight, as she loved hearing stories from far countries.
There was anunderlying tension due to the threat of Iacopo Bembo though, but three days had passed without incident, and this allowed both Jacques and Alisato relax and settle into a companionable silence as they dined.
The inn was lively, the air filled with the sounds of laughter, music, and the clinking of mugs. A feast was taking place, and the revellers had invited Jacques and Alisa to join in, but they had politely declined, preferring a quiet meal together at a corner table away from the noise.
Jacques took a sip of his wine; it was by far not as good as Valdastico's Prosecco, but it was decent enough. His eyes scanned the room with the practiced vigilance of a seasoned soldier, even as he tried to relax in the pleasant company of Alisa. However, the momentary peace was interrupted when a woman, clearly inebriated, staggered toward their table. She was young, with tousled blonde hair and a mischievous glint in her eyes. Her steps were unsteady, but her intent was clear as she zeroed in on Jacques.
"Bonsoir, monsieur," she slurred in French, her voice dripping with flirtation as she leaned heavily on the table, her gaze fixed on Jacques. "What a fine man we have here... I couldn't help but notice you from across the room. My my name is Giselle."
Jacques straightened in his chair, offering a polite smile but keeping his tone neutral. "Bonsoir, mademoiselle. May I introduce you to Lady Alisa Malatesta, Countess of Valdastico?"
Giselle barely spared Alisa a glance, her focus entirely on Jacques. Her eyes lit up at hearing him speaking French, and she leaned in closer, her smile widening as she gave him a generous sight of her cleavage. "A Frenchman! Oh, how it warms my heart to hear my mother tongue again. I've been so homesick, you know."
Jacques' expression softened slightly at the mention of France. He could understand the feeling all too well. "France is a land that stays with you, no matter where you go," he replied, his voice low and gentle, a hint of melancholy in his tone.
Giselle seemed to take his kindness and the softness in his voice as an invitation. She moved even closer, her hand brushing lightly over his as she looked at him with wide, eager eyes. "I've missed it so much", she murmured, her voice dropping to a more intimate tone. "But what I've missed most... is French love."
Jacques felt his breath catch as the implications of her words became clear. He quickly realised that what he had intended as a simple, empathetic conversation had been taken in a completely different direction. Giselle's hand lingered on his, her touch growing bolder as she attempted to intertwine her fingers with his.
He drew in a sharp breath, his posture stiffening as he understood her intentions. Giselle's gaze had turned from friendly to something far more suggestive, and Jacques could feel Alisa's eyes on him, not judgmental, just quietly observing the situation, and perhaps even slightly amused.
Indeed, Alisa was witnessing the exchange between Jacques and Giselle in a neutral state of mind. The Frenchwoman undoubtedly had had one mug of ale too much and this had given her the boldness to approach a fellow countryman for some divertissement. Alisa wasn't scandalised: she wasno delicate or prudish noblewoman living in an ivory tower, as she had dealt with merchants and soldiers for most of her life and knew well how he world worked. If Jacques would accept Giselle's offer, Alisa wouldn't think bad of neither.
Clearing his throat, Jacques gently but resolutely withdrew his hand, offering Giselle a strained smile. "Mademoiselle Giselle," he began, his voice calm but edged with a polite firmness, "while I appreciate your kind words, I'm afraid you've misunderstood me."
But Giselle was far too inebriated to catch the kind rejection. Instead, she giggled and moved even closer, brashly sitting onto his lap, her intentions now unmistakable. She took his hand again, this time holding it against her ample breasts, well highlighted by the plunging neckline of her simple dress. She leaned forward, her lips dangerously close to his ear. "Come now, monsieur," she whispered, her breath warm against his skin, "why don't we spend some time together? You, me... and your lady friend too, if she's interested."
Jacques's eyes widened in alarm, darting to Alisa with a mix of embarrassment and concern. His face expressed such a deep discomfort that Alisa felt amused, but at the same time, also sorry for him. He had clearly a high sense of honour and thought it extremely inappropriate being approached in such an unashamed manner in the presence of a lady.
