by Alex Aguilar
The Beast’s eyes widened with rage and he exhaled sharply through his nose.
“Let it go, Lady Robyn!” Nyx warned her. The look on his face was far more serious than she had expected, like someone who had seen his share of horrors in his life and knew exactly when to push and when to retreat. Robyn cleared her throat, realizing she may have gone to far.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
The Beast’s glare lost a bit of its ferocity. His jaw loosened a bit and his eyes softened.
“I… I didn’t mean to pry,” she added. “I know what it’s like to love your weapon. I never go anywhere without Spirit. I was only curious, that’s all.” She gulped down the last of the water on her tankard and began settling herself into a corner, using her rucksack as a pillow.
The silence that lingered was rather uncomfortable, so much so that Nyx rested his chin against the dirt and tried to doze off so that he didn’t have to sit through it. The Beast rested his back against the wall, a bit more relaxed now. He grabbed his axe and sunk the blade into the dirt the way he usually would, glancing at Robyn as if he was expecting her to sit up and keep arguing, but she’d turned to face the wall by then.
He sighed, so deeply that it sent a cloud of fog into the air.
“My father gave it to me,” he mumbled suddenly.
Robyn sat up with a jolt. Her eyes were so shocked they may have been on the verge of tears. Well I’ll be damned…
“I see,” she said. “Well, it’s beautiful…”
The Beast replied with a simple “Aye” and a head nod, and then rested his shoulder against the dirt, facing the wall. It was minimal, but Robyn smiled all the same. And then, with a new shred of hope in her chest, she nestled herself again and closed her eyes.
* * *
The guard barracks were far less luxurious than the rest of the palace grounds. They were simple squared dwellings made of stone, dozens of them stacked together in long rows, with wooden stairs and balconies arrayed along the brick walls, and instead of lanterns there were lit torches hanging from iron rings at every fifteen feet. Simple and colorless, and yet Adelina Huxley felt more at ease there than she did when she was being escorted through the elegant halls of the king’s palace.
“Right this way,” said the guard, a sweaty man in his forties dressed in steel armor. The uneven landscape made it so that they were already on the third floor when they reached the barracks, and below was an empty field of dirt the size of Merchants’ Square, where the king’s soldiers would regularly train. The stone dwellings surrounded the entire field, enough to lodge some 200 soldiers, but the Huxleys were lodged in the room nearest to the palace gardens.
As they stepped onto the wooden balcony, Adelina could see the black gates that led to the outside, to the field of green and the edge of Lotus Creek. She could almost visualize John darting out of those gates, could almost see the malignant raiders dressed in red running through the field after him. She even kept a curious eye out for footprints on the dirt but could hardly see anything under the moon’s dim glow.
The guard led the Huxleys into the cold dark room; there were beds set up along the walls, six of them, all with only a single bedspread and a pillow. The rest of the room consisted of a blackened fireplace, a couple of wooden bedside tables, and half a dozen hooks on every wall for hanging coats and belongings. It wasn’t entirely clean and there were spider webs on every corner, but Adelina was never one to be ungrateful. At the very least it was a roof.
As the guard hung a lantern on the inner wall, Adelina stepped foot inside, followed closely by her children. She smiled at the man as convincingly as she could; after everything they had been through, every smile was an effort. The guard appeared friendlier than the rest, as if he was one of the few that didn’t entirely hate his profession.
“Thank you,” Adelina said to him. “Mister…?”
“Hektor.”
“My thanks, sir,” she bowed.
Two other guards carried Evellyn and Aevastra inside and laid them both on a bed. Aevastra was still alive, but she looked as if any breath could be her last. Two servants entered the room, one carrying blankets and extra pillows, and the other a tray of tea. Behind them walked a young woman that Adelina had never seen before; she was dressed like a noble but her timid demeanor spoke very differently, particularly when she began helping with the tea. The room was so crowded that Adelina failed to notice the shadow outside of the doorframe, an elegantly dressed shadow with a firm posture, standing still on the wooden balcony as if she was not welcome inside. Adelina instantly recognized her under the torches’ flickers, for it was difficult not to notice a presence like Lady Brunylda Clark’s.
