Chapter 185: Celebrations on a Cold Night

Book 4, Chapter 26 - Celebrations on a Cold Night

No, no, no , Elizia thought.

The night had come and gone with her tossing and turning out of frustration. This new day brought on a weight to her eyes that even cold buckets of water couldn't wash away. She was weary, cold, and hurt —hurt inside that was. Her pride had been wounded and she knew not a way to stitch that cut. And so it festered, clawing at her thoughts with its rot as she trekked unto Red Vine, leaving Faren in charge of the camp while she'd decided, irresponsibly, to immerse herself in the vibrancies of the Triluna Festival.

I was taken in. Taken in so, so easily. Her mother would not cave so easily. The Huntress would not sit meekly before another predator. Neither would her father have backed down from his high morals. The duke would not have agreed to a trade embargo on High Lady Coraine. House Galadin was understandable, but Coraine? They were weakening and aidless. And here I've done both. I am a shame to my parents. I am not their equal. I never will be.

Red Vine's trodden streets were packed more than she was expecting. Her scouts had seen many a traveller and trinket seller come down the beaten pathway through the country, but she didn't expect this number for a town of only several thousand at most. Sellers wearing colorful hats offered wooden toys or household items from the backs of their wagons while tinkers shouted out their wares as they dragged pack mules along damp passes.

The morning was no warmer than the night come before it, but the sun was out and so was everyone's smiles. Children ran between pockets of space, young couples walked hand in hand, and elderly men sat before the steps of their homes with smoking pipes between their fingers. Elizia's spirits lifted a touch. Her eyes passed over so many colorful things and candied food stalls. Her purse had a few silver quarters remaining. She could afford a bit of leisurely shopping. She continued along, getting nearer to the town's center. A great stack of wood stood where four streets met. Come evening a blaze would be set, music and dance to accompany it.

Elizia's eye caught on a particular stall hanging a sign she recognized on sight. Sevanna's Needles? This far north? Every one of her dresses —of which there admittedly weren't many— had been commissioned by the famous company. She approached, finding Rask standing before a set of patterned cloths, and oddly, the woman Valencia on his arm. Huh.

The Wolf of Metsiphon was dressed as usual, worn leather vest over a sweater and longsword and knife on a belt. The flower beside him wore a violet gown with patterns of dark vines imprinted on them. It was full sleeved, but the cut was rather low, and Rask, the stoic Rask, was shuffling his feet like an uncertain boy.

Elizia smiled. He'd lost his family, and turned his back on endless wars. It was good that he hadn't lost the will to live entirely. She carefully sidled up to them, hands at her back, the mumblings of a song at the edge of her lips.

“…should be going back to guard duty,” Rask was saying.

“Yes, of course,” the baker said, perusing through uncut cloth with a flowery hemming. “Do you suppose this would look good on me turned into a dress?”

“Er, I imagine so. Anything here would do…”

A flash of anger crossed Valencia's eyes at the haphazard response, replaced entirely by a mischevious grin. “Oh, you're such a flatterer,” she said, slapping Rask's arm. The shopkeep, a young man with spectacles, stood within the shaded space of his stall's roof whilst chewing on his lips and swaying back and forth awkwardly.

“Humor her, Rask,” Elizia said, idly touching the same cloth Valencia had her hand on. “You spent the better part of several decades on 'guard duty'. I think this cloth would look lovely on you, Val.”

The baker jumped. “Er, your highness? Um…”

“Just Elizia, please.”

“My lady, I really must be leaving,” Rask insisted. “I've been charged with manning the town's north gate. I have to make sure the young men are on watch and not off attending festivities.”

“Oh, go then,” Valencia said. “Clearly I'm not of any interest to you.”

“No that's—” Rask began, but the baker was already weaving her way through crowds. She mingled with a group of young women about her age, parsing through the kitchen wares of a tinker a short distance away. It took all of ten seconds for the whole group of them to turn their heads and shoot Rask a foul eye. The Wolf was left grumbling.

Elizia was amused. “I don't recall ever seeing you blunder in a battle, Commander.”

“This was hardly appropriate,” Rask said, stalking away.

Elizia shook her head and followed. “It's the Triluna Festival, Rask. You needn't keep up the stonewall appearance all the time. Even father doesn't do that.”

“I'm a widower, my lady. And I'm probably near twenty years older than her.”

“And that matters because? You'll dance with her before the flames. That’s a command from the First Princess.”

