by L.K. Hill
***
When morning came, neither of them had slept. A groom brought Jasper to Taras’s tent and Inga saw him off. He took her face in his hands and stared at her for a long time. Emotion passed wordlessly between them, and he forced a smile.
She smiled back before taking one of his hands and placing it over her heart.
He understood, of course, and smiled again, blinking back tears. Leaning in, he kissed her between the eyes, on the mouth, then on the heart. He went down on one knee and kissed her hand.
His father used to do this to his mother when Taras was a boy. One of his oldest, fondest memories. He took both her hands and kissed them several times, holding them to his forehead and closing his eyes.
Finally, he stood. Inga cried softly. He didn’t dare embrace her again. He wouldn’t be able to leave if he did. Backing away, he mounted his horse and trotted off. He didn’t see her fall to her knees on the frozen ground behind him.
***
Hours later, Taras sat his horse in formation with his men, part of the army stationed in front of the eastern wall. Jasper stood directly in front of the tower that would be demolished in a few minutes, but far enough back that the explosion shouldn’t touch him.
Now it was a game of waiting.