The situation had quickly spiralled out of control, Jacques though; he needed to put an end to it immediately. He gently but tightly took hold of Giselle's hands, stopping her from leaning in any closer. "Mademoiselle Giselle," he said, his voice calm but with an edge of finality, "I am truly charmed by your attentions, but I must decline."
He carefully lifted her off his lap, rising to his feet and stepping away from the table. He moved toward the window, putting some distance between himself and the persistent woman. His posture was closed off, his expression carefully neutral as he looked out into the night, avoiding Giselle's gaze.
Giselle, realizing at last that she had been rejected, cursed under her breath, her face contorting with a mix of frustration and disappointment. "Your loss, monsieur," she muttered in a quite affronted tone, before turning on her heel and disappearing back into the crowd.
Alisa sipped at her goblet, watching Jacques thoughtfully. He could have acted rudely, pushing Giselle away, but instead, he had lifted her off his lap, not unkindly, and simply walked away. This spoke volumes about his courtesy and consideration for the gentler sex.
Jacques let out a quiet sigh, his shoulders relaxing slightly as the tension eased. He glanced back at Alisa, his eyes rueful. "My apologies, my lady," he murmured. "I did not expect such... enthusiasm from this wench."
He returned to his seat, though he remained tense, the incident clearly unsettling him. The lively atmosphere of the inn continued around them, but Jacques found it difficult to focus on anything other than the uncomfortable encounter that had just transpired.
"No need to apologise, Jacques", Alisa said softly, with a sympathetic smirk, omitting the courtesy title as she did whenever she wanted to highlight she was talking as a friend. "She is homesick and probably feeling lonely, you are a fellow countryman and in addition, a good-looking one, hence she took her chance. Too bad she was too drunk to grasp your rejection and you had to physically move away, but 'twas her fault, not yours."
Jacques' relief was apparent and his stance relaxed even further. Alisa decided to tease him a bit. "I wonder... What would you have done, if you were alone? Giselle is quite attractive, and very... friendly. Would you have accepted her offer? You're no monk after all."
Jacques frowned, perhaps uncomfortable, perhaps upset. Alisa laughed. "Just making a little fun of you, my friend. You don't need to answer, as it didn't happen and we never know for sure how we will act in a given situation until it actually happens, right?"
Jacques couldn't help but chuckle as he realised that she was behaving more like a comrade-in-arms rather than a noblewoman. Their easy camaraderie was growing, and he liked it a lot. He sipped his wine musingly, his gaze meeting Alisa's as they shared another quiet smile. Despite the lightness of their exchange, her earlier question lingered in his mind, stirring thoughts he hadn't expected. How would he havereacted if he had been alone? His eyes drifted back toward Giselle, who was now deeply involved with another man, her flirtations having quickly found a new target. The sight made him frown slightly, not out of jealousy or regret, but rather, it solidified his resolve.
Setting his goblet down, Jacques rose from his seat and held out his hand to Alisa. She looked at him with a touch of surprise but accepted his hand without hesitation, a clear sign of her trust in him. He helped her up with a gentle pull, and then, with a grace that spoke of his knightly upbringing, he bowed and ghosted a kiss just above her hand, allowing only his breath to brush against her skin.
When he straightened, his hand still holding hers, he met her gaze with a seriousness that hadn't been there moments before. "My lady," he said softly, his voice low and sincere, "I am convinced that my decision wouldn't have been different even if I had been alone. I am no monk, as you say, but I am no longer a young, foolish lad either." His eyes held hers, the depth of his words resonating between them. "When I first arrived, I told you I wasn't looking for these kinds of distractions, and I meant it. The wounds I carry run too deep for that."
For a moment, they simply looked at each other, the unspoken understanding between them growing stronger. Then, Alisa offered him a sympathetic nod. Jacques nodded back at her, and then he released her hand with another small, respectful nod. "Good night, Alisa," he whispered, he too omitting her title to show he was talking as a friend, not an employee. His voice indeed carried a warmth that lingered even as he turned to leave.