“I don't serve House Serene any longer, your highness. Speaking of, I've been told you signed a number of contracts yesterday…”

“Don't change the topic!” Elizia snapped. The last thing she needed was to be reminded of her failures. Her eye caught on a nearby a group of youths practicing with a bow in a narrow pass between two houses. She felt an itch to go and correct them, a subsequent pang running through her chest as she recalled her own mother's unfinished teachings. “Why was it I never saw you again since that night at the inn? Did that insufferable lordling forbid you to come speak with me?”

Rask paused midstride. “He… I see you're not happy with what you were made to sign,” he mumbled, scratching at that scruff he called beard.

Elizia only just realized she was scowling. “No! Of course not. He's made me place a trade embargo on House Coraine, along with a number of minor noble factions attached to them that he did not even mention in our conversation.”

“I'm sure there were reasons. He's a good man, my lady. He's just—”

“Yes. Very good, in fact,” she said, raising her voice. As if she needed someone else to remind her of her incompetence. “Much better than me, clearly. Say it Rask. Say you aren't proud of me. Say it was all a lie. It certainly should be. I can see why you bet your future here than with a failure of an heir like me. Everything's been for naught since mother…”

Rask opened his mouth then closed it. Several people were staring their way, muttering amongst themselves. Elizia flushed. She'd made another spectacle of herself. Great. She fled before the commander could say another word. Elizia sought out a quiet space to rest, but found every alley and corner occupied. She soon found herself before the steps of the Trillian temple, female clerics in white robes handing out pastries to children and youths with smiles on their faces. Are temples not usually full of young men serving as clerics? That was supposedly one of the ways the Trillians had snuck their soldiers into various cities.

Elizia spared little effort for the thought. She eyed the pastries, desiring something sweet for her ails. But no, she would not accept charity from Trillians of all people. Two rugged, ill dressed men stood before the temple gates, one clipping nails with a knife, and a larger, hairier one scratching at an unshaved neck. The presence of thugs before the temple was enough to tell Elizia that this place was still very much under Trillian control than Lord Caranel's.

They could still be in league .

Elizia passed them by, aware of their gaze upon her, and entered the temple proper. The prayer hall inside was vast enough for her to sit in solitude. The Saintess girl, Ophelia, was standing before the statue of her goddess, a white shawl over her head, listening to the pleas of a handful of townsfolk, and assuring them that their prayers would not fall on deaf ears. Elizia snorted, taking a seat within a pew not too close to the bustling sounds at the exit and neither close enough to the Goddess' idol. She closed her eyes and let out a sigh. Folds came over her skin as her scowl deepened further. She leaned forward, masking her face with her palms, sighing again at the same time a yawn decided to break free. Her eyes watered, and this time she squeezed out a tear, smearing it away no sooner had it come.

People passed her by, their hollow steps echoing along creaking wooden floorboards. Elizia paid little mind. She knew she should've cared more. Festival or not, one might consider her in hostile territory. Especially in a temple. Word of this would surely reach the minds behind the nefarious religious organization. Word of the First Princess, the heir to the sole high lord who still rebelled against the growing religious faction, sitting down in defeat.

Elizia didn't have it in her to care at that moment. I'm a failure. A loser. A nothing. Born to two heroes and some nobody from nowhere bastard can come into his inheritance and take me for the utter fool I've always been.

So many errors made in her brief time as the legion commander of her mother's former soldiers. Elizia had let so many men die for foolish reasons. She'd let an assassin almost take her within her own camp. She'd failed Emma and Azurus. All her parents had accomplished, and now, as the heroes of days gone aged or neared death, Elizia was here, wallowing in despair, lacking in morals, direction, wit, and… and… I hate myself.

Neared death, as if Sar'tara's fate was sealed. Elizia believed it, and she hated herself even more. So few years remained before the Decade's Curse consumed her. Her continued existence was a crooked crutch that ill served its purpose. “Rather mother had died than leave me with a hope slowly being torn from my flesh,” she mumbled.

That was where she was. Wishing her mother was gone than still alive. How much farther to depravity would she fall?

There was the soft rustle of cloth beside her. Elizia opened her eyes a crack to see the dull white robes of the Saintess next to her.

“Is there something I could help with?” Ophelia asked. “Or something you wish to express?”

“Go away,” Elizia grumbled.

“If you've reason for despair, know that the Goddess watches over all, and is not deaf to your pleas.”

