Chapter 28

The feast hosted by the baronet of Toruna was delightful. Lansius would’ve never thought that the baronet was a natural party maker. Sir Stan even hand-fed morsels from his own plate to the troubadours, danced with them, and poured ale for his subordinates.

Lansius felt privileged to witness these supposedly private moments between a lord and his closest retinue.

The harvest season brought an abundance of grains and vegetables, sparing Lansius from some of the more unique dishes he dreaded, such as roast hedgehog, brain jelly, or viper soup. He was always anxious about being expected to eat something or potentially offending someone.

Fortunately, Sir Stan had an uncanny, relaxed attitude toward the men beneath his station. He didn’t even try to make small talk, but motioned for Lansius to dig in and enjoy the merriment. This put Lansius at ease.

As with any other lowborn, Lansius wisely feared the noblemen, as offending them could result in flogging or a trip to the dungeon. Thus, seeing the noble behaving so relaxed was a revelation.

Despite the ongoing confusion about the nature of the summons, and the issues with the lady in black, Lansius found his appetite. He had yet to learn about why he was here, but food was food. After living as a farmer for two years, he was too grateful for any opportunity to eat good food.

And he ate with a clear conscience. After all, food was in abundance around harvest, so this wasn’t a privilege of the rich. Lansius ate well and enjoyed the feast.

The meal was the best he ever had, with no salted meat in sight, meaning it was freshly cut. He could taste ginger, pepper, and possibly cloves, which were a rarity.

Surprisingly, Sir Stan mostly ate brown bread and vegetable stew with only a few slices of meat. For dessert, they had a sweet pudding made from milk, egg, and day-old bread, topped with cinnamon and honey.

The music ended with a round of applause from everyone, including Lansius. The troubadours bowed elegantly while Sir Stan walked away after his last cup of water. A cool breeze entered the chamber as if signaling the end of the feast.

Lansius felt this was his only chance. He dared to approach the baronet and asked, “My good sir, I thank you for the hospitality, but I still don’t know what is to become of me?”

Sir Stan paused, unexpectedly reached for Lansius’s shoulder, and patted him firmly. “For better or for worse, you have caught the eye of a powerful man. My advice to you . . . play to his tune.”

“But sir, I am Sir Archie’s squire.” Lansius couldn’t reveal his master’s true identity.

“Oh, the Arvenian lord,” Sir Stan mused, which shocked Lansius. However, he ultimately refused to give counsel. “Well, that’s hardly my problem, but I’m sure someone will sort it out. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

With a vigorous stride, the baronet left, leaving Lansius to wonder about his fate.

The old steward called out to Lansius, “Maester squire, I believe you have a place to visit.” He then motioned his hand toward a tall guard and said, “He will escort you there.”

Lansius was surprised by the interior of the manor. Instead of a gloomy castle, the corridor was fresh and lively, with bright lanterns on the sides or hung above the staircase. The white plastered walls reflected the light, creating a welcoming ambience even on the darkest of nights.

Led by the guard, Lansius arrived at the parlor, reserved for confidential discussions. Before knocking, the guard looked at Lansius, cautioning, “The lady has been injured in recent conflict. She’s prone to emotional outbursts. If you require assistance, just knock on the door.”

Lansius didn’t get a chance to inquire; the guard had already knocked. A maid appeared, bearing a tray covered with a linen cloth, and without a word, she left the room. “Come in and close the door,” a voice beckoned from within.

Now, without anyone’s interference, something about her voice stirred a vague sense of familiarity within him. Yet, Lansius couldn’t quite place it, and there was little he could do but walk in as instructed. Upon observing a lady elegantly clad in a black gothic gown, he gently closed the door behind him, isolating himself with her and leaving the guard stationed outside.

Just as the door closed, she raised a finger to her lips and beckoned him closer with her other hand.

Something didn’t feel right, but Lansius cautiously followed her instructions. He had only taken a few steps when the woman suddenly lunged at him.

“What are you—” he started, attempting to raise his hand in surprise, but she tackled him harshly, knocking him off balance. He felt himself falling backward, and suddenly everything went dark.

Lansius groaned in pain, the sensation jolting his consciousness back to the present.

“Be quiet and stay still,” a woman’s voice commanded.

Recalling her attack, Lansius scrambled to his feet.

“Lans, stay still,” she repeated coldly, showing him a dagger.

