by J. E. Klimov
“None, what?”
“Friendliness.”
Bence bristled. “Of course I do. I’m related to the Deranian family, but I have roots in Irelle as well. I’ll make plenty of ‘friends,’” he replied, making quotation marks in the air with his fingers.
Ami scooted closer to him, her arm grazing his. She studied him intently and bit her lip. “Well, I can see a little Irellian in you. Your olive complexion and green eyes. That’s trademark Irellian. But so is blonde hair. Yours is… black.”
“I─wait. What?” Both hands ran through his hair, tugging at the strands. Straining his eyes, he could barely make out the hair that rested on the nape of his neck.
“How can you not know your own hair color? Stop playing games.” Ami snickered.
“No. I’m serious. My hair is red. An orange-red. This can’t be possible.”
Ami broke into giggles. “I’ve never seen anyone with that color hair! I do see some streaks of crimson, but it’s black alright.”
The pitch of the flute wavered in the background, filling the silence.
“No.”
“Yes,” Ami pressed.
“I know what color my hair is. I’ve only had it for thirty-three years!”
“You’re so old. Maybe that’s why!” Her giggling exploded into laughter.
Slamming his fist onto his thigh, Bence snarled. “Shut up! This isn’t funny.” If she had this reaction to that age, he wondered what would’ve happened if he revealed that he had actually been alive for over two hundred years.
She stopped abruptly and pulled out a round object. A compass. Turning it over, she polished the silver with her sleeve. “This isn’t the best tool, but look if you think I’m joking. And before you experience a personal meltdown, I want to let you know I’ll have a fresh set of clothes prepared for you tomorrow morning. I have a feeling you’ll need them.”
Bence snatched the compass from her. Realizing his hands were shaking, he took a deep breath. When he glanced at his reflection, he gasped and dropped the compass.
CHAPTER
8
The ceiling’s imperfections became more apparent as the morning light flooded the room. Bence rubbed his eyes, which were irritated from staring too long. The sudden change of his hair to black as ink kept him from sleeping. What could this mean? Birds whistled outside his window. Bence massaged his temples, trying to dispel the pounding in between his ears.
A hand rapped at his door. “Come in,” Bence muttered.
Ami pushed her way inside. She flushed beet red. “I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me you were still in bed?” She shaded her eyes with her hands, dropping a package at her feet.
“I’m not naked, you know,” Bence said. He groaned as his knees cracked. He strode toward the wrapping and tore it open, finding a cotton shirt and vest. They were plain in color and design, but Bence didn’t care. He tugged the clothing over his head. It hung a little loose, but Bence knew once he regained all his strength, it would fit perfectly.
“Slacks, too,” she said, hands still over her eyes.
It was much less worn than what he owned, so Bence swiftly changed while Ami turned away. Using his old belt, he tightened everything until he felt comfortable. “I’m dressed,” he declared unceremoniously.
Peeking through her fingers, Ami said, “How do you like them?”
Bence shrugged. “Clothes are clothes. They are clean and new, so of course I like them.”
“Great.” She sighed deeply. “I thought you would hate them.”
“And why would I?” He grabbed his dagger and polished it with his old shirt until his reflection was clear enough for him to grimace. Holstering it, Bence then grabbed his bo staff and satchel.
“Well, it’s quite plain. We have very little dye around here. I didn’t want you to think you looked like a sack of potatoes.”
“A what?” Bence scoffed. “You’re one silly girl.”
Ami stomped up to him. “Hey, I’m no girl. And I believe a thank you is in order.”
“I’ll thank you when you get me a horse so I can get out of here.” Bence exited the room and swept aside the flap that separated the sleeping quarters from the tavern. “And something to eat on the go.” When he didn’t hear a response, he turned around. Ami’s finger pointed at his face.
“You are a brute. A heathen. An ingrate. And to think I saw something human in you last night.”
Bence frowned. “I wouldn’t take it that far─”
“Well, then?” Ami shoved her head high and tapped her feet.
