Marriage
Vengel Tein watched the gray skies, tasting the faint trace of fire still lingering in the morning air. There was no forest, nor fields to speak of south of the city, and the weather had not been dry enough to warrant a forest fire. Yet the sky had been lighter, and the smell of fire palpable, for three full nights.
She knew only a few great houses within a day’s distance to the city below, wondering what fear could have made them risk rebelling against the Prince Regent, reluctantly admitting to herself that she knew full well the answer.
Turning, she studied the nearby soldiers, finding that they were watching her, but while they seemed tense, their crossbows were still at their sides and not pointing in her direction. She counted six men manning the closest lookout, a wooden tower that had been hastily erected three years prior and hardly necessitated more than two guards to be fully functional.
Her suspicions of an uprising now all but confirmed, she turned her stare towards the quickly retreating royal courier, his gold and red silk robes making him easy to spot. Vengel could only imagine that he was eager to get back to civilization, perhaps also away from whatever was going on further south. The gold and red colors of the Royal Court of House Kuhn, usually a safeguard against any bandit or interference, must suddenly feel less like a shield, and more like a mark.
It was rare to be allowed any time here at the gates of the manor, the only place with an unobscured view of the landscape, and she tried to take in as much as possible of the world outside the sleek stone walls that confined her.
This early in the morning there was nobody around except the guards stationed at the watchtowers, and even had it been midday nobody would have dared raise their heads to acknowledge her.
Vengel curled her fist around the letter in her hand, looking away from a sudden fear that somebody could see her thoughts, despite her apparent solitude.
Prince regent Varan Kuhn would arrive within a week, the courier’s letter had said, and on that joyous occasion, Madam Vengel Tein was to be married.
The letter had said nothing more, and the courier – if he knew anything – knew better than to offer additional information. His letter delivered, he had bowed politely, returning as hurriedly as he had arrived, leaving Vengel to ponder the question of her husband’s identity. Born a princess, however removed from Court her daily life had been, Vengel Tein had always known that her marriage – regardless of who initiated it – would also be a political concern. Recognizing the issue as somewhat out of her control, Vengel had never brought it up, and neither had her parents, but up until Varan Kuhn seized power she had never feared it would be a forced, or entirely unpleasant matter.
With a final look around, she slid back inside, watching as the heavy wooden gates closed once more. A soft scuffle behind her alerted her to Annik, her only companion in house arrest, making her presence known. The young maid could walk without sound if so inclined but made a habit of letting Vengel know when she was around.
“What do you make of this?” Vengel asked, turning back to the house, away from the outside world again. Annik followed her, chewing on her answer for a bit. “What do you make of those fires?” she asked back, and Vengel sighed. “If the two are connected, then the only name of note I have is Janvor. But he was only a third cousin, his claim to the throne would normally not be enough to rally anyone against Varan Kuhn.”
Annik watched her keenly, clearly suspecting the same thing. “Presuming that Varan Kuhn is now so detested, what should he do about you?” She prompted, and Vengel’s face darkened, well aware of the logical answer. “If he kills me now, he will solidify the impression of a bloodthirsty regent. It won’t help his reputation, and I still believe he considers his legacy more than the risk of war. My life is only spared by his vanity. If I step out of line, however, he will not stay his hand.”
If Annik felt any fear, she did not let it show, her face calm and her voice steady as she spoke. “His paranoia forbids him from allowing a marriage that can strengthen your position at his expense,” she looked southwards. “But whatever is going on outside, Prince Regent Varan Kuhn is troubled enough to hurriedly marry you off – your intended husband must be somebody so vile that he thinks it will irrevocably tarnish your standing among his opponents.”
Vengel could only agree with this reasoning. “He won’t risk an alliance between me and any of the nobility, nor with any of his generals and trusted officers,” she shuddered at the thought of the latter group, “But he also needs a broodmare from the royal family line. Somebody besides himself who can rebuild the bloodline when all of this is over.” She bit back the taste of bile, reminding herself that she had wowed to see peace return to Kuhn, that she had chosen not to challenge his rule.
“Knowing my cousin, this is a desperate act – he would have preferred time to arrange these things properly. That means my husband is unlikely to be anyone with power, which excludes a lot of the candidates he could otherwise have chosen to humiliate or harm me.” There was only bleak relief in that assumption.
“A commoner?” Annik said doubtfully, “Wouldn’t that pollute the bloodline, contradicting his goal?”
“I am now second in line to the throne. That is enough to redeem my children,” Vengel said plainly. “But a commoner isn’t going to make me detestable. A criminal or a deserter is more likely. He needs to make me a traitor to Kuhn.”
