“Why did you do all this?”
“It needed to be done, my dear Arielle.” He found a shard of stone, placed it into a jar, and resealed it. For a moment, the rock pulsed impressively and then dimmed to nothing. He ran his finger along the glass and returned to his search.
“What you did was brutal.”
“We are Hounds,” he said and held another shard of stone in the light of one of the burning trees. He grimaced, cast it aside, and reached for another. He was right. They were Hounds and capable of terrible deeds. Still, mercy could have been given. They had begged for it.
She felt her fury rise. As though all her frustrations were emerging once. “You held me down!” she screamed.
He held his search for a breath. “Oh … that. I’m sorry. I did it to protect you.” His hands glowed, and she felt the healing of the cuts across her face. The pain gave away to stinging and then to barely anything after that. It didn’t change a thing.
They had kissed. It had been lovely. It was ruined. “You will never earn my trust again,” she hissed, worried her voice would break.
“You don’t understand what it is like to be me,” he muttered and did not get up and go to her, to try and win back her favour.
She thought of the kiss again, and saliva formed in her mouth. She spat at the ground and turned away from him. “You are not the man I thought you were.”
“I am a weaver first and a man second.” After a moment, he called after her, “If you wait a time, I’ll be along.”
She cursed his stupidity. How could a man be so blind to what was happening in front of his eyes? He returned to examining his ruined stone, and she struggled to the top of the glade and glanced back over the edge one more time. She looked upon him and willed him to give chase as they did in those vulgar books of lovers Cherrie had read to her as a child. In almost every tome, the heroine always stormed off, and at the last moment, when tears were like rivers, it was then he pursued and rescued her. Foolish stories from foolish books. Iaculous did not follow her, and she found it strange that it did not crush her.
“I have lost you to another desire, it would appear,” she whispered and left.
Arielle marched through the forest, spitting curses, allowing the temper she and her sister shared to reassure her it was his loss. She found the hobbled horses and, without looking back, rode the last leg of her journey alone.
By the time she reached the town of Vahr, she had shed tears and dried them. Iaculous’s kiss had been examined, criticised, and condemned. She had decided that Mallum’s evil head would earn a place on her mantle when the mission was over. She also decided she would keep cats, and this made her happy. Finally, she decided she would drink too much alcohol this evening, order the sweetest honey cakes, and devour them all by herself. This made her happiest of all.
Boys were boys. Arielle would be fine understanding Iaculous would not be in her future. More than that, she felt a profound sense of relief, though she couldn’t understand why.
The town of Vahr was closer to being a village than anything else. A few houses surrounded a tall tower of an inn in the middle of nowhere. She liked it very much.
Leaving her horse in the tavern stables near the rest of her comrades’, she wondered if Cherrie and Eralorien might have spotted a flying weaver above their heads as they overtook them on the road. Cherrie would give her an earful for being so late, but she would allow Iaculous to explain what happened. They were his actions and his to explain in unpleasant detail.
Denan and Cherrie met her before she had taken five paces in. Arielle thought she might break down on seeing friendly faces, but she felt strangely liberated, like a pledged bride who had broken free of an arranged wedlock. She insisted that Iaculous would be along. Denan and Cherrie did not push the issue any further. Instead, they bade her a good night and disappeared upstairs.
After months of creeping around, they were finally openly freeing themselves of the guilt of Heygar. Let them have their fun behind four walls and wooden doors tonight, Arielle thought. There wasn’t a town between here and their final destination, and though comrades on the march never said it outright, it was of the utmost rudeness to lie with your lover in earshot of those in your party while out in the wilderness.
Arielle watched them ascend the stairs, then she turned to look around the tavern and met the most unexpected of moment of her life. She saw her soulmate.
At first, she mistook him for Iaculous and realised how unfair it was to draw comparisons. Yes, they looked alike, but this man was a little older, better dressed, with a sharper jaw, and a kinder smile. Perhaps it was the way he carried himself, which reminded her so much of the boy. Or else the eyes, which looked as though they had seen an abyss of another world. Or perhaps it was that he sat next to Eralorien in a secluded corner of the tavern as they shared deep words over a couple ales.
Arielle believed in love at first sight, but more than that, she believed in lust at first sight. She very much wanted to meet this man and see what became of it. She mocked her youthful yearnings. She knew she was only reacting to what had occurred earlier, and she knew well the ways people behaved when spurned in love, hurt in lust, or spun by desire.
For tonight, she decided, the man would be the one to occupy her mind. And something strange happened. For the first time in three days, her thoughts were no longer tickled by visions of killing Mallum. Instead, they became settled as though the deed was done.
“To the fires with Mallum. I’ve had a tough day. It’s time to smile,” Arielle whispered to herself and felt wonderful. She knew how to play this game, for she had studied under an oblivious master.
She ordered two drinks and made her way through the crowd. Her eyes never left the man with black hair, chiselled jaw, and dark, exotic eyes. She liked his carefully kept beard with a moustache and his brightly coloured shirt, which was a silken red. She thought his fashion intriguing in such a place. This was a man used to standing out in every room he sat in.