“Leave me,” Elizia said with a harsher edge. Rays of golden light pierced through windows near the ceiling, one particular lance letting the ends of Ophelia's bright hair glow with an edge of brilliance. Elizia balled her fists and turned away to hide the red of tears creeping into the whites of her eyes. “I've no Ashes to give for your Flame scarred Goddess.”

“Yet you find yourself within the halls of our holy temple all the same. Divine guidance has brought you here, your highness, and—”

“I said leave me ALONE you Trillian cunt!”

That final word echoed within the void of the prayer hall. The insult thrummed in the confines of Elizia's thoughts, and a stab of guilt was plunged into her breast. Her hate for herself magnified. Saintess Ophelia looked shocked, her pale face flushed. She had a child's face. She's probably several years younger than you, El.

Ophelia rose without a word, leaving thereafter. Elizia ground her teeth, considering apologizing several times before finally having the nerve to rise to her feet again. By now the Saintess had reached the temple gates. Elizia meant to apologize, but Lord Caranel appeared before the open gateway at that moment.

Elizia sat back down, slumping her shoulders and feigning being an ordinary person. Not him. Not now. He was the last person she wanted to see right then. She couldn't help comparing herself to him. They were of similar ages and he was so much more than her. Flames. Even mother had the love of Metsiphon's people, and all of our soldiers. What am I before her shadow?

***

“Hmm,” Aaron said as Ophelia explained what'd been said to her. The girl was burdened enough with putting up false airs for the people and claiming to bless them. She put on a magnificent act, reporting back the people's ails of which Aaron tried resolving. Thus did the lie continue, and word of the Saintess' blessings spread.

Heiress Serene sat within the pews, head down, hair still pulled back into a single braid. She had on a similar leather top over a shirt much like most of her soldiers, the grey of her cloak falling around her shoulders. Aaron allowed himself several deep breaths to help clear his thoughts. He had little reason to speak to Elizia now, but he approached nonetheless, feet moving bereft of any command. He thought he was himself, yet he moved by another's will.

With a start he summoned Lera's painful memories to rid himself of another's control, building hate within his breast and touching his sword of Chronary to siphon it away. The power made him feel whole like he hadn't been before. It clawed at him, a constant itching urge to use what was at his disposal.

Aaron abruptly let go of the sword. Even this weapon vies for control of my mind. Butter Knife was a dangerous thing. Many of a distant past had succumbed to the seduction of its maddening power. A fact he'd do well to remember.

Aaron sat down next to Elizia. The sword had consumed his hate, leaving him an empty shell. “I heard you haven't been particularly kind to our Saintess,” he managed to say, surprised to find himself, his real self in control for once.

The princess, for her part, shuffled an inch away, frowning as she stealthily slid her opposite hand behind her back, hiding the fact that her fingers were upon the knife at her belt. “She told you, did she?”

Aaron did not respond. He folded his arms and stared at the Goddess. Trillia. A familiar name. But Saintess Trillia had a more nostalgic ring to it than 'Goddess'. Saintess Trillia … No. It should be Saintess Tyrella… Aaron's elbow touched the hilt of his blade. The craving for the weapon's power returned to him, slight, but there still as an addiction needing to be soothed. It was enough of a disturbance to break his chain of thoughts.

“I want to make amends to our contract,” Elizia said. “We will not put an embargo on House Coraine and their dwindling allies.”

“You think you get to make demands of me after having just defiled my religious guide with your words, Princess? Consider it a mercy that I'm choosing to ignore this matter entirely.”

“Then I'm negating our contract here and now,” Elizia said.

Aaron met her eyes. There was conviction in there, but it wavered. The whites were a shade of pink brought on from either a lack of sleep or tears. Where is this demand coming from? She'd agreed to the terms without complaint just yesterday. Well, almost without complaint. A bit of bullying, and she would relent, of that he was certain. “Are you trying to take a moral high ground when you came here with the intent to murder me, Lady Serene?”

Elizia flushed.

Aaron's gaze wavered. He could not look her in the eyes for long. That was too dangerous. But he was certain now. Certain of whose likeness Elizia Serene bore, and whose memories it was that left him defenseless before her. “So you'd go back on your given word here, within this holy temple?” he accused, turning back to the idol of the Goddess. Tyrella…

“Holy,” the princess snorted. “Why use a Trillian as witness to our contract, Lord Caranel? Do they really hold so much sway over you?”

“An odd question. They are my benefactors. I was fortunate enough to be saved from my wretched life as sea scourge. I do not know what truth there is to my being of noble blood, but I am here, and that is all that matters to me. It is enough of a granted fortune for me to believe in the Goddess.

