by Arden Ellis
"My lord, I didn't—"
"Please, ser, you need not justify yourself to me. That you dispatched with those who might have stood in our way shows great moral character." Kenilworth waved her objections away like flies, and Wright bit her tongue. "What matters is that you have carried out your orders, as I always knew you would. So." Kenilworth leaned forward, his eyes gleaming in the gray light from the windows. "The Counteragent, Wright. Let me see it."
Wright shook her head, confusion and anger tightening in her throat. If she was to kneel here and be judged for all her sins, she could recount them to the last. Honesty was a knight's essential virtue. She would trust in her lord's judgement and mercy, as she always had. "I don't have it."
Kenilworth stared at her, the eagerness in his eyes guttering out like a candle in a sudden draft. "You don't have it."
"No, my lord. The research—"
"You recall my explicit orders, yes? The exact parameters of your mission?"
"Yes, but—"
"And you remember, also, my displeasure with your previous failure? My sincere hope that you were to redeem yourself?"
Wright closed her eyes and bowed her head once more. "Yes, my lord."
The silence was as tense as a drawn bowstring. From the direction of the throne, the sound of shifting robes, as dry and papery as a snake's skin. His measured footsteps approached her and stopped at the edge of the dais.
"And yet, you still return." There was a note of something almost like wonder in his voice—but there was a mocking laughter to it, too. "Even in your utter failure, you manage to impress."
Wright tightened her jaw and looked away, the hand of her injured arm clenching. "It was the honorable thing to do."
"Honor. Of course."
How had she missed it? For so many years she had knelt in this very spot, received her orders under the sacred trust that her lord knew better than she what constituted right and wrong. That when he spoke to her of necessary evils, it was because he understood the greater good in ways that she could not. She had hardly dared to question his orders. It had been easier, simply to believe.
When he spoke of honor now, Wright heard the wry irony in his voice. Self-disgust wrenched in the pit of Wright's stomach, akin to physical pain.
"So, then." His next step forward brought the hem of his robe into view of Wright's lowered eyes. Its hem was brown with dirt. "Your companions are dead; a trained knight, an experienced mercenary, and an alchemist whose primary point of experience lay in traversing dangerous godsruins. If you did not kill them, where exactly are they?"
Slowly Wright raised her head. She met her lord's gaze without hesitation, her own eyes level as a drawn sword. "Dead, my lord."
"Dead," he repeated. His cloak of woven godscloth hung limply on his shoulders. "Explain."
"We had not been long across the border when we were discovered by Lord Tintagel's men. Ser Kai and the mercenary were killed before we could reach our objective. I arrived at the research station with Preston alone."
The lie came easier than Wright expected. Perhaps part of her had come prepared to lie about her companions' whereabouts. The thought of what might have happened if she had disclosed that they were alive and possessed the closest thing to a Counteragent the world was likely to see made a cold sweat break out on her back.
Kenilworth raised an eyebrow. "And what did you find there?"
"Only the curse." Wright held his gaze, daring Kenilworth to question the tremor in her voice. "There was nothing left untainted. Preston refused to accept that his life's work had been in vain—I could not stop him. He went inside and perished." She swallowed dryly. "They all died honorably. In the service of the mission."
"How wonderful for them. And yet you escaped with your own life—and nothing more to show for it." Then, his manner changed. His eyes softened; a faint smile tugged at his lips. It was the same look of fond indulgence he wore during her lessons as a child, or when she had sworn her fealty to him and taken her oath as a knight.
She had to look away, lest he read the betrayal plainly on her face.
At last, Kenilworth sighed. She heard the creak of his soft boots as he turned away, ascending the stairs to his throne before settling back into it. "You understand the difficult position you have placed me in, ser knight. I have given you food, shelter, protection, training—and yes, even love, Wright. You were the best of all my vassals; the favorite of my children."
Wright could almost feel the dry brush of his claws closing in around her. Once, such words would have forgiven any evil. Now she could plainly hear the artifice in his voice.