“May I join you both?” Arielle said, joining them before either could offer argument. She sat opposite the man and thought him gorgeous up close. He raised an eyebrow at her sudden intrusion and caught a half-smile before it spread across his wonderful lips. She thought this charming and decided he was the perfect tonic to what ailed her.
“This is Arielle,” Eralorien slurred and wavered in his seat. His eyes were bloodshot, and they darted around the room. He was an awful drunk, and for a moment, she fretted for Iaculous having to assist the healer to his room. Then she remembered everything and considered offering the old man an entire bottle of wine for the journey.
“I’m Germanus of the Hundred Houses.” Germanus took her hand and kissed it delicately. His grip was firm, and his kiss was dry. His beard was smooth, and he smelled like waterlilies. He charmed her, and she hid it all behind a veneer of disinterest. Not that it seemed to matter. He appeared uninterested in enticing her, and this drew her to him that little more.
“Arielle is the kindest little thing to walk this world,” Eralorien said and winked as he did. The task almost knocked him from his chair. He suddenly grabbed at his head as though a terrible headache had taken him.
“Kind things are a difficult thing to find in this land,” Germanus said warmly, though his eyes were upon the faltering weaver.
After a few breaths, Eralorien slipped from his chair. Like a flash, Germanus caught him. He held the weaver in muscular arms before patting his shirt as though tending to a loved one. He smiled at her, and Arielle decided he was making quite the first impression. Others might have let the old man fall. Iaculous would have, though he would at least have had good reason to.
“You have had at least three too many,” Germanus said, laughing. The uncertain weaver batted him away with withered hands, and Arielle couldn’t help laughing with him. She stopped herself swiftly.
Silly girl. Let him work for my favour.
“I’ve barely had three as it is.” Eralorien’s ey
es were lost in a haze of merriment, but he was sincere. “Iaculous is a foolish one. He still thinks we can save him. Still thinks there is hope. No man can be that powerful.” A stream of spittle escaped his mouth and died somewhere among his chest robes. Arielle had never seen him this deliriously drunk before.
“Let him do whatever he needs to do,” she said and shrugged. If Iaculous still believed he could save Heygar, he was deluded. If he did somehow become powerful enough to return Heygar’s soul, what could he do with it? Whose body could he return it to? Could he return it to another body?
“You bring out the most in him—good and bad,” Eralorien slurred and drained his mug before attempting to take his turn with the gambling dice sitting patiently in front of him. He counted a few coins and tried to decide how much to wager before a kind hand held his roll.
“It is late. Perhaps we call it even, my friend,” Germanus said.
The old weaver thought on this and, after a moment, decided that even was much better than losing everything.
“My head hurts from the tainted ale in this place,” Eralorien declared and stumbled to his feet. “You, sir, are a true gentleman,” he offered before bowing theatrically and wandering from the table, leaving Arielle, her two drinks, and Germanus alone.
“Was that supposed to be for me?” Germanus asked, looking at the second drink before reaching for his black cloak hanging behind his chair. In one fluid motion, he wrapped it around his neck. The black and red combination was striking. Was there anything he didn’t do well?
“No, they’re both for me,” Arielle said and sipped the ale delicately. “You can buy the third round though,” she added and held his gaze. His eyes were green, like the Everfields of the Fayenar. She wanted to drown in those eyes.
“Oh, but I am tempted. However, I have business, so I must regretfully decline your charming company this evening,” Germanus said and bowed before standing to leave.
Arielle was crestfallen, and she didn’t know why. She desired fun, laughter, and blissful distraction. Not another rejection, slight as it was. He must have read her face as she read everyone else’s, for he hesitated and, after a moment’s thought, he sat back down beside her and touched her arm. It wasn’t a touch of desire or lustful threat. It was familiar and compassionate, and she wasn’t at all prepared for it. Or for the kind look upon his face.
“Forgive my intrusion, but are you all right?” he asked, and her sorrow overcame her. It surged through her at his sudden display of compassion. Had anyone ever asked how she was?
“No, I’m not at all,” Arielle sniffed. Before she realised, he was holding her in the warmest embrace she had ever known, and wonderful, relieving tears were flooding from her eyes.
21
After The Breakup
Germanus’s laugh was kind, but more than that, it was frequent. Arielle attempted wit, jests, and mockery of the world, herself, and everything in between. He laughed every time, even sometimes adding to her wit with a sharp retort of his own. They gleefully disturbed any patrons within earshot with raucous merriment, and it was time well spent.
He made her feel special, and she confided more than she normally would have. She had heard of amazing first meetings and dreamt of such things, but theirs belonged in a saga of its own. Germanus was what she needed when she needed it most. A good man.
The hours passed like fleeting breaths, and Arielle became enamoured with him. Even if he had shown hesitation at the beginning, she could feel his interest grow, among other things, she wondered wickedly. As though caught up in an enchantment, every time she thought of Iaculous or feared for the wasted time taken in Heygar’s final mission, she felt more reassured that spending time with this man was for the greater good. She wanted to know him, and he allowed her to.