“M’lady,” Adelina took a bow; she almost wanted to embrace her for what she’d done, had it not been frowned upon, and the fact that the Lady was frighteningly intimidating didn’t help either
“I’ve sent for the curator,” Lady Brunylda remarked. “In the morning, I’ll have a few men sent to your farm to sift through the rubble and recover anything of value. We will also take care of the bodies for you.”
“My sincere thanks, m’lady,” Adelina replied with another bow. “Truly, I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t arrived. My family and I are forever in your debt. Thank y-”
“Stop doing that,” the Lady interrupted somewhat coldly, though she appeared more tired and worn out than angry.
“Pardon me?”
“The bowing,” the Lady clarified. “You need only do it once. You’re a person, not a mule.”
Adelina wasn’t sure how to react. She wiped her sweaty hands on her blue housedress, before nodding her head and saying, “Right. Thank you, m’lady.”
Lady Brunylda replied with a mere head nod, before the handmaiden-turned-bookkeeper Brie interjected. “M’lady? I would like to stay and help, if that would be all right…”
“Don’t be foolish, girl, there’s no need for that,” said the Lady. “We’ll send someone else.”
“I-I want to, m’lady,” Brie insisted, an honest glimmer in her eyes as she spoke.
The Lady gave her a half-glare, one that conveyed a small trace of respect. Want to? She pondered. The girl’s either simple or she’s got a bigger heart than I thought.
“It’s not that I’m not thankful for the opportunity you’ve given me, m’lady,” Brie explained. “I met John Huxley during the attack on the palace grounds… He protected her majesty. And myself. The least I can do is try to help his family in any way I can. If that’s all right with you, m’lady.”
Brunylda gave her one last head nod. “Very well,” she said.
Brie smiled, bowed, and began spreading blankets over the two unconscious women. Adelina was grateful for the help, but her discomfort towards the notion of being a burden was keeping her on her feet. And when she turned and realized the Lady was looking right at her, she froze from the unease.
The Lady Treasurer of Val Havyn, herself, Adelina thought.
It was frightening to be standing in the same room with her… This was the very same Lady that had met with Lords and noblemen of every city and village Adelina could possibly think of. The very same Lady that received death threats from the Merchants’ Guild due to the amount of taxes they’d been requested to pay and yet she stood her ground as brave as any knight of Val Havyn. Everything Adelina knew of the Lady was based on mere stories and rumors and yet none of them could prepare her for that feeling in her gut when she looked right into those owl-like eyes of hers.
“Your name’s Huxley, is it?” the Lady asked.
“Yes, m’lady,” Adelina replied, careful not to bow this time.
“That took quite a bit of nerve, walking into the city grounds with an orc woman and child,” the Lady said, with an expression on her face that was too difficult to read. Adelina fought through the knot in her throat, and even Brie and the Huxley twins couldn’t help but eavesdrop from a corner.
“Would you care to join me for a drink in th
e courtyard tomorrow evening?” the Lady asked abruptly.
Adelina felt the tension leave her shoulders instantly, a look of surprise plastered on her face. “I… I’d be honored to, m’lady.”
“Very well,” Brunylda remarked. “Good evening to you.”
And with that, she left the room.
Adelina sighed, somewhat glad the conversation was over. It was a strange feeling, to admire and yet be frightened of the woman all at once. And she had every right to; Lady Brunylda Clark was just as deadly as any knight of the king’s court, only she used her words instead of a sword. Even the way she walked was intimidating; her manner was firm and graceful and her pace was quick, so much so that servants had to scurry along to keep up whenever they walked beside her.
The Lady cut through the palace courtyard, for it was the fastest way to reach her tower. Under her breath, she cursed the never-ending spiral of stairs she would soon have to climb. However, as she made a turn along the brick path that would lead her across, her feet came to a halt.