"The debt which you owe me can never be repaid," Kenilworth said quietly. "You know this, Wright. You swore it to me when you knelt first in fealty. When you serve me poorly, you are stealing every mouthful of food, every sip of water, every minute of every day that I spent on you. Do you agree?"
His voice was so terribly gentle, speaking poison as if it were reason. Wright's nails dug into her palm as she forced the words past her teeth. "Yes, my lord."
"I knew you would. Just as I know you will accept the consequences of your actions." She heard him settle deeper into his throne, could imagine the way his gaze would rise to the high windows on the opposite side of the chamber, remote in his judgement.
"By the end of this day, you will surrender your weapons and armor to the quartermaster and submit to the gaoler for a term of my own determination. No, no—that will not be necessary," he said, raising a hand to halt the guards who detached from the wall to flank Wright on both sides. "Ser Wright has never run from her duty. She will do as she is told."
Shame wormed its rotten fingers deep into Wright's chest. She could only nod in response.
"Oh, Wright." His tone was fondly chiding. "Do not despair. This is only a temporary punishment; an opportunity for you to meditate in solitude on your mistakes, until I deem you ready rectify them. It will make you stronger, ser. Remember that."
"I will, my lord." The tremble of fury in Wright's voice was easy to confuse with distress. When at last Wright rose to her feet and beheld Lord Kenilworth for the last time, the man slouched on the throne was almost unrecognizable. Once she had seen a great man, a wise man, a man who would do what was right. The gems on his garments had seemed a mark of his station, the cape of godscloth rare and fine; now the glimmering on his tunic looked gaudy and false, and his cloak like one of motley.
She left him then, turning her back on his brooding form and stepping out of the pool of light. The shadows of the throne room gathered close around her as her footsteps echoed on the stones. The door awaited her, a sliver of light. The steward in the waiting room returned her travelling sack to her; she had been summoned here straight from the stables, with no time even to remove her armor. She was hardly aware of the path she took, until she found herself pushing open the door to her old quarters, staring blankly into the empty room beyond.
At last, she stepped over the threshold. With a dull thump, her traveling bag slid from her good shoulder onto the floor. The room was just as she had left it, though garnished with a light layer of dust. The floors and walls were bare of ornament. Her simple dresser contained nothing more personal than a spare set of clothing. In the corner, her armor stand waited, skeletal and empty.
Slowly, she sank down onto her cot. Her heart was pounding as if she were in the midst of a pitched battle. She had only been gone a handful of weeks, though it felt like a lifetime had passed—or perhaps, like a second lifetime had shouldered its way into hers, a story belonging to a stranger.
Wright's gauntleted hands clenched into fists, the leather and metal creaking. She stared at her hands until she could force the fingers to open and raised her eyes to the blank walls around her. If this place had ever been home, it was no longer. When Wright thought of home now, it was her companions' laughter which came to mind; Preston's furrowed brow as he squinted at his papers, Silva's missing tooth—and eyes, gray eyes, which stared into her li
ke a sword driven straight through her chest, if such a wound could feel so sweet.
Wright was on her feet before she was fully aware of her decision, stepping up to her drawers to empty them onto the bed. Lord Kenilworth was correct about one thing; Wright had always done her duty. It would not occur to him to warn the guards not to let her pass the gate; the idea that she would disobey would never even occur to him. No one would be looking for her. By the time they realized what she had done, it would be far too late.
As she opened her travel bag to stuff it with the last of her worldly belongings, she found herself staring down at the red keep on the green field—Lord Kenilworth's insignia on her tabard, waiting at the top of her pack for her to proudly don it again. Slowly, she lifted it free. The material was dingy with the grime of the road. Something in her chest twisted like a strand of barbed wire being slowly tugged free.
She folded the tabard, very neatly, and placed it in her empty dresser. Those who found it would assume the worst.
