People were still milling around and noise levels rose at our appearance out of the woods. Wolfe held a hand up to us and the Lieutenant stopped; I pulled on Midnight’s reins to halt her. We watched quietly as Wolfe approached a tall man who stood with his sleeves rolled up, his face dirty and sweaty. At whatever Wolfe said he nodded quickly and disappeared off into the door of the factory. Only minutes later and he was followed by an equally tall, strapping man, perhaps in his late fifties, who grinned broadly at the sight of us. He spoke to Wolfe for a moment and then Wolfe brought him over.
“My Lady. Lieutenant,” Wolfe addressed us quietly. We were all a little tired today. It had been especially hot. “This is Jac Dena. And this is the village of WoodMill. Jac owns the largest lumber company in northern Sabithia.”
Jac grinned proudly and nodded his head at me, his eyes washing over me, wide and astonished. “Nice to make your acquaintance, my Lady.”
I nodded my head, unsure what to say. And to be truthful too tired to think.
“Jac has graciously invited Lady Rogan and Lieutenant Chaeron to stay with him and his family. He’s going to prevail upon the rest of the village to give the Guard shelter for the night.”
“Thank you, Mr Dena,” I acknowledged softly, desperate for some food and sleep. “That’s extremely kind of you.”
“Oh not at all, not at all, my Lady.” He shook his head, still grinning. “We are honoured to offer hospitality to the Royal Guard and the Handmaiden of Phaedra.”
I glared at Wolfe. Damn him and repeating that stupid nickname. He smirked unrepentantly back at me.
***
Not too much later, I found myself seated beside the Lieutenant at a homely table, in a homely kitchen, with wonderful homely aromas that made my stomach clench in anticipation. Jac’s home wasn’t overly large but it was comfortably furnished, and from the state of things it was clear his family had everything they needed. His wife, a pretty, petite woman who stammered in my presence (bloody Wolfe!) flittered around us like a little butterfly around too many flowers. Jac sat at the head of the table, and after arguing quite profusely, I sat across from his two sons instead of at the other end of the table where Mrs Dena normally sat. I wasn’t coming into someone else’s home and acting like some kind of overbearing Kralovna. Mrs Dena finally took a seat and we all began serving ourselves. I became uncomfortably aware of the Dena’s two sons’ staring. My cheeks flushed under the scrutiny. The eldest, Jac Jnr, looked to be my age, the youngest, Leon, perhaps Haydyn’s. I had never before been the target of such open attention and I squirmed in my seat. From the corner of my eye I saw Chaeron grip his knife a little too tightly.
Thankfully, Jac began asking questions about Silvera and I tried my best to answer them graciously and articulately. After all they had opened their home to strangers and I was more than thankful to be off my horse for a while. I’m sure Midnight was equally thankful.
“By gee…” Leon suddenly exhaled, sitting back in his chair, his dark eyes fixated on me. I stopped with my fork halfway to my mouth, my eyes wide with surprise. The boy looked as if he was picturing me na**d. I flushed harder. “You are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. And that’s including Shera. Shera’s the prettiest girl in WoodMill, but she isn’t as pretty as you.”
“Leon, don’t-”
But Jac snr’s reprimand was cut off by Jac Jnr, who slapped his brother across the head. “Don’t be speaking to royalty like that, Leon. And don’t be speaking about Shera at all. I told you to stay away from my girl.”
“She’s not your girl!” Leon yelled, going purple with anger very quickly. I unconsciously slid towards the Lieutenant as the boys argument grew wilder, none of the two listening as their parents demanded them to stop. I flinched as the discussion became aggressive in light of some personal revelations.
“What do you mean you kissed her?!” Jac Jnr bellowed. He dove onto his brother, the two crashing to ground. I jerked back from the table at fists meeting flesh, images of Kir on the muddy ground, a giant soldier towering over him in the dark. I stumbled away from the fight, feeling hot shivers cascade across my skin. Seeing my reaction, the Lieutenant strode across the room, shoving Jac snr, who was very little use considering his size, out of the way. He grabbed the two boys as if they weighed nothing and shoved them apart with little effort.
“Enough!” He shouted at the two and then glared at Jac Dena. “I suggest you discipline them.”