The gardens were as elegant as usual, except for the two fountains and the statue of King Rowan that had been damaged during the attack. At the very center of the courtyard, in front of the headless statue, was a round table made of white marble with four padded garden chairs set up around it. There was a parchment and a jar of wine on the table, and sitting in one of the chairs was Lord Regent Darryk Clark, quiet and brooding and drunker than he was proud of. For a moment he was the spitting image of King Rowan, except brown-skinned, younger, and without the bushy beard.
Sulking like a child, Lady Brunylda thought to herself, fighting the urge to scoff. Why, he’s more like a king than I imagined, the poor fool…
She sighed and kept walking, well aware that there was no way to avoid him, not that Darryk looked in the mood for any form of conversation. He looked exhausted and worn out, bags under his bloodshot eyes, a broken man, not at all the look of a knight. When he heard the footsteps behind him he craned his neck, just enough to catch a glimpse, but there was no reaction on his behalf. Normally, in the presence of the Lady, he would either argue with her or become flustered. This time Darryk did nothing; he simply sat and stared into space as he took more sips from his silver goblet.
Good… Ignore me. You’re doing us both a favor, the Lady thought.
She walked past him without a word. The only sounds in the courtyard were those of the flowing fountain and Brunylda’s heels. But just before she made it to the other side, Darryk spoke through his discomfort.
“Good evening,” he said, his voice weak and raspy.
“It will be. Soon.”
She kept on walking, but just before she reached the door to her tower her feet came to a halt again, this time upon hearing the unexpected words come out of Darryk’s mouth.
“Thank you,” he said.
Lady Brunylda took a moment to gather herself; every part of her urged her to hold her tongue. He’s your Lord Regent, she had to remind herself, over and over again. With a deep breath, she turned to face him. She could hardly make out his face under the moonlight; had it not been for the lanterns nearby, he would have been nothing but a shadow.
“For?” she asked as she stepped towards him.
And then she saw it… that look of shame and despair in Darryk’s eyes. It became clearer with every step. He was no longer the Lord Regent, or even Sir Darryk Clark, the knight. He was a simple man drinking his sorrows away.
The Lady almost felt pity for him… Almost.
“For what you did out there,” Darryk clarified. “If you hadn’t intervened, gods know what they would have done… And for that, I thank you.”
She came to a halt across from his table. “Don’t thank me,” she said, a bit colder than Darryk had hoped for. “Just do your duty, my Lord.”
Darryk closed his eyes briefly. ‘Exhaustion’ was not exactly the word to describe his state that night. For only a week, he had been Lord Regent, and already he felt his head would implode from the strain. He had no idea what he was doing, and having the Lady looming over his shoulder scoffing at his every mistake was of no help. He felt enraged all of a sudden, but he fought hard to suppress it. When he finally spoke again, he was glaring at the Lady just as coldly as she was glaring at him.
“Please don’t mock me,” he said gruffly.
“Mock?” she raised a brow. “You made a fool out of yourself out there… Have you any idea how fast rumors spread in Val Havyn? Believe me, my Lord, it isn’t my mockery you should be concerned about.”
“My Lady…”
“Never show them weakness. Do you understand me? The moment you show them weakness, you lose them all… Did they not teach you that in Roquefort? Or did they pat you in the back and pamper you even when you failed?”
“I didn’t ask for this,” he confessed grimly. “I never wanted any of this. I never wished t-”
“If pity is what you’re searching for, my Lord, you’re wasting your precious time.”
There was a brief silence. Darryk lifted his goblet to his lips and poured what was left of the wine down his throat. He then looked back up at the Lady with a frown.
“It’s Darryk,” he said, his eyes glistening. “I’ve asked you enough times to call me Darryk.”
“I heard you,” the Lady remarked. “I simply chose not to listen.”
She tried to walk away. She felt irritated and tired and wanted nothing more than a good night’s rest. Darryk, on the other hand, allowed for his frustration to take over… and so, in a drunken flash of stupidity, he beckoned her back in the worst way he could possibly think of.