“The Saintess is my guide in matters of faith,” Aaron went on, furthering the lie. “She is a chosen of the divine, one born with the Gift of Healing, and one blessed enough to hear the voice of the Goddess.”

“Right,” said Elizia.

“There was a measure of condescension in that 'right' that I do not appreciate, Princess.”

“And I sense a measure of condescension from your treatment of me that I have all but tolerated all this while. You think I'm fool enough to succumb to your fibs? You, a street grown bastard and once pirate, earning the praise of my father's right hand, and governing the lands of a High House? Tell me the truth. Who are you? A pawn of the Vicegerent meant to win the people's favor as he breaks their faith in the monarchy?”

“You're troubled,” Aaron said, shaking his head, still refusing to meet her eye. They were alone in the prayer hall, Elizia's raised voice echoing between the wooden pillars. If anyone else could hear her, it would be the sick in the temple's infirmaries. “Then is your ire born of personal inadequacies? And please sheathe that knife or I'll be forced to take it for the threats I hear creeping into your voice.”

“There it is again. That condescension of yours,” she spat. “Unlike your false deity, my mother was born to a true deity of Illusterra. One your wicked Vicegerent slew with his own hands, for the deity Ny'Danis must have posed a threat to the faith he sought to preach.”

Ny'Danis. That was a name he'd not heard spoken in a very long time. One of four lesser deities made by the Creator to bring vibrancy to a barren land through the making of forests, mountains, oceans and deserts. The only of the four who'd survived the War of Ashes. The Gods were immortal in such that time could not claim them, but they were not invincible. Mother went to the Papillion Forest once in search of shelter. What she found was a land of ash and dust.

Odain had taken that from her as well, albeit unintentionally perhaps. “You claim my deity false when yours was slain,” Aaron said. “I don't imagine you see the contradiction there. If a God can be slain, were they at all a God?”

“You… No. I'm not arguing theology with you. I said I'm annulling our contract lest there be amendments.”

“What is your mother's name?” Aaron asked.

“What? It's Sar'tara Serene. How is that relevant?”

“And she hails from the now lost Papillion?”

“Yes. Again, how is that relevant?”

Aaron shrugged. “It isn't,” he lied. The daughter of a daughter of Ny'Danis. And here she was, decrying her own aunt, Aaron suspected. If his guess wasn't far off, Trillia was a deity wrung from the blessed deeds of the Saintess Tyrella, the first daughter of Ny'Danis. It was so much like Odain, to use his long dead enemies in such nefarious ways. In technical terms, Tyrella would also be my seventy or eightieth great grandmother, I suppose . She had been wife to one Valrun Zz'tai of millennia past. A wife he'd loved more than life itself. A feeling strongly imparted to any and all descendants of the Zz'tai bloodline. And Elizia Serene just had to have a near identical face to Tyrella.

Aaron rose from his seat. He let a finger slide along the length of Butter Knife's hilt, just barely satisfying that craving for power with the tinge of strength he felt from that instant. “There will be no amendments made to the signed contracts,” he said. “You should have made mention of your concerns before signing them. And do please refrain from bullying the Saintess, or I will be forced to take harsher measures.” He stole one final glance Elizia's way before leaving, uncaring for the blatant depression and lack of bite showing in her expression. She'd make a poor high lord if she was that easy to push around. Better she conquered that naiveté than feel its weight when it mattered more. Aaron needed High House Serene, after all.

So it is I've decided to throw my lot in with the wounded bird than attempt to seize the throne from within Odain's inner circle. A simpler road with less scheming to be done. If relations between the Eagles and the crown were indeed strained, then there was a world in which House Serene could be coaxed into marching against the capital. Not the duke perhaps, but his heir is certainly a piece on the board I can influence.

Aaron paused on the steps outside the temple. A simpler road, but one not decided of his own volition. Valrun Zz'tai's influence was strong within his decisions yet. How much of it was genuine machinations, and how much was it a desire to keep the princess near at hand? Aaron ground his teeth. He cared not one whit. He loved Eksa, and Eksa only.

Eksa…

Aaron roamed the streets of Red Vine for a time, wishing she were there with him. He visited various shops and made himself seen. He had on a lush blue tunic, its color mostly drowned by the shadow his black coat cast upon it. He might have dressed more appropriately for the fete, but could not find himself leaving his manse without the coat. Everyone recognizes me in it , he argued with himself.