Jac nodded, his face red with embarrassment. “I am so sorry, Lieutenant. I’ve never been so ashamed in my life.” He grabbed his sons, growling at them as they disappeared from the room. I looked at Mrs Dena who looked so confused and alarmed by her sons’ behaviour that I immediately began to draw from her panic.
My eyes clashed with Lieutenant Chaeron. A silent message passed between us. This was it. The Dyzvati magic was beginning to fail in Sabithia. People who were inclined towards temper would no longer be affected and soothed by Haydyn’s evocation. They would react as they would do naturally, without thought, only with the heat of anger no longer tamed by my friend and her magic. It never even crossed my mind that it might be natural for brothers, close in age, to fight so. To Phaedrians, under the Dyzvati spell for so long, natural was to curb any instincts that may disrupt the peace, despite any inward feelings of anger, passion or violence.
That night, Chaeron insisted on sleeping on a pallet in the room the Dena’s gave me. I didn’t question it.
Chapter Eight
Wolfe was visibly upset when Chaeron told him what had happened the next morning as we readied to leave. He glanced around to make sure none of the men were listening nearby and then looked at me sharply, penetratingly. I took a step back under his gaze. “Are you alright?” He asked tightly.
I nodded, perturbed by his seeming concern.
Wolfe looked at me a moment too long, his eyes telling me he was worried by the news. Instinctively I wanted to reassure him somehow.
And then I remembered who he was and turned my back on him to mount Midnight.
***
It rained in Raphizya. Not light showery rain to ease our hot skins. Hard, pelting rain that fell down on us in large drops, furious at having been dominated by the sun for so long. My cloak was soaked to my dress like a second skin, making movement on the horse difficult. Not to mention I had to keep pulling my cloak closed, my muslin dress leaving little to the imagination as it plastered my body. We stopped at an inn that night and I stood na**d by the fire for so long the backs of my legs were blotched red. I didn’t care. I was blissfully warm.
The next day the sun was back out but not so hot, and we gathered ourselves together again for a milder, more comfortable journey. I winced at a chorus of sneezing from the men behind me and prayed that none of them were very ill.
When Wolfe stopped us for lunch it was in a wide open field. In the distance we saw cows and sheep in neighbouring farm lands. The grass was as green as green could be, as green as a master painter’s imagination, and a single, beautiful willow tree attracted the men as they dismounted. Some gathered around the tree, talking and laughing as they sipped thirstily from their water canteens and munched on bread we had bought from the people of WoodMill. I fed Midnight an apple and then left her to graze by the men, needing a moment of peace from them. I didn’t wander far, just enough so that their voices were bells on the wind. Wolfe sat laughing with Chaeron and a few others, munching on some oatcakes. I shrugged off an uncomfortable feeling that had begun to grow on this trip with Wolfe. Like I had misjudged him somehow, unfairly blamed him for his father’s deeds. So far he had proved himself strong and fair. His men loved him and obeyed him, trusted him, despite his young age. Surely that told me a little something of his character. I winced and thought of my parents, mentally slapping myself for my soft musings. If I felt this strongly, this hateful towards Syracen for what he done, surely Wolfe felt the same way about me and my exposure of Syracen. Frowning, I pulled my gaze away from him and grew interested in two of the men training off to the side. They parried and thrust at one another with their swords; easy, fluid, strong. My heart skipped a little as a sudden interesting idea took hold. I lifted up my skirts and strode towards them.
“Officer Stark, isn’t it?” I enquired softly as I came upon them. “And Officer Reith?” They seemed surprised that I knew them by name but I had an excellent memory.
“My Lady.” They both offered little bows, their eyes still wide on me.
“Please.” I held my hands up. “It’s Rogan. Or,” I noted their appalled looks, “Miss Rogan, if you must. But I’m not Lady anything.”
“Miss Rogan,” Officer Stark cleared his throat, “How can we assist you?”
I smiled at them. Now, I couldn’t flirt. I was terrible at it, but I had learned from Haydyn that a soft smile went a long way. And she was right. They seemed to puff up their chests under my feminine attention. “I was watching you train, you’re both very good.”
They flushed and began murmuring ‘thank you’s’. I calculated their heights with the happy realisation they were the perfect men to ask of this. Not too tall, nor too broad.
“I wonder if you might teach me how to use a sword.”