Breaking into a sweat, he averted his eyes. “Thank… you…”
“It’s a start.” Ami made her way toward the kitchen. “I’ll have porridge and jerky prepared for you. Please feel free to use the men’s common room to shave.” Her eyes traced his face. “But I cannot give you a horse. There are only wild horses in Camilla.”
His nostrils flared. “Of course.”
She disappeared behind the double doors. Whispers seeped from the other side. Annoyed by the gossip, he entered the men’s common room. In the center of the vacant room stood a wide mirror wedged into stone. Bars of lye soap littered the counter and a wash bucket was tucked to the side. He lathered the soap and spread it across his beard, but couldn’t take his eyes off his hair. It was still black as soot. A hint of red here and there. Even his beard was black. His hand shot toward his dagger. His blade shaved with such precision that it pleased him. Within minutes, his face was clear of scruff.
“Good riddance. It was starting to itch.” Bence rinsed his dagger. Once he was satisfied, he returned to the tavern. A lone man sat in the corner, scribbling on some parchment. Taking a seat, Bence tapped his fingers against the table. He wasn’t sure how long this journey would be, causing a cloud of doubt to cross his face. There was no guarantee that his mission to establish a new life and home was going to succeed. If his interactions with those around him the past few days were any indicator, he was already doomed. For the first time in his life, he was scared.
He shuddered at the nonexistent breeze. Trying to deepen his rapid, shallow breaths, Bence mustered as much courage as he could and stood. No one must see his vulnerability.
When Ami didn’t reappear after a few minutes, Bence walked outside. He stretched. People bustled about, carrying food and other items in wicker baskets like a swarm of bees. To his left stood the forest, stretching as far as the eye could see. Thick brush sprawled their branches without a trail in sight.
Ami’s words crept into the back of his mind and shouted in fragments. Brute. Heathen. Ingrate. He cracked his knuckles. He struggled with his emotions, confused if it was worth trying to change. This was how he behaved all these years. And yet, it has never been scrutinized so much since he left Deran.
“Hey!”
Bence whipped around and found Ami, arms full of goods, sprinting toward him. She dug her heels into the dirt, eyeing the steaming porridge sloshing back and forth.
“Here. Eat the porridge now. I’ll stuff the jerky into your satchel.” Her hands moved swiftly, and Bence observed her with hawkish eyes.
Instead of her flowing skirt, she wore slacks that hugged her long, shapely legs. Thin wooden sticks pinned her hair away from her face. A sharp object peeked over her shoulder. Bence craned his neck. Her spear was strapped to her back.
“Ami?”
“Hush now and eat,” she said, shoving the hot bowl into his hands.
“Ami─”
“I have a gift for you. But only when you’re finished eating.” Pumping her fist in triumph, she said, “Okay. You’re all packed.”
“Ami!” Bence thundered. Specks of his breakfast burned his forearms.
She blinked at him as if he’d caught her stealing.
He set the bowl down and snatched the satchel away from her. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“What are you talking about?” Ami feigned laughter, but her face turned purple.
Towering over he
r, Bence squared his shoulders. “You’re not coming with me.”
“Who said anything about coming with you?” She glanced left and right. People put their heads down and continued their business.
“You have little ‘Hero’ on your back. Unless you plan on wrestling with the wolves, I would think you were crazy enough to attempt to travel with me.”
She punched his chest. A smile of satisfaction stretched across her cheeks as Bence wheezed.
“Fine. You figured it out. But there’s no stopping me.”
“Oh yeah?” Bence raised his voice. “And why not?”
“There’s a reason why my parents don’t want me in the forest and why there’s no clear trail. It’s dangerous. No one can make their way without a compass.” She waved the rounded object in his face.
“I don’t need that.” Taking a seat on a lonely rock, he picked up the bowl of porridge and sipped. Ami’s shadow cast over him. “Do you mind?”
“I do, actually.”
When Bence finished, he shoved the bowl into her hands. He clenched his jaw, feeling a vein in his forehead pulsing. Without another word, he shifted his satchel over his shoulder and stormed toward the trees. Guilt dogged his steps; maybe he should’ve been nicer.