Eksa would recognize him in it, if by some blessed twist of fate she happened to be here, in Red Vine, on Triluna day. “Flames make it so,” Aaron muttered.

There are two kinds of charisma a leader might come to possess, informed a sudden intruding memory from Aaron didn't care when. It was the worst of times, but his thoughts were never truly his. Intrusions happened at random these, showing him vivid glimpses of the past, or imparting information, some useful, some not. The memory went on and Aaron had no choice but to absorb this new well of information.

Most men who come to lead espouse only one kind of charisma, but some rare men may come to possess both. The first kind is of familiarity. The leader is one with whom his subjects relate. They know that he understands their struggles, and as such can trust him as one to do the right thing.

The second kind is of exaltedness. It is the benevolent belief in a subject that their leader is better, or higher, than everyone else. While this kind of charisma can more easily breed jealousy, it is a kind that leads to reverence from the faithful, and further, a loyalty that comes with zeal.

“And which of those do I embody, if any at all?” he mumbled to himself. He dressed an inch more regally than a beggar might, but he was the lord who'd pulled the lands from a declining economic state. Or perhaps he was merely an excellent pretender, and nothing more. These days, he certainly felt it. None of his decisions had been his own. All of it had been outsider knowledge informing him of the most profitable paths for a destiny preordained for him before birth.

The sun began to dip and the streets of Red Vine grew hollow as the masses were drawn to the bonfire that would soon be alight. Music and song was already rife within the fading firelight of the sun. While day's ending brilliance was to be admired, the Triluna Festival's true heart was the merriment that was to take place beneath the silver beams of three full moons.

It was here, where the sun began to sink, that Aaron found himself no longer being recognized so easily. He took pleasure in the solitude night offered him, sitting at the edge of the town's square upon an emptied crate. Casks were rolled into the square, ale, and indeed Red Vine's famous wines, being poured out free of charge for all to enjoy.

“Are you with me, Viper?” Aaron muttered. His voice hardly carried two steps amid all the noise and clamor.

“I have been for some time,” came the rasped reply.

“Some time…”

“I was following the princess earlier. Speaking of, did you know Rask and the baker are a thing?”

“Are they now?” Aaron asked, smiling. Now that he dwelled on it, Valencia had been rather fidgety whenever in Rask's presence in the recent past. It was at that moment his sight caught the baker giving a flourish before a group of middle aged soldiers bearing the eagle crest on their leathers, her violet skirt twirling around her ankles. They sat like puppies, awaiting her hand, for it was custom for the woman to lay claim to her dance partner for the evening. She stopped before the Wolf of Metsiphon, lifting his rugged chin with a finger, before skipping away.

The soldiers around Rask whistled, pushing him within the embrace of the bonfire's light. Aaron's smile grew as he took Valencia's hand. The baker pulled Rask away, spinning him around as he should have been doing for her, and laughs were had for it. He was too serious at times. He was only on guard duty until sundown this day, replaced now by another. Mayhap the damaged commander finds the courage to love again.

'“What lies on the opposite end of love?”' father asks me.

'“Betrayal,”' I answer.

Aaron ground his boot into the ground. Not one moment of happiness was afforded him that was not immediately shadowed by painful thoughts. He closed his eyes, taking in the music, letting himself fall into its trance as he imagined Eksa in his arms, the scent of her perfume bringing him joy, her lips against his neck and her bosom pressed against his chest. How he wished he could have seen her fiery hair bask in the radiance of the three sisters in the sky as he spun her around by the bonfire.

“I would like to apologize.”

Aaron frowned as his own spell was broken. He opened his eyes, finding Elizia Serene sitting on a crate next to him. A few feet away stood another man with a ranking badge on his grey cloak. The lieutenant Faren, going on description alone, Aaron assumed. “Your apology is better served to the Saintess,” he said.

“I've said my words to her, and she's forgiven me,” Elizia said. She followed that with a softer “I think.”

“Then that's that.”

“No. I insulted your faith as well. For that, I apologize. We are two humans. To think of standing above one another is arrogance. I should not have placed myself above you for your belief in your Goddess.”

Aaron raised a brow. “I thought we established I'd been lying.” Ashes. The way the dancing firelight touched her face…

The princess frowned. She held in her hands two mugs of ale, offering one to him. “Were you?”

“No,” he lied, pulling his eyes to stare at his boots. “And no thank you. I don't drink.”

“No? But you just admitted that you were lying.”

“I admitted that we parted on your believing that I'd lied.”