“Did you mean it?” he asked in a rather informal way. Once again, he wasn’t speaking to her as the Lord Regent, or even a knight for that matter. He was simply Darryk.
“What?” Brunylda craned her neck with a scowl.
“The deal you made with Sir Viktor Crowley,” Darryk said, admitting for the first time that he’d known about it all along. “When you loaned him the coin for his journey, did you actually mean to help him win his knighthood back? Or was he merely a pawn to you?”
Lady Brunylda Clark felt her entire body grow hot with rage. Far too many times she had been doubted, confronted, treated like a crook… She’d be damned if she allowed it from her own nephew. She approached him again, this time with a far more intimidating glare.
“You doubt me?” she asked.
Darryk felt himself sink into his chair for a moment. He cleared his throat and tried to ease the tension. “I care only for Sir Crowley’s well-being, my Lady. Doubt is inevitable.”
“Is it now?” she asked, stepping closer towards him. “Why is that, I wonder?”
“Why…?” he raised a brow. “I just told you, my Lady, I onl-”
“No,” she interrupted. “No, you did not… Look me in the eyes…”
And so he did… for a split second, until he realized he was no match for her petrifying glower. Instead, he lifted the jar from the table nervously and poured more wine into his goblet.
“Look… me… in the eyes,” she repeated.
Darryk set the jar down, took a sip, and looked back up. He could almost feel the fire radiating from her. Suddenly he wished for his armor back.
“Why do you doubt me, my Lord?” the Lady asked him.
Darryk had no proper response. Or rather, he knew that anything he said would be the wrong answer. He only kept his eyes firmly on hers to avoid any further disapproval.
“Is it because I’m not a knight?” she asked him. “If I was wearing a suit of armor and the king’s crest, would you doubt me still?”
He sighed deeply, the guilt creeping into his chest instantly. “No, my Lady…”
“Ahh,” she scoffed. “So in order to earn your trust, all I need is a sigil on my chest, is that it?”
She took yet another step closer…
“Or do I need a cock between my legs as well?”
Her words stung Darryk’s chest like a dagger. He had n
o reason to doubt her, he knew. Though she was his relative, he hadn’t formally met her until he arrived in Val Havyn. He’d heard the rumors of her ferocity, but nothing more. And rumors were often just… well, rumors. He took yet another sip of the wine as he thoroughly conjured a proper response.
“I, uh… I see that I have offended you, my Lady…”
“Offended?” she scoffed again, staring him down as if he was a child.
“I’m sorry,” he said, setting his goblet down. There was a silence, a rather uncomfortable one, as the Lady leaned in just a foot away from his face.
“I would never break a contract, boy,” she said, much more coldly than she had ever spoken to him before. “The mere fact that you would even question that shows just how little you know of me… You may doubt me all you’d like, but my word alone is worth more than a thousand signed contracts.”
She then took Darryk’s goblet from the table and lifted it to her lips. She emptied it entirely down her throat, the whole half-goblet, and set it right back down with a cold stare.
“Do try and remember that,” she said.
And with that, she walked away… leaving the Lord Regent of Val Havyn to drink himself to sleep in the palace gardens.
* * *
Hudson Blackwood looked much more alive again. The color was returning to his cheeks by the minute, he was smiling again, and he could hardly stop himself from drooling as he cut himself another slice of honeymelon. He felt the sweet juice cleansing his parched throat, bringing him slowly back to life after being unconscious for over twelve hours. Suffice it to say the man was so ravenous he felt he could eat five whole rabbits and still have enough room left for another slice of melon.
Nearby, John Huxley was on his knees digging around a pile of rubbish. He found mostly old clothes and empty rucksacks there, but there were a few gems among the clutter. He reached deep into the pile and pulled out what looked like leather armor straps only with more hooks and belts than were normal.
“Are these for training?” he asked.
“Maybe?” Hudson replied as he glanced from afar. “They might also be for torturing.”