As interested in her tales as he was, she listened with equal enthusiasm to his own. He told her his life, though only because she charmed it out of him. His parents died in a fire when he was young, and only his younger brother and sister had survived the blaze. He lived in an orphanage until he was eleven, wherein he was sent out to forage for his own meal and shelter. His younger siblings were long since adopted, and he never saw them again. He had shrugged at his own misfortune when she had shown concern, for that was the measure of the man he was.
Growing up on the streets of the Venistra city of Aramas, without a penny to his name, he had flourished despite his wicked luck. Somewhere among the dens of thieves, houses of whores, and dark weaver’s shrines, he had somehow earned a penny and another after that. By his late teens, he was rich enough to pull himself from the dredges of Aramas altogether and earn a place among the Hundred Houses in the richest region of Venistra.
Germanus was a merchant by trade and skilled at grinding out a tight barter. Such a skill was gold, and it brought him much, especially in places of turmoil like Venistra these recent years. They thought alike and enjoyed similar pleasures, but they did not agree on all things. He spoke critically of Dellerin and its vast reach throughout the realm. He spoke of Venistra’s eternal struggle under the tight grip of the prejudicial King Lemier, and when she argued patriotism, he countered without giving ground. The battle was intoxicating. He spoke of his love for his people and scorn for the royals who stunted their progress, and Arielle listened and offered thought without insult, and he listened and agreed where he could. Though he was as passionate as she was, they never came to blows, for that is how people fell in love. It was through talk of Mallum that their final battle raged.
“He is the one royal with any sense of goodness. You critique a man who only wants to help starving people through treacherous times?” Germanus asked.
“I do.”
“Do you even know what sins he has committed?”
“I do.”
“Did you know Mallum attempted to meet with the king of Dellerin two times to offer peace between the regions? On both occasions, he narrowly escaped assassination attempts at the hand of royalty, yet still, he would happily return to Dellerin for the sake of his people. Not many royals can claim such selflessness,” Germanus said.
Arielle didn’t know this at all, but that wasn’t the point. It didn’t even matter they disagreed. She loved his passion. She loved his pride. Perhaps under different circumstances, his charisma might have swayed her thinking.
“Anyone in power has climbed atop blood and murder. Do you really believe Mallum a deity of innocence?” she asked.
“I do.”
“Do you think Mallum would show mercy to the king were the roles reversed?”
“I do.”
“I don’t think it was honourable that he accepted an invitation twice and nearly paid for his trust. I think he was an idiot. Don’t you think he was an idiot?” she asked.
Germanus laughed in defeat. “Your king may be wilier than mine. I find it interesting that a mercenary has outwitted me so easily.”
Suddenly, she worried just how much she had revealed to him. How did he know she was a mercenary? Was he a spy?
He must have seen the concern upon her face as he smiled again. “Be still, dear Arielle. You gave little away. The old weaver is a terrible drinker. He told me his entire life over a half-game of dice. He also told me you ride with Denan of the Green. Perhaps I would have liked to have spoken with the great man, but instead, I find myself here with a delightfully charming mercenary. Hardly a disappointing evening.”
“I’m no mercenary,” she lied weakly.
Germanus took her hands, and they were cool and reassuring. He took them to his lips and kissed them gently. He had enchanted her magnificently.
“It wouldn’t take a scholar to recognise a good man like Denan among your little group regardless of what was said. It is obvious why Heygar’s Hounds are in this little town. You are here to complete a task, and though I think your quarry is the wrong leader, who am I to judge your service? Truthfully, whatever your intentions to Mallum are, they are your own. I do not know what made me sit back and
meet with you Arielle, but know this: I never want this first meeting to end,” he said.
Arielle’s heart fluttered in excitement. The last few days of misery were fading away in this man’s company. She wondered if Silvious hadn’t had the right idea. She imagined running from the tavern that night with Germanus at her arm and decided that settling down as a young merchant’s wife was a life worth living. Perhaps, after a time, she would bear him a child while she was at it. Maybe a pair of little ones and name them after his long-lost brother and sister. She imagined a life free of murder, death, and cleavers, and she pined for something new.
She shook her head half-heartedly. She would never have that life. She would charm this man, perhaps take him to her bed, and after a final kiss, leave him come the morning. She could have nothing beyond that. Could she? Probably not.
Iaculous entered the tavern late in the night, when most patrons had disappeared into the bedrooms above or out into the night to walk the drunken shuffle home. It didn’t take him long to present himself at their table. His clothes were singed, torn, and muddied; his hair a tangled, sweaty mess; his face drawn and exhausted. Compared to the man at her side, he was pathetic.
“You could have waited for me at the path,” he muttered.
Arielle wanted to argue, but her tongue lost the will. She felt the heat emanating from his body, and she was wary.
“You could have followed.”
“Are the others here?” he asked, and she eyed the stairs above. “Who is this thurken cur?”
The bandoleer jingled slightly as Iaculous passed it from one arm to the next. Arielle wondered if she could stop him if he flew into a rage and attacked her companion. She could. He had only strayed from the path; he had not lost himself yet.
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