Annik stopped walking. “Then what about our plans?” She asked, and this time Vengel turned to look her in the eye. “Let him play his hand, and we will adapt as necessary,” she replied, her voice suddenly harder, drawing from the resolve that had kept them alive for the past three years, “This is already a lost battle, but it is not an execution. Varan Kuhn is acting rashly, that is an opportunity to learn.”
***
The Prince Regent of Kuhn arrived with an entourage sizable enough that it filled most of Vengel Tein’s courtyard, displaying such wealth that it belied the strength of their kingdom, barely sufficiently funded for a tenth of the splendor. Vengel knelt obediently at the foot of the stairs, calling out her greeting, Annik kneeling behind her.
“Welcome, Your Majesty, Prince Kuhn, dearest cousin! Your humble servant rejoices!”
The words were calm and polite, carefully crafted and impeccable. She was in no position to fight him, and she was not above cowering when she needed to. Varan Kuhn smiled graciously, almost friendly, except as far as Vengel knew he was incapable of any finer feeling.
“Dear cousin! Arise!” he replied, and Vengel scuffled back up, keeping her eyes on the ground. “I have good news for you,” Varan Kuhn continued as his guards brought forth a prisoner who had clearly been forced to walk for the entire journey, dropping him to the ground between Varan Kuhn and Vengel. “I have found you a suitable husband.”
Vengel dared to glance at the pitiful creature at her feet. His rags were barely holding together, and he was so dirty that she could have smelled him from several feet away. His face was unrecognizable, marred by dirt and bruises, old blood clotting one eye closed. He didn’t seem able to focus with the other eye, but if that was due to fatigue or insanity she couldn’t quite decide.
“Your majesty is too good to me,” she replied, risking to meet Varan Kuhn’s eye. He was as beautiful as she remembered him, his brown hair falling in perfect curls, and his frame tall and broad, but where she had once been proud in his company she now only felt the dull ache of contempt. “Even taking care to select me a suitable husband.”
Kuhn flashed a smile that was all teeth. “Let us not waste time, dear cousin,” he mocked, and the guards hauled the man up, holding him by the arm to keep him on his feet. “I can see you are eager to enter into marital bliss.”
Varan Kuhn gave a small wave with his hand, and an overseer stepped forth, offering her the briefest look of pained sympathy as he held out a decorated silk rope. Recognizing it, Vengel grasped it with her left hand, the familiar embroidery a cherished memory under her fingertips. It had once belonged to her parents. A pang of pain struck behind her chest at the reminder of everything she had already lost to the man whom she now cowered in front of.
The prisoner was unresponsive, and one of the guards hurriedly wrapped the band around his right hand for him, as the overseer spoke the formal prayers of marriage. Vengel kept her eyes on the band, noticing how her soon-to-be husband’s hand was slightly trembling, wondering if he would pass out before or after their marriage was officiated. Somebody had taken the trouble of cleaning up this hand ever so lightly, and she frowned, trying to understand why, when the guard who had assisted in wrapping his hand silently pulled the frayed sleeve back, revealing a tattoo on her husband’s wrist, marking him as a soldier of Tevyun’s army.
Vengel knew better than to risk a look at the guard, wondering silently if he was trying to help her or ridicule her. Varan Kuhn smiled brightly, and Vengel bowed her head, admitting defeat. Already in house arrest and now married into the servant ranks of an unfriendly kingdom, she would have little chance of ever claiming the throne.
“And with affection, promise to keep your heart and hopes, entwined for dreams and future!” The officiator finished his prayer, and Vengel gave a start. Varan Kuhn’s smile changed, and she forced herself to ignore the embarrassment he was trying to enforce upon her. Leaning forward she tried to gauge if her husband was somewhat coherent, ignoring the unpleasant smell of dirt and decay, leaning in and placing a kiss on his dry and chapped lips, ignoring both blood and scabs.
He stilled for a moment, his dull eyes momentarily locking with hers, but otherwise, he did not respond.
“Good!” Varan Kuhn grinned. “Such a loving couple. We will not intrude upon your time any longer,” he took a step back, and it suddenly dawned on her that he struggled as much with the smell as she did. At least he had no intention of throwing them a banquet, she thought with dark satisfaction.
With a hurried clap of his hands, Varan Kuhn turned his back, and his soldiers dropped the unfortunate groom to the ground. The entire entourage hurried to retreat, leaving Vengel, still bound by the wedding rope to her husband, alone to ponder her destitute marriage.
“Is he even still alive?” Annik asked, one hand covering her mouth and nose as she tried to wrap her shawl around herself to make a mask, and Vengel nodded. “For the time being. Help me carry him to the backyard. We’ll need to clean him up, I’m not bringing him inside like this.”