They would not be wholly wrong.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Her second journey into Lord Tintagel's land was uneventful, but for the hard beating of Wright's heart whenever she thought of how few the miles were to go. She wore no colors but the undyed wool of her tunic, and followed the secret routes Silva had helped her plot. Her armor clanked occasionally from her saddlebags, safely tucked away.
When the familiar low stone wall came nuzzling up against the road, Wright knew she was close. The guard outside the town glanced at her warhorse in askance—until he saw her face. She recognized him instantly; he had sparred with her during the long days of waiting for Kai to awaken. With a nod, he let her pass.
She knew the way to the hospital well by now. It took all her self-control not to dig her heels into Farstride's sides and send him galloping the rest of the way. Her hands were clumsy with anticipation as she tied Farstride's reins around a hitching post and approached Tavir's door. This time, no guards stood ready to jab a spear into her throat. She simply stepped inside and followed the hallway to the one room which had filled her thoughts for all the days of her journey, so clear in her mind she could have stepped right into the memory itself.
She did not know what would happen when she faced Kai again, free of her lord, her duty, her self-righteousness—well. Kai would no doubt contest the latter. The thought made Wright's lips curl up in an unconscious smile. Perhaps Kai would chide her for being gone too long, or pretend she hadn't felt Wright's absence at all—or perhaps, perhaps Kai would reach out to her, would set her hand against Wright's cheek and say that all was forgiven.
Unlikely. But a tempting thought.
The hallway was empty but for the murmurs and coughs from other rooms; the door she needed was just before her. Taking a steadying breath, which did nothing to wipe the smile from her lips, Wright pushed it open. "Kai—"
One foot over the threshold, Wright froze stock still. The bed was made—the room was empty.
"So. You're back."
Wright turned around to see Tavir waiting just outside the door, one eyebrow raised. Her eyes swept over Wright's garb, noting the lack of her lord's colors. "I hope you haven't brought more trouble."
"Actually, I had come to retrieve it." Wright glanced at the bed behind her, the empty space where Kai should have been. "Has Ser Kai been moved to a new bed? Perhaps she recovered faster than expected?"
Wright hated the plaintive hope in her voice, yet could not fight it down. Tavir tilted her head, her expression unreadable. "In a manner of speaking. She left town this morning."
"She left?" The questions and confusion bottled up behind Wright's teeth, nearly choking her. "Why would she—was she even capable of riding? How could you let her go?"
Tavir waited until Wright's questions stuttered to a halt, her expression patient and unmoved. "To answer your questions in reverse order: I am not her jailer, she managed to get into the saddle unaided, and I could not stop her for long enough to determine the cause of her haste."
Wright forced herself to take a breath, and slowly unclench her fists. "Do you know at least which direction she went?"
"She took the road towards the coast." Wright stood motionless, thoughts tumbling through her head like a maelstrom. Towards the coast there was nothing but unfriendly towns, enemy soldiers, and—ah. At once, the pieces began to fall into place. As Wright turned to leave without another word, Tavir caught her arm. "Take care, ser knight. To my eyes, she did not wish to be followed."
Wright turned away. Her jaw was tight. "I thank you, my lady. But I am a knight no longer."
It was not yet midday when Wright set out once more. By the time she began to slow her pace the sun was hanging low in the sky. The godsroad wound through the hills, a still black river choppy with cracks, heading away from the setting sun. As Wright eased up their pace, Farstride gratefully slowed to a walk; Wright reached down to pat his damp neck with a twinge of guilt. Perhaps Kai had not been returning to Preston and Silva after all. Perhaps she was merely wandering off to the next town with a tavern and a brothel, glad to finally be rid of them all—
Wright drove such thoughts from her mind. After a while she nudged Farstride back into a trot, and with an aggrieved snort, he complied. Wright would find her. She had to. Kai was injured, perhaps not thinking straight. It was entirely possible she had reopened her wounds, was bleeding, slumped over Jolie's neck gray and weak and dying—only this time, she was alone. Wright's hands twisted the reins until the leather creaked and her knuckles stood out white beneath the skin. And then, she almost dropped them.