But, she didn’t really need to. Suddenly it all clicked. The way she called his name, her voice . . . He turned around expecting Stefi but found instead a figure shrouded in a black veil.

“We don’t have much time. I apologize for attacking you, but—”

“Show me your face.” Lansius couldn’t help it anymore. He knew he recognized the voice and dared to risk the consequences.

The woman sighed. Without a word, she lifted the black veil from her face. It was more akin to a wedding veil than a typical coif or headscarf.

Lansius beheld a complexion of unnatural paleness, a result of makeup, contrasted by two piercing brown eyes that seemed fierce enough to make children weep in fright. Meeting her gaze, his eyes reflexively widened, his muscles tensed, and for a moment, he forgot to breathe. He could only stare at the face he yearned to see for so long.

“It’s me,” she said somberly. “But now, you shall address me as Audrey of Toruna.”

“But—”

She raised a finger to her lips. “Answer me first, why are you here?” she asked.

Did she suspect me of betraying the Arvenians? Lansius wondered.

“I was invited here.”

“Invited? Why?” she asked.

“I’m just as clueless as you, but I have the letter in my bag. That’ll prove my innocence.”

She slowly reached for his bag, and rummaged through its contents, pulling out a letter. After reading it, she shook her head.

“Stefi, how did you end up here? I was—” He stopped.

The mention of the name seemed to trigger something within her.

“Don’t call me that,” she protested as if in agony.

Lansius approached her. “I’m sorry. Are you hurt?”

Audrey gritted her teeth, a sign that something was terribly wrong. Then, it dawned on him.

The veil. . . could it be concealing a head injury?

“Never mind me,” she said, clutching the dagger firmly in her hand. “What happened with the rest of the Arvenians?”

He suspected it could be post-traumatic stress. Lansius took a deep breath to compose himself. Using a softer voice, he assured her, “You may not believe it, but Lord Arte is safe. He’s in Midlandia.”

“The young lord escaped Riverstead?” she asked, the suspicion in her voice dissipating.

Lansius nodded. “We rescued him from the slavers’ den.” He tried to sound cheerful to sell his story.

Audrey’s face betrayed the turmoil inside her.

“It’s me. You can trust me. Why do you look pained? Tell me where it hurts,” he said, concerned.

She shook her head, gradually regaining her composure, then slowly sheathed the dagger and tucked it away.

“If you’re comfortable, tell me all your worries; let me help shoulder them,” he offered gently.

She looked at him, her lips forming a pout. “The Lansius I knew wasn’t this bold,” she remarked, her tone lighter.

“Things happened . . .” Lansius replied. Memories of the events that led him here flooded his mind, including the Amertume forest. Emboldened by these thoughts, he took her hand and said, “Love, I have been looking for you. I’ve searched everywhere.” He paused. His own words surprised him.

When . . . ?

He hadn’t even realized it before, but the pain he’d felt when he couldn’t find her, the pain that drove him to drinking—now all of it suddenly made sense. He loved her. She was more than just a comrade to him.

Audrey stared at Lansius. Her gaze seemed more intense than before.

He looked away and felt Audrey move closer. She sat beside him, resting her head on his shoulder and muttering, “I’m glad you’re safe.”

“So am I,” he agreed, holding back tears of joy.

I thought I lost you . . .

The heavy lump in his heart, the one not even alcohol could manage to erase, was beginning to feel lighter.

For a moment, they sat in silence.

“Why didn’t you recognize me earlier? At supper?” he asked.

“Your appearance surprised me, but I tried not to show it.”

“Why?”

“Lans, we’re not in Arvena anymore. It’s better not to let them know that we know each other.” She then added, “I don’t know these guys. The last time I—” Pain flashed across her face.

“You don’t have to think about that.” Lansius was worried about her memory from the last war.

“I can’t recall much. It always gives me a headache. But I woke up here, which I believe is far away from Riverstead. They treat me well. But they never explain anything to me.”

Lansius found it hard to believe but chose to reassure her gently. “You are you; nothing has changed.”

She looked at him with softer eyes and whispered, “You’re probably here because a Midlandian nobleman wants to use you.”

“Lord Stan wanted me?”

She shook her head. “He’s just another pawn. The mastermind is Lord Bengrieve . . .”

The name made Lansius’s heart skip a beat. “Why does he need me? For what?”

Audrey exhaled sharply. “How could I know that? I don’t even know their plans for me.”