He weighed close to nothing, and the two women had no trouble moving him around the house on their own. “Annik,” Vengel caught her maid’s attention softly. “Prepare a hot bath while I arrange things here,” she ordered, and Annik, thankful for a chance to retreat, hurried to comply.
The backyard was used for most of their daily chores, and Vengel quickly lit a small fire, arranging to heat a wash basin with clean water, leaving it to warm as she returned to her husband. He was lying on a straw mat, barely conscious, and she studied him for a moment, trying to decide in which order to tackle the challenge in front of her.
Annik returned with an old blanket and several rags for washcloths, and Vengel smiled, thankful for the other woman’s acute understanding of what was needed. “Help me undress him and get him cleaned up,” she said, and Annik nodded, trying her best not to breathe. She had exchanged the shawl for another, more manageable mask, and held out a similar one for Vengel, along with a bit of ginger. Vengel accepted the offer without hesitation. “We’ll clean him up as much as possible out here.” She instructed, careful not to hurt him as she started working on his clothes. “After that, we’ll give him a proper bath inside and some new clothes.” She stopped talking as she removed his shirt, staring at the bruised skin underneath.
He was emaciated, bones jutting out behind the pale and discolored skin, several wounds, and old scars telling a story of his stay in captivity. Annik’s eyes widened, and she eased her hands a little, trying to be gentler as she worked.
***
Anghil was only barely aware of what was happening around him, drifting in and out of a more pleasant dream, preferring that elsewhere to whatever was around him. People were talking, and somebody held him upright, but other than that he wasn’t capable of grasping much of his immediate surroundings. In brief moments of clarity, he assumed he was about to meet the executioner, the thought a wry matter-of-fact.
A pair of wrought-iron eyes momentarily forced him out of his daze, willing him to respond. It was but a moment, followed by the ludicrous sensation of a kiss, and he was certain he was dreaming, for he could not comprehend whatever reason anyone would have to kiss him before his death. But then the voices quieted and left, and only the sensation of the kiss and the eyes lingered.
When he came back from his dream he was reclining in a warm bath, somebody sitting behind him, combing through his hair, working through knots and dirt with more gentleness than he had experienced in a long time. Eyes closed he didn’t move, trying to gauge his surroundings, puzzled by this new dream. A door opened behind him, followed by light steps and a woman’s voice. “Vengel. I brought you some soup.”
“Thank you, Annik. Leave it here beside me,” the person combing him said, her voice hushed. “See if you can find some clothes that’ll fit him. I’m almost done here.”
“Do you think he’ll wake up?”
A pause, her hands not moving, as the one called Vengel weighed her words. “I don’t know.”
“Why did Varan Kuhn insist that you marry this man?” Annik asked, and Anghil stilled, struggling to keep his attention on their conversation.
“Do you see the tattoo on his wrist?” Vengel replied calmly, and Annik hissed.
“That marks him as a soldier of Tevyun even for the uninitiated. By marrying me into their ranks Varan Kuhn has eliminated me as a contestant for the throne. Nobody will risk backing me against him, as Tevyun is our sworn enemy. I am now considered a traitor to the throne, even if it is by Varan Kuhn’s own doing, not mine.” If Vengel was devastated, her voice did not betray her. Anghil wanted to laugh, to rebel at the irony of her words, but he had no voice and no power and only drifted back into sleep without making a sound at all.
***
Vengel rinsed out his hair one final time, studying her work. All things considered, the result wasn’t too shabby; she had ended up cutting his hair quite short, and with his emaciated features, wan complexion, and dark hair, now that he was cleaned up he looked like a very sharp-edged ghost.
She moved to his side, checking his pulse and breathing, content with the result, having noticed that he kept drifting in and out of conscience while she took care of him. Not exactly looking forward to his company she wasn’t about to let him die, guessing that Varan Kuhn would be certain to punish her if she openly defied his order. Tevyun soldier or not, she was intent on keeping him alive for the time being.
Putting an arm around him, she hauled him out of the bath, quickly wrapping him up in a towel and moving him over to rest closer to the hearth. Annik had prepared a set of clothes for him, choosing the robes and shirts Vengel rarely used, and though she suspected they would be on the short side, they would be a thousand times better than what he had been left with before.
Now that he was cleaned up she found that he had probably been a good-looking man at some point, around thirty, probably not much older than herself, though with the bruises and malnourishment, it was hard to say. He looked old and young at the same time as if his condition cast shadows across his features that aged him before her eyes. A sudden pang of sympathy made her offer a small caress across his cheek, the kind of comfort her parents had offered her when she was younger, a wordless expression of care, though in truth she had little reason to feel much towards him at all. With a sigh she left him on his own, returning to her room for the night.