When he reached the edge of the forest, he pushed those thoughts aside and stepped over a gnarled root, shoving braches away from him. A twig snapped from behind. He whirled around, bo staff in hand.
“Woah!” Ami ducked as the staff whistled past the crown of her head.
“You!” His nearly jumped out of his chest. Forcing a frown, he said, “I told you not to follow me.”
“Bence,” she pleaded. “Let me aid you in your journey. I’m not joking. These woods can be very misleading. I’ve gotten lost many times before, and this compass saved my life.”
“Then give me that compass.”
Ami drew it to her chest and shook her head. “It’s a gift from my mother. I can’t give it away. So the next best thing is to let me come with you. I promise I won’t slow you down.”
A breeze danced between the two. Her fearless eyes seemed to stare right through him. After a painful minute, Bence said, “Fine. Don’t fall behind.”
With a wink, she pranced ahead of him. “You mean you don’t fall behind.”
Shaking his head, the faintest smile curled in his lips.
CHAPTER
9
Isabel rolled over in bed, steadying her breath. His skin chilled like a moonless winter’s night. Dante’s hand flopped over and rested on her shoulder, and she shuddered. There wasn’t a single ounce of warmth to him. Panic welled in her throat. This can’t be normal.
“Good morning, Isabel,” Dante whispered.
She wondered if he was upset about last night. When he had joined her bedchambers, Isabel hadn’t known what to do. Her husband had returned, and she felt she shouldn’t turn him away. From the outside, he looked like the same old Dante, yet the wolfish glint in his eyes told another story. Isabel undressed behind a room divider. When they slipped into bed and his icy fingers traced her jaw, she snatched his wrist. She didn’t want to be intimate with him yet. She didn’t feel ready. Dante had grunted, turned over, and slept. Something was wrong with him. Horribly wrong.
“Isabel?”
She locked eyes with him. “Yes?”
“I love you,” he said, caressing her hair.
Her mouth grew dry. “I… love you, too,” she croaked.
Dante’s eyebrows drew together. “What’s the matter? Every time you look at me, you look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Maybe because you are.” She bit her tongue and dug her face into her pillow. Her eyes grew wet, blotting the silk fabric case.
“Look at me.” Dante cupped his hand under her chin, turning her head back. “You have every right to be nervous. I would be too. I can’t explain my presence here either. I should be dead. You have no idea how terrible that makes me feel. But it’s me, and no one else.”
“Why are you so cold?”
When he ran his fingers down his face, Dante’s face remained blank. “I don’t know. I certainly don’t feel cold.”
* * *
An uneventful week had passed, but the queasy feeling didn’t disappear. Isabel woke up one misty spring morning and stared out the window. The gray clouds stretched out for miles with no end in sight. Dante stirred beside her.
Each time she looked at him, each night she lay beside him, Isabel couldn’t shake the sense of unease. But whenever she expressed those concerns, Dante would embrace her, hold her hand a little more tightly, and smile wider.
“Good morning,” he mumbled.
“Morning,” she replied, rubbing her eyes. She spun her legs around and dangled her feet off the bed. She wanted to get an early start with city surveillance. Ever since her return to the castle, she would stroll amongst the outer villages and check on their progress. Masons were hard at work putting their final touches on her people’s homes, and she wanted to make sure everything was still running smoothly. Dante hadn’t joined her expeditions yet, claiming fatigue.
“Going out again today?” Dante asked, as if reading her mind.
Getting up, Isabel approached her vanity table. She studied herself in the mirror then picked up her hairbrush. “I am.” She teased out her tangled strands as she waited for a reply.
“I’d love to accompany you today.”
In the mirror’s reflection, Isabel spotted Dante hopping out of bed and stretching. Her stomach squeezed. Perhaps, she had been too paranoid about his return. He turned, caught her eye, and winked. Relax, Isabel. He has been nothing but kind since his return.
“Wonderful.” Isabel stared down at the golden armlet that lay on a satin pillow. Mindlessly sliding the armlet up her right arm, warmth flowed through her veins. She closed her eyes at the all too familiar feeling: the rush of energy invigorating every muscle, the sense in invincibility, and most of all, the burning at her fingertips every time she summoned the elements.