Reith’s jaw dropped before he remembered himself and straightened, clearing his expression. “A sword, Miss Rogan?”
I offered him an even bigger smile for calling me Miss Rogan. “Yes. Nothing too difficult of course, but I do think with us travelling into Alvernia that it may be of use to me to know how to defend myself a little.”
The men shared a look. I breathed relief. They weren’t too shocked by the idea. In fact Officer Stark nodded determinedly. “You might be right there, Miss Rogan. Shall we show you first how to grip the sword?”
I grinned excitedly, unable to believe they had acquiesced so easily. I was so used to being treated like Haydyn; like I was a piece of precious glass that would shatter at the slightest touch. Reith, being the shortest of the two, circled me a little uncertainly and then came up behind me, his arms going around me to show me how to hold the sword. So engrossed in their teachings, laughing with them as I thrust the sword like a limp noodle, I didn’t hear his approach until…
“What the bloody hell is going on?”
Reith jumped away from me as if I was poisonous, his face flushing as he looked at the person behind me. Wolfe.
I turned around. “We wer-”
“I wasn’t asking you,” Wolfe snapped, glaring at me, at the men. “Officer Stark?”
Officer Stark coughed, shifting uncomfortably. “Miss Rogan asked us to show her some basic sword training, Captain. We didn’t see any harm in it.”
“Any harm? Any harm?” Wolfe seethed. “She could have walked into the damn thing, for havens sake.”
Blood flooded my cheeks like boiling water and I bit my tongue from screaming at him like a banshee. “Captain Stovia,” I fumed. “I am not a doll. I am perfectly capable of avoiding the sharp end of a sword!”
“And!” He ignored me entirely, knowing how much it would enrage me further. “Lady Rogan is to be addressed as such.”
“I asked them to call me Miss Rogan,” I retorted.
He growled, “Well I’m un-asking them.” His own cheeks were flushed now as his blue eyes sparked like hot chips of aquamarine at his men. “From now on, if she asks for anything, you ask me first before you acquiesce to her request.”
“Yes sir.” They both mumbled, heads bowing a little.
Wolfe turned on his heel and began marching away, his spine stiff with irritation.
“I have a name!” I called out to him lamely. She indeed.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Officer Reith whistled, “I don’t know what it is about you, Lady Rogan, but you’re the only one who ever makes Captain lose his composure.”
I frowned at him and Officer Stark nudged him, his eyes telling him to shut up.
“Oh right.” Reith swallowed, looking embarrassed and a little guilty. So they had remembered I had inadvertently had Wolfe’s father killed then, had they?
“Yes,” I replied wryly. “People react oddly when they’re talking to their archenemies.”
I walked away, feeling deflated now. But I stiffened when I heard Reith mutter to Stark, “I’m not sure that’s what gets Captain so hot.”
I grimaced and kept walking, my eyes finding Wolfe as he ordered the men back onto their horses. Of course he saw me as his enemy. Why else was he always baiting me? I wasn’t an idiot – Wolfe hated me as much as I hated him. And I’d be waiting when he took his chance for vengeance.
If only I knew how to use a sword.
Spoilsport.
***
I wasn’t speaking to Wolfe for humiliating me in front of his men and he wasn’t speaking to me for enlisting his men’s help behind his back. He rode ahead the entire way to Peza and I glared at his back without distraction. Lieutenant Chaeron kept making amused little sounds from the back of his throat but I ignored him, somehow thinking if I stared long and hard enough Wolfe might suddenly be knocked off his horse and onto his ass.
Having sent one of the men ahead to let Grof Krill Rada know we were arriving, we were met at the gates by Grof Krill’s guards and escorted through Peza to the Grof’s home. I stared in wonder at Peza, completely oblivious of the people and their waving and exuberant calls of welcome. I was amazed by the similarities to Silvera. It was as if Silvera had been copied by a master artisan and plunked down in Peza. The architecture was the same, the street plan was the same; even some of the market square seemed the same, if only a little smaller. The difference, however, was the awesome splashes of vibrant colour everywhere. Tapestries hung on the outsides of buildings, murals painted on brick work. I winced at the thought of having to clean and replace those tapestries, and at having to refresh the murals every few years. But this was the city of art and it made sense that the people wished to display it wherever they could