Yet even as she closed her eyes, wanting the day to end, the thought of this unknown man stayed with her, troubling her more than the brief visit from Prince Regent Varan Kuhn.
***
He was roused from deep sleep by a pair of firm, careful hands checking his pulse before moving to rest briefly against his forehead. Hesitant to let anyone know he was awake, Anghil stole a look from underneath half-closed eyes, trying to learn what he could before facing whoever was around. The one taking care of him was a young woman, plainly dressed, her hair a striking honey-blonde color. She was thin, the kind that spoke of food being scarce, but seemingly satisfied with her work; humming a tune to herself as she stayed beside him, keeping an eye on him while also folding laundry. To the side, a small fire was burning, with something simmering inside a well-used kettle. Anghil decided there was no immediate danger and slowly opened his eyes fully to get a better view of his new surroundings, unexpected as they were.
“You are awake?” the maid startled, almost jumping backward as he opened his eyes. “Wait here, I’ll call the madam!” she scrambled out of the room, and Anghil blinked in confusion, struggling to sit up. A tray beside him held water and a thin broth, and he took a small sip, not letting the chance to get some proper food go to waste but not daring to trust that his body would be able to handle more.
Hurried footsteps alerted him that the woman was returning with somebody else, and he carefully turned towards the sound.
He had expected “the Madam” to be an older lady, but the woman in front of him was hardly more than thirty, and though her expression was somber, she had a soft beauty that was at odds with her sharp eyes. A shadow lurked there that could be compared to his recent tomb. Whoever she was, he read clearly that she did not trust lightly. He thought he recognized those dark iron eyes, their color a deep, rusty brown, their fire enough to heat a furnace if angered.
A faded memory of someone looking him straight in the eye and offering a soft kiss resurfaced, and he moved a little uncomfortably underneath the heavy quilt, averting his gaze.
“I am glad to see you awake,” she said at last. “This is Annik, my maid, who has taken care of you,” she indicated the younger woman with a graceful sweep of an arm. “You were brought here almost three days ago.”
She sat down in front of him, insisting on meeting his eye. “I am Madam Vengel Tein. My cousin, Prince Regent Kuhn, ordered a marriage between you and me. I am sorry for any inconvenience, but I am currently without power to deny him.”
Anghil blinked, stunned by both her acute summary and her seeming disconnect from the implications. This was someone who had fought a losing war for a long time, sparing no time for the unnecessary. “Married?” he asked, and she merely shrugged. “Whatever Varan Kuhn wants, Varan Kuhn finds a way to get,” she replied darkly. “I am afraid it is a legally recognized marriage, even if it was an unwilling one.” She looked him over once more, and he noted the elegance in her movements, indicating she had clearly been thoroughly educated at some point. She moved like a princess, even if her surroundings and attire didn’t mark her as one.
“Unless you were already married?” she prodded, and he shook his head.
If she was disappointed she didn’t show it. “We will find a way to deal with this matter later,” she replied calmly. “It is not urgent, all things considered.”
Anghil didn’t answer, and so she picked up the cup of water instead, offering it to him. “Drink slowly, and only a little at a time. You will need to heal and rest before anything can be done about anything,” she said softly, patiently holding the cup for him. “We will talk more when you are feeling better.”
Vengel offered a small smile, though it never breached the shadow behind her eyes, and Anghil bowed, not pushing his luck. He was surprised that she appeared to care at least a little about his well-being, considering their situation. She owed him nothing and still had taken what measures she could to make him comfortable. Kindness was not something he had expected to come by within the ranks of Varan Kuhn, and he stole a second look at her as she took her leave.
Anghil’s condition improved enough over the next few days that Annik opted to bring him outside for small walks around the estate, occasionally accompanied by Vengel as well.
He quickly learned that they did most of their daily chores in the backyard, and also that the garden behind the main kitchen had been converted into a small vegetable patch and chicken coop.
The estate was large, even for a princess, but he could see no other person and only the small house where he had spent his days recovering seemed to be in use. Apart from that, everything had the vague taste of dust and beginning mold, empty shells that had forgotten all hospitality. Here and there he could spot harder signs of decay, where the woodwork began softening to rot. Had anyone had an interest or means, saving the place wouldn’t be off the table yet, but there was nothing around to indicate such was the case. Vengel followed his gaze, guessing at his thoughts.
“The entire complex is empty, save for me and Annik,” she explained. “Another insult courtesy of my cousin