Elizia sipped from her drink. There was a spot of foam left over on her lip that she swept away with her tongue. “You're still being condescending. We've established that as arrogance.”

“ You established that.” Ashes. I'm stealing glances. Aaron pinched himself, hoping to be rid of Valrun's oppressive influence.

“So you don’t believe a better man is humble than boastful?”

“I have not made that claim,” Aaron said.

“You're insulting me again,” Elizia accused.

“No,” Aaron argued. “I'm merely entertaining myself.” Which was regrettably true. A part of him was enjoying this exchange. He continued to watch young couples spin around the bonfire as their elders clapped and cheered them on. He was acutely aware of Elizia's gaze upon him. Somewhere not near enough to the eye a scuffle broke out over the 'stealing' of a man's woman. “Get yourself something stronger, princess,” Aaron said, hoping she'd leave his side. “You'll not be offered our wines for free again.”

“Dance with me,” Elizia suddenly said.

“What?”

“You heard me.” She hid her lips between another sip from her mug. The other mug rested by her feet.

“I should hope this isn't some half-hearted attempt to force me into making amendments to our contracts.”

“It's low of you, Lord Caranel, to insult a woman's looks. If I were trying that, you can be assured it would be a full-hearted attempt.”

“This coming from the woman who just claimed to not wallow in arrogance. And now she claims she's beautiful enough to be worthy of a full-hearted attempt at seduction.”

Elizia snorted. “I'd sooner seduce a bull than you.”

“That says a lot more about you than it does me, princess,” Aaron said. This was getting juvenile. Enjoyable, but childish. He excused himself from the conversation just as Elizia began chugging on her second mug of ale. Aaron sought out another quiet sitting place when something tugged hard on his arm and pulled him through the crowds and into the light of the bonfire. Cheers erupted as he came to be recognized. The music paused for the briefest of seconds as the Eagle heiress took his hand and pulled him into the rhythm of the renewing songs.

Anywhere but those eyes. Look anywhere but there. Those verdant balls of pure delight could devour him and he wouldn't complain. Aaron instead focused on his steps. He did not allow his pace to be dictated, stepping delicately as if he'd always known how, making an elaborate pattern of footwork that outshone his peasant subjects, and that Elizia was struggling to keep up with.

“Those are the steps of highborn,” she accused. “Not a former pirate. Who are you?”

Who are you? Why was she asking that question, he suddenly thought. Anger suddenly overcame reason. Aaron tightened his grip around her hand, glaring into the delicate glow in her eyes. This stranger of Serene blood would not replace Eksa. No one would. “You're not her ,” he hissed. “Stop trying to be her .”

“What? I'm not trying to be anyone. I just want to know who you—.”

Clang! Clang! Clang!

The ringing bells of Red Vine's watch towers cut sharply through the merriment of the fete. Music came to an abrupt halt and anxious whispering replaced it. Bards and townsfolk alike began shuffling their feet, looking around as if only now realizing what long shadows they cast in the dark of night. The bells continued to ring and a sudden chorus of howls come from the open country beyond. Those shrill sounds whipped through the streets, siphoning at the night's mirth as surely as the warning bells hammered fear into people's hearts.

This was a sound this people had heard before, when raiders of Lord Galadin had sacked their lands.

Aaron pulled Elizia in, keeping a firm grip around her wrist and reaching for her knife with his hand. His face was breaths away from hers as he imparted upon her a look of raw fury.

“What? No! I didn't order anything…”

“North gate!” someone cried. “Strange things been spotted!”

Aaron clicked his tongue and let his dance partner go. Elizia's forces were camped two miles beyond the south gate. He almost had the excuse he wanted to enact an unjust form of vengeance.

He'd almost just killed in cold blood. Again. “Apologies,” Aaron said through gritted teeth. For shame his apology was not sincere.

He stalked off toward the north gate, wrapping his fingers around his magic weapon's hilt, letting its fell power course through him and burn away the cold of the northern night. The wolf howls grew distant and soft, but there were too many in unison. Silver Tails, the wilderness' apex predators, were aroused by something.

Aaron glanced back to find Lieutenant Faren watching his captain's rear, sword in hand. Elizia Serene was retreating down the south street with several of her soldiers right behind her. “Flames,” Aaron cursed, realizing he'd created bad blood between himself and her soldiers by threatening her life. She had zealous soldiers who would have cut him down if he'd followed through with his actions.

Hers was an exalted type of charisma, then. Best to be wary what he said of her around her soldiers, Aaron thought.

The watch tower bells continued to clamor.