OOO
Alone in the small, but clean room the innkeeper had given her, Alisa was preparing to go to sleep. As she took off her clothes, she replayed in her mind the words Jacques had offered her about his reluctance to engage in what he had called distractions. She greatly appreciated a man capable tostay true to his word in such matters, because with the excuse – which she regarded as absolutely lame – that flesh is weak, too often even men of the cloth gave in to their carnal instincts. Alisa's opinion about such men was that not their flesh was weak, but their mind and will were. Jacques Le Gris had proved different, and her respect for him had grown stronger. Even more: she realised suddenly that she genuinely liked him. Only very few men in the world had earned her esteem, among them her father Galeotto and her late betrothed Riccardo. Jacques was proving worth to be counted in this small list.
One thing above all Alisa appreciated of Jacques: he treated her truly as an equal, with authentic respect, proven with facts and not words only. It wasn't the formal deference men usually showed to women, then dismissing their opinion as if they didn't matter; or, even worse, using women like tools, good only to please them, when not utterly abusing them. Despite the Venetian laws protecting the female population, Alisa had met men mistreating their wives, Iacopo Bembo being one of them. She shivered in disgust at the thought of sharing her marital bed with such a man. She had experienced love with Riccardo and would never settle for less. If she would ever marry, it would be out of love and nothing else.
OOO
The next morning, at the first light of dawn, they set out from Quarto d'Altino, heading toward Aquileia. The road of the last leg of their journey stretched ahead of them, the air crisp with the promise of a new day.
The sun was just westering when they reached the woods of Arvonchi, a little less than one hour and a half from Aquileia. They had favoured secondary routes during their whole journey, and this one was no exception. In addition, as it was a well-grown forest, it offered shelter from the heat of these unusually hot days of early September. Hence, when they entered the wood, they welcomed its coolness with relief.
Despite their concern about the Count of Asolo, the fourth day of their journey had progressed uneventful like the ones before. The ride had been pleasant, filled with easy conversation and moments of quiet reflection. Alisa had mainly spoken of the history of her fief, and Jacques had listened intently, absorbing every detail, every story she shared. Her words painted vivid pictures of the past, of the land she loved and had sworn to protect.
As they rode in the pleasant fresh shade of the trees, Alisa and Jacques laughed together at a particularly amusing anecdote she had recounted, the sound of their voices mingling with the rhythm of their horses' hooves. But just as their laughter began to fade, a sudden noise broke through the tranquillity, sharp and out of place.
Jacques tensed: his well-trained warrior instinct warned him about something amiss. His hand shot up, signalling for Alisa to fall silent. Instantly, their light-heartedness evaporated, replaced by a shared vigilance. Both of them straightened in their saddles, their senses heightened, their horses tensing beneath them as if they too sensed the shift in the air.
Jacques' expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the surrounding terrain. This was no ordinary sound: it was the harbinger of danger. The realization settled heavily in his gut. "This isn't right," he muttered, his voice grave. He turned to Alisa, his hand instinctively moving toward the hilt of his sword. "Prepare yourself, my lady. This is an ambush."
Alisa mimicked Jacques' gesture to reach for his weapon and quickly grasped her bow. "Whatever it is", she growled in response to his warning, "I'm ready to unleash hell, if needed."
As she notched an arrow to the string, her jaw clenched and her eyes flashing, her stance bearing no sign of fear, she looked like Artemis, the Greek goddess of the hunt and the wilderness.
Jacques took only a moment to admire her fierce appearance, then he focussed entirely on his duties, his senses on high alert. "Men, get ready!" he shouted, his voice cutting through the air as he drew his sword.
The armigers promptly grasped their shields and unsheathed their swords, with a speed that was the satisfactory result of the long hours of training to which Jacques had unrelentingly subjected them.
Just in time: about twelve armed men on foot, led by a mounted knight, sprang out from behind the large tree trunks they had used as hiding places, and charged them. They wore no insignia, although it was apparent that they were no ordinary highwaymen but professional soldiers, most likely mercenaries.
The forest, a place that should be of serene respite, became a battleground in an instant.
Alisa held her nerves and shot an arrow directly at the knight's horse, catching it in one eye. The poor animal neighed in pain and reared before collapsing, sending the knight tumbling to the ground..