A knock rapped at the door.
“Come in,” she said, breaking free from her reverie.
A maid draped in lavender bowed her head and offered a basin of water. Steam rose liberally from it. Isabel beckoned her in, but the maid shook her head.
“I don’t feel like I deserve to even step into your chambers.”
Isabel quelled laughter. “Why do you feel this way? Have I done something terrifying?”
“I’m not sure if you recognize me,” the maid replied, shuffling her feet. “My name is Agnes.”
Tapping her index finger to her lips, Isabel hummed in thought.
“I wasn’t… very nice to you when you were a princess.”
“Ah!” Isabel exclaimed. “You were the one poking fun at me when I ruined my pink dress!”
Nodding, Agnes tucked her stringy blonde hair behind her ear. Her months during the Aeonian War had aged her terribly, from the creases in her forehead to her yellowed teeth. Every ounce of Isabel wanted to say serves you right, but she smoothed her cotton nightgown and took the basin from her. “It’s quite alright, Agnes. You’re dismissed.”
“True guilt never really leaves a person, no matter how menial the cause is.” Agnes bowed and scurried off.
“You certainly have matured from the princess I once knew,” Dante said, his voice muffled. He must’ve been changing clothes.
Closing her eyes, she let the steam soothe her skin. She inhaled and exhaled slowly, tempted to say he wasn’t the same husband she once knew. “It’s not worth holding onto petty grudges,” she replied. When she finished, she wrung the cloth dry and placed it on the counter. Reaching for a jar to her right, Isabel smeared a honey-based concoction over her face and neck. The sweet aroma stimulated her senses as her skin soaked in the moisture. Isabel finished her ritual with a dab of powder; she was refreshed and ready to tackle the day.
Isabel skipped to her dresser and skimmed the racks of clothing.
“I think th
is dress would look ravishing on you,” Dante said, appearing by her side. He pointed to an ivory gown that fell to her knees but was longer in the back.
“Yes, I suppose it would. But this is Queen Isabel’s regime now. I only wear dresses when I’m inside the castle. I want nothing to impede my movements when I’m outside.”
Dante beamed. “While you have matured in some ways, it’s clear you are the same Isabel I’ve always loved.”
Isabel blushed as she pulled a drawer open. Love. The word resonated like a coin dropping into an empty well. Years ago, her feelings for him overflowed, but Isabel refused to jump to the conclusion that maybe that wasn’t so true anymore. Dante’s sudden reappearance was jarring to everyone, and it was normal to feel confused. Right?
She changed into her usual white tunic, leather vest and brown slacks. Dante dressed similarly.
“We are twins,” Isabel joked. “When are you going to return to your silver robes?”
“Those are traditional Tuuli garments. I’m married to you and now consider myself Deranian. So, I wear Deranian clothing.”
“I’m sure Lief will be happy about that.” The pair broke into a chuckle. Isabel needed that moment of levity.
“You should’ve seen the look on his face when I approached the city gates.”
“We were all shocked.”
“That’s true.” Dante leaned over and kissed her cheek. His lips were freezing.
Before she stepped out of their room, she looked around. Her gaze fell to a glass chest by her bed. With a click, she flipped the lock and opened the cover. Her ever loyal weapon, the sai, glistened. She grabbed the pair of blades and holstered them by her hips.
“Okay. Now, I’m ready.”
“Are we in danger of combat?” He snickered behind her.
“No. But I never go anywhere without my two prized possessions: my armlet and sai. No matter what,” she quipped. “After all I’ve been through, I feel that they are a part of me.”
Isabel and Dante walked down the gilded corridors in silence. Guards stood at the end that opened up to the grand staircase and bowed their heads. Her subjects below scurried about. The scent of cooked eggs sent Isabel’s mouth watering. Grabbing his hand, she pulled Dante down the winding steps and into the dining hall. The wooden archways stretched high above them. Rain slid down the wide windows that stretched across the room. The attendants, guards, and other subjects that were eating rocketed to their feet. Isabel raised her hand so that they could resume their breakfast.