Lansius scratched his head. “Could it be related to Sabina Rustica?” he ventured, more to himself.

“Sabina what?” She furrowed her brow “I’m not familiar with Midlandia. I hope that’s not a brothel.”

“No, no, well . . . sort of,” Lansius admitted awkwardly.

Her sidelong glance held an intensity that made Lansius falter. “Is it just me, or has that look in your eye grown fiercer?” he asked.

“The veil does also help with that,” she hinted cryptically.

“So, you have no idea why this powerful man wants me? I doubt he’s interested in a lowly clerk or squire like myself.”

Audrey pondered for a moment. “I’m not sure, but perhaps it has to do with your origin.”

“Origin?”n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

She glanced at his hair, and Lansius instinctively realized she meant his black hair, the mark of a foreigner.

A foreigner, huh? Indeed, having a foreigner could be useful if they need a scapegoat, especially one with clear, undeniable proof.

Lansius let out a long sigh. His black hair continued to become a blessing and a curse in one. Despite his newfound worries, he felt a burden had been lifted from his chest. “At least I found you. That’s what matters most.”

She pouted again and looked away, a response Lansius was all too familiar with.

“Why did you change your name?”

Audrey abruptly stood, masking her emotions as she moved to a seat across the room.

In that moment, a realization dawned upon Lansius. Despite her present state, Audrey had likely been a captive, possibly even sold into slavery. He once read that in the Imperium, the stigma of slavery was so profound that freed individuals would adopt new identities. The old name was seen as unlucky or even cursed.

He followed her, taking a seat opposite hers. He finally asked the question that had been gnawing at him. “What’s happened to you? That fine black gown, everyone referring to you as a lady, even the baronet calling you his sister . . . Did you marry someone?”

Audrey stared at him, disbelief etched across her face. “Why would anyone want a female squire with no lands or titles to her name?”

Lansius could only nod in understanding, choosing not to press further. He was well aware of her tendency to become stubborn under pressure.

Over time, she slowly began to open up. “At first I thought they needed a female squire for some reason, but they haven’t assigned me to protect anyone.”

Lansius pondered this, trying to determine whether the Midlandian nobles were allies or potential threats.

“We’re mere pawns in their grand game,” Audrey murmured with a grim acceptance.

“Let them try,” he retorted, his face stoic and his voice determined. “One way or another, I’ll find a way out.”

Her gaze held a glimmer of admiration. “To be the master of your fate is a dangerous idea . . . Remember the wine that soaked me earlier?”

Lansius’s eyes widened with sudden comprehension. “Magic?”

She nodded. “One of his retainers must be . . . Sir Stan is Lord Bengrieve’s most trusted henchman. Having a mage under him is not that far-fetched.”

The thrill from his close brush with magic still lingered, yet Lansius had something else on his mind. “What about us?” he dared to ask.

“Us . . . ?” Audrey echoed with surprise.

“I’m now Squire to Lord Arte. Am I not good enough?” He tried a line he had picked up from traveling minstrels.

She blinked, clearly taken aback. “Lans, do you realize what you’re saying?”

Lansius could only offer a small smile. “My feelings are sincere.”

Audrey shook her head. “Why would you want me?” she muttered, more to herself than to him. “I am just a sword maiden. And a broken one at that.” She turned slightly, sweeping her hair aside to reveal a scar on her head.

Lansius felt a surge of emotions: anger at whomever had harmed her and an overwhelming urge to care for her.

She continued. “Sometimes, even in daylight, I feel as though I’m walking through a nightmare. I even assaulted you. I fear . . . I’m not the same person you knew.”

He took her hand and held it tight. “All the more reason for me to stand by you.”

Audrey broke a smile. “The hurried hare falls prey to the waiting hound,” she recited.

“What does that mean?” Lansius questioned, puzzled by her sudden adage.

“It’s what my master used to remind me,” she began, her voice dipped in nostalgia. “Haste leads to unpreparedness and danger.” She took a deep breath, meeting his gaze. “We need to focus on surviving now. Afterward, we can talk about us.”

Understanding dawned on Lansius, and he nodded, appreciating the pragmatism behind her words. “Promise?” He sought assurance, offering his hand.

Audrey took his hand, her grip firm and steadfast. “I’ll renew my oath to you. No matter the circumstances, I’ll protect you.”

Outside, the gentle whisper of the wind caressed the night, offering a deceptive tranquility in this idyllic, rustic corner of the world.