Courted Sanctuary

by Tara K. Young

Chapter 20

  Luitgard slumped in her saddle after yet another long day of riding. They had bypassed the lagoon of Venice and were heading straight to Florence. The closer they got to Rome, the more numerous the towns. It seemed their nights of sleeping amongst the trees and around a fire were over. She was looking forward to a warm room even if the only bed was a pile of straw.

  Justin's horse had been slightly ahead of her but he slowed so that she could catch up. "I can see a town ahead," he said. "We can stop there."

  She nodded, too tired to speak. Her sweat had soaked through the bodice of her dress. No matter how much she moved, the slimy cling against her skin would not release. Though she had not fallen from her horse or had walked more than a few steps, her bottom and the soles of her feet prickled and burned as if they were scraped and raw. Her body had finally had enough of this confounded travel.

  Her horse trudged through the gates. She was barely aware of Justin stopping in front of an inn. On the steps up to her room, she struggled. Right foot, pull, left foot, pull, right foot, pull. After Justin reached out and took her hand, she was able to make it to the top.

  She let herself fall backward onto the bed and closed her eyes.

  "I think we should stay here a few days," Justin said.

  She could hear him rustling with the contents of the saddles bags but had no idea why. She was not sure she even cared.

  "We cannot afford to lose the time," she muttered, which took much more energy than it should have.

  "You need rest," he said. "You are having trouble adjusting to the heat."

  "I can manage just fine," she muttered as she rolled over, her back to him. It was not the heat she was having trouble handling nearly as much as the nightmares every time she closed her eyes. She could take no more of Dragonfather's screams.

  When he gave an indignant snort, she said, "I just need a full night's sleep. No more shifts to keep watch. No more worrying about Merek around the next tree."

  "Do not be comforted by walls," he said. "Merek could show up anywhere."

  "All the more reason not to stop."

  He did not speak right away. He was still rummaging through the saddle bags. "Luitgard," he said quietly. "You know how I feel. I made it clear to you days ago. Whether you feel the same way or not does not change my heart. You could hate me and I will still want to make sure you are safe. The heat will be no easier tomorrow. Without rest, you will likely find it quite a bit harder. We need to wait."

  An involuntary sigh pushed through her lips. "I know," she said. "I'm so tired. I feel like the sun is still on my skin even inside. I know you are right. But I cannot stay here for two−and especially not three−days. If we get to Rome and find out we missed saving Dragonfather's life by that much, I will never forgive myself."

  "And if he has been dead years, would you blame yourself even then?"

  "He is alive," she said. "I have no doubt of that. But I do not know how long he will be."

  "Do you think he would ever forgive himself if he knew you died trying to save him? Is it fair to ask that of him?"

  The Goddess' words were still in her mind. They had been ever since her dream, even when she was exhausted and slumped in her saddle. Rome was where she had to go.

  "I have to," she said.

  The room fell silent. Whatever he had been looking for in the saddle bags, he must have found, or he had given up. "Then sleep," he said finally. "You will need as much as you can get to survive tomorrow."

  She did not need the encouragement. Her exhaustion had now taken her even beyond the worry of nightmares. The moment their conversation was replaced by silence, she felt her muscles sink into sleep.

  The same dream came to her again; the manor in ruins and Dragonfather's pleas. When she could take no more, she awoke.

  The room was dark. There was no light peeping through the cracks in the shutters. Though it would not have been a moonless night, so little of it remained it shed no noticeable light. It must have been late enough that the lights of the other buildings had been extinguished as well.

  All she could tell was that the bed was in the corner of the room, a fact she had been too exhausted to notice before. She rolled over and peered over the edge of the bed. She did not want to wake Justin, but it was so dark she could not even make out the lump of his form on the floor.

  "Justin?" she whispered.

  When there was no response, she called again and again there was no reply. She called again, no longer whispering, as she reached out into the darkness with her hand.

  If he was there, he was not near the bed.

  Her heart increased its pace. She climbed to her feet and walked in steps only as long as a toe's length as she braced for bumping into his sleeping form. When she reached the opposite wall of the small room without meeting any such resistance, her heart broke into a full charge.

  "Justin?" she called, "Where are you? Justin?"

  Where was he? Why would he not be in the room?

  The faint recollection of rustling saddlebags came back to her. She fell to her knees and groped in the darkness for the bags. She had no idea where the candles were and so no way of lighting her search. The bags were against the wall beneath the window. Though there was relief that they were still there, her heart did not slow. Her thoughts fed its speed too eagerly.