"Good move!" Jacques yelled approvingly, but even as he praised her, his warrior's instinct screamed a warning. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of another attacker, sneaking up on Alisa's flank, his sword raised to strike. There was no time to shout a waning. Jacques reacted instinctively: his hand shot to his belt, pulling a dagger free in one fluid motion. With deadly accuracy, he hurled the blade through the air, sending it straight between the eyes of the assailant.
The man crumpled to the ground just as Alisa spun around, her eyes widening briefly as she saw the fallen attacker. She gave Jacques a quick nod of gratitude before turning her focus back to the battle. There was no time to dwell on close calls; the fight was far from over.
Indeed, Alisa wasted no time and notched a second arrow, looking carefully for another target. She fired with deadly precision and one of the attackers fell: Alisa's arrow had pierced him under his raised and ready-to-strike arm, one of the few weak points of a armoured soldier.
Jacques plunged into the fray, hacking his way through the swarm of attackers with a ferocity that was unmatched. His sword moved like a blur, cutting down anyone who dared approach. He was aware of Alisa behind him, her arrows flying with unerring precision, each one finding its target with lethal efficiency.
The battle raged on, the sounds of clashing steel and the cries of the wounded filling the air. Jacques was in the thick of it, his movements a combination of brute strength and calculated skill. But as he engaged another opponent in a fierce hand-to-hand struggle, he became entangled, their swords locked in a deadly embrace.
Out of the chaos, a shadow moved behind Jacques: an attacker, sword poised to strike him from behind. Jacques was too focused on his current opponent to notice, but Alisa saw it all too clearly. Without hesitation, she drew her bow, her fingers steady as she aimed. She released the arrow just as the assailant began to swing.
The arrow flew true, burying itself in the back of the foe's bare neck. The man fell instantly, his sword clattering to the ground before he could land the killing blow on Jacques.
Jacques broke free from his opponent, dispatching him with a swift slash before turning to see the fallen attacker behind him. He realized in that moment how close he had come to death, and how Alisa's quick thinking had saved his life. Their eyes met across the battlefield, a silent acknowledgment passing between them. There was no need for words; the bond forged in the heat of battle was stronger than anything they could say.
With the numbers of the attackers dwindling, Jacques fought his way toward their leader, who had managed to get back on his feet after being unhorsed. The enemy knight swung his broadsword in a powerful arc, but Jacques met it with a parry, their blades clashing with a resounding crash. The knight was strong, but Jacques had the advantage of speed and experience. He dodged the next heavy swing and, with a swift and precise thrust, drove his sword into the knight's side, piercing through his leather armour.
The knight gasped in pain, his strength instantly fading as he slumped to the ground, defeated. Jacques didn't wait for the life to leave the man's eyes; he turned, scanning the battlefield for any remaining threats. The Valdastico armigers had fought valiantly, holding their ground and cutting down the remaining attackers with the discipline that Jacques' training had instilled in them.
As the last of the assailants fell, the forest grew eerily silent, the sounds of battle fading into the rustling of leaves and the distant calls of birds.
Jacques wiped his sword clean on the tunic of a fallen enemy, his gaze once again seeking out Alisa.
She had dismounted and was moving through the aftermath, checking on the armigers and ensuring there were no severe injuries among their ranks. To Alisa's relief, none of her armigers was seriously injured, just a few scratches and a sprained ankle from a risky fall.
Despite the intensity of the battle, Alisa looked as composed as ever, though her eyes still held the fierce fire that had carried her through the fight. It had had been brutal. It had lasted barely ten minutes, but they had felt like hours. It hadn't been Alisa's first time though. She had travelled a lot with her father, and after his passing even on her own, with or without wagons, and several timesthey had faced assaults from highwaymen or marauders. Every time, they had succeeded in defending themselves; the only time things had gone badly had been when Bembo's men had destroyed her caravan, a few weeks ago.
Jacques sheathed his sword and mounted Vaillant, guiding him over to where Alisa was now remounting her Fireflower. He had to give credit to the mare for keeping her calmness throughout the commotion. He hadn't expected it, but clearly, she had seen other fights.
He urged his horse closer to Fireflower, his expression softening as he tried to assess if Alisa was unharmed. "Are you alright, Alisa?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.
Alisa met his gaze, her own softening as she nodded. Suddenly, she realised that she wasn't alone in this, that there was someone who was helping her carrying the weight on her shoulders. It was a comforting feeling. "I'm fine, Jacques," she answered, her tone steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. "Thanks to you." As she spoke, she felt the rush of adrenaline starting to subdue and her stance, still rigid, relaxed at last. "And what about you?"
Jacques offered her a small, reassuring smile. "And thanks to you," he added, his voice filled with quiet gratitude. "We fought well together."
Hearing his words of thanks and appreciation, Alisa returned his hint of a smile. "Aye", she confirmed. "We got each other's back."
She looked pensive for a moment. "'Tis strange, but... I felt as if we had done this forever, not for the first time", she added, looking at him quizzically. "How about you?"
A shout interrupted their conversation. "Countess, Captain, this man's still alive!" Sergeant Roberto called them.
They both leapt from their horses and rushed to him, who was standing next to the fallen knight who had been in command of the assailants. The wound Jacques had inflicted him was serious, but he had managed to crawl under a tree and was now leaning with his back against the massive trunk. He was bleeding copiously and he would surely not see another dawn.
Alisa kneeled down at his side. "Who are you?" she asked him sharply. "Who sent you?"
The man stared at her, panting, but didn't utter a word.
"Listen, you're going to face Our Lord soon", Alisa said, changing attitude and acting now more sympathetically. "Don't you want to lighten your burden and meet the Creator with a clear conscience?"
The man kept staring at her, but then, he let out his breath as if he had held it for too long. The awareness that these were his last moments dawned in his mind. Slowly, he nodded.
"Tell me who ordered this attack", Alisa pressed on, not without kindness.
"B... Bembo", the knight whispered. A trickle of blood ran down the corner of his mouth. "Iacopo Bembo of Asolo."
Alisa exchanged a look with Jacques. "The accursed man!" she swore under her breath.
The dying knight suddenly grabbed her hand, startling her; but his grip was weak as his strength faded. "My name's Mariano of Ortiga", he wheezed. "May the Lord forgive my sins..."
His voice trailed off, and he exhaled his last breath.
Alisa bowed her head. "Requiescat in pace", she recited. He had been an enemy and possibly a thug, but still, he was a Christian and as such, he deserved a prayer, as brief as it might be.
Jacques couldn't help but admire Alisa's compassion, even toward a foe. It was a quality he was beginning to appreciate more and more in her: strength tempered by grace and understanding.
He kneeled beside the lifeless knight, whose name they now knew. "Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine", he recited the short prayer for the dead, and blessed the deceased with the sign of the cross. After all, in his youth Jacques had taken the minor orders as a cleric of the Church.
His gesture didn't surprise Alisa, who was privy to Jacques' religious status. If anything, it pleased her that he was showing compassion to a fallen enemy. Then, she disentangled her fingers from the dead man and stood, turning to Jacques. "This confirms Puccio's intelligence about Bembo", she said; although her voice was tinged with bitterness, her expression was resolute.
Jacques rose in turn, his gaze still fixed on the lifeless form of the fallen knight. The revelation that Iacopo Bembo was behind the attack didn't come as a surprise, but it cemented the threat that loomed over ' jaw tightened as he silently cursed Bembo, the bastard who seemed determined to seize Valdastico and its beautiful Countess by any means necessary.
The French knight nodded in agreement with Alisa's assessment. "It does," he replied, his tone firm and unwavering. "But it also means we will stand as a force against this man. He will not succeed in his vile intent, you have my word."
Alisa's eyes met his, and she saw the determination in them, a resolve that mirrored her own. In that moment, Jacques' promise felt like a solid anchor amidst the turmoil they faced, a reassurance that she wasn't alone in this fight. The bond between them, shaped in mutual respect and now baptised in the blood of battle, was growing stronger with each passing moment.
As they mounted their horses to continue their journey, Jacques found himself replaying Alisa's earlier words in his mind: 'Tis strange, but... I felt as if we had done this forever, not for the first time. The thought echoed within him, resonating with an unexpected familiarity. He had felt it too: that sense of working in perfect tandem, as if they were a seasoned team rather than two individuals who had only recently begun to know each other.
It felt oddly thrilling.