There. Around the curve of the hill, on the bend of the road far ahead—a lone rider on a dark horse, plodding along at a walk. Wright drew Farstride to a stop and stood up in the stirrups. Impossible to tell who it was from such a distance. And yet, she knew.
"Kai!" Her shout rang out in the still evening air. The rider did not stop. Perhaps she had not heard. With a curse, Wright settled back into the saddle and jabbed her heels into Farstride's sides; he took off down the road like a shot from a gun. She bent low over his neck, her heart leaping into her throat every time the figure moved out of sight. When Wright came tearing around a bend in the road and found the rider before her, she reigned Farstride to a halt so quickly he nearly reared.
"Kai!" There was no mistaking her now, and no way Kai couldn't hear. The evening was silent of all but the buzzing of insects; on either side of the road the trees leaned in close, as if listening for a reply.
When Kai finally tugged Jolie's head around, her face was as blank as Wright had ever seen it. No mocking smile. No flash of anger. Not even the dull haze of exhaustion. Wright looked into her eyes and saw nothing at all.
"Ser Wright," Kai said. Even her voice was blank. "I did not expect to see you here."
"Of course you wouldn't," Wright snapped. "Not when you went riding off from the one place I could possibly find you!" She urged Farstride closer—as she did Kai jerked Jolie's reins, sent her dancing backwards, keeping their distance. Wright reigned Farstride to a halt once more, confusion and anger rising in equal measure. "Why did you leave?"
Kai shrugged and winced at the pain the motion caused her. "I had no reason to stay."
"No reason to—Kai, you fool, you can scarcely keep your seat in the saddle!"
"And what's it to you?" Kai's voice broke the distance between them like the crack of a whip. "Why did you come back, ser? Surely you have better duties to attend to than inquiring after my health?" Her lips twisted. It was nothing like a smile. "Unless, of course, you're here on duty. Did your lord send you to drag me back to him?"
Wright stared at Kai in outright bewilderment. "Kai, what in the gods' names are you talking about? I came back for you!"
Kai blinked. Jolie shied nervously beneath her, tossing her head; Wright saw a flicker of doubt climb its way into Kai's eyes. "I don't understand."
Wright nudged Farstride closer. This time, Kai did not retreat. "I came back for you
," Wright repeated fiercely, speaking through gritted teeth.
Closer now, Wright could see the shadows beneath Kai's eyes, the hard set of her mouth. "Why?"
If Wright had been any farther away she would not have heard her. She urged Farstride forward until she and Kai were scarcely more than a few paces apart. Kai's question was far more complicated than Wright could answer in words. "I had nowhere else to go," Wright said, but there was no malice in her voice. "Seeing as I left my lord's service and have no intention of ever going back. Only it seems the one person I had reason to return to had other ideas in mind."
"You—what?" This close Wright could see the fluttering of Kai's lashes in confusion, the way she chewed the inside of her cheek. "Is this some poor attempt at a joke?"
"Do you see me laughing?"
"You never laugh."
Wright sighed—and then did laugh, shaking her head ruefully as she stared into Kai's face. "Did I mention you were a fool, ser?"
"Yes, but I didn't quite believe it until now." Kai's eyes were dark, wary; yet a smile edged onto the corner of her lips, a questioning tilt to her head. No, not questioning—challenging.
Wright swung out of the saddle, her boots landing hard on the surface of the road. She stared up at Kai pointedly until Kai's expression broke into a hoarse laugh; in the next moment, she too had dismounted, standing scant paces away—a vast gulf, and barely more than a breath. They both stood utterly still, gazes locked. Wright could not look away, would never have wanted to.
"May I approach, ser?" Kai said.
Wright made a vague gesture. "Come."
Kai stepped forward. Her gait was slow, as if to avoid spooking a wild animal—or as if she herself were the beast, creeping upon its prey. Wright kept her expression neutral, even as her heart began to pound so hard she felt it in the roots of her teeth.