  Had he left her behind, hoping she would take the rest he wanted her to have so much? Had he given up on her because she had not listened? She moved her hands through the collection of items in each pouch. She hoped through her sifting that she would recognize some shape as missing.

  In the last pouch, she realized something was wrong the moment she pulled it closer. It was too light. Not by much, but enough to be noticeable. Why there was the change in weight was not immediately apparent as her fingers examined the contents. Then, the absence came to her. In a last futile attempt at hope, her fingers flew to her waist.

  She knew it would not be there. She had stopped wearing it during the days. It had become too hot and uncomfortable. It had poked at her ribs with each step of the horse, so she had put it in her saddlebag.

  Why would Justin take her dagger? Where would he even go with it?

  Merek.

  Did Justin honestly think he could confront Merek alone? Why would he ever try such a thing? Was he already dead?

  She stumbled as she tried to climb to her feet. Would she have to continue alone? She lurched for the door handle. Would Merek come for her too? She pulled open the door. He was gurgling his own blood in the street, she knew it. Merek would never take such an open threat without retaliation.

  "Justin," she whispered. "Please, do not be dead."

  She wiped tears from her eyes but it did little to help. The hallway was as dark as the room.

  Her heart and her stomach rose up as her body fell. Her feet knocked into each other as she tried to regain her footing upon the unexpected steps. One hand flailed as the other knocked into a wooden beam, sending sparks of pain up her arm. Just when she began to wonder when she would ever hit the bottom of the stairs, arms wrapped around her and she landed against someone's chest.

  "Luitgard?" Justin asked.

  "Justin?" she sobbed back as she regained her footing and clutched him closer to her in the process. "You are alright?"

  "Of course I am," he said. "What are you doing walking around in the dark like that? Are you alright?"

  The piercing of slivers and the shot of pain in her hand from the blow against the beam drew her attention as she did her mental check over her well-being.

  "I hurt my hand," she said.

  "There are candles in the room; I can take a look there."

  "Where have you been?" she asked as he helped her up the stairs with a push at her elbow.

  "Let me look at that hand first," he said.

  When they got back into the room, he led her to the bed and helped her sit down. A moment later he was near the window and lighting a candle in a lantern that hung from t
he ceiling in the middle of the room.

  The stabbing light forced her to squint. By the time they had adjusted enough for her to open them again, Justin was back by her side, kneeling down and looking at her hand.

  As he took her hand in his, his touch caused goose bumps to trail up her arm.

  There were two sharp pricks as he pulled at the slivers. "There we go," he said. "Not even any blood."

  He let go and sat back on his heels. She rubbed her still-aching hand.

  "Where did you go?" she asked again.

  "Just for a walk," he said. "I was wide awake."

  "Why did you take the dagger?"

  "Walking the streets in a strange town is not exactly the safest thing to do," he said. "The violent are not restricted to forests."

  "So you did not go looking for Merek then?" she asked.

  "Why would I do that? He would kill me."

  "I - I just could not think of any other reason you would disappear like that. I was so worried. I am so glad you are alright. Promise me you will never risk going out alone again. Even you said he could be anywhere."

  He caressed her cheek. "I promise," he said. "I'm sorry to have worried you."

  Her heart began to pick up speed again. She liked him touching her.

  She thought of his confession of love. She had said nothing. She had been too shocked that anyone would ever say such a thing to her. In the days since, she knew he had meant it but it was still such a foreign feeling that the thought of saying such a thing back to him made her heart constrict.

  It was not that she did not feel the same way. The more she thought about it, the more she knew she did, especially in those gentle touches he offered her. But the stress of their situation, the threat of Merek's appearing at any moment, had pulled forth her ingrained leadership traits. Indulging in such personal feelings, no matter how much she wanted to sink into Justin's arms and give him everything he wanted from her, was too frightening under the circumstances. She could not be distracted. She could not let herself succumb to her feelings and risk making a mistake. She could not afford to be an imperfect human. She had to be the Goddess, the lone protector of those she loved.

  When he pulled his hand slowly away, she wanted to whimper in protest. She wanted him to hold her. Despite the pain on his face at her lack of response, she did not react.

  "Good-night, Justin," she said. "Get some sleep. I am sure I will be well enough to continue riding by morning."

  "Good-night, Luitgard," he said, before turning away and making himself a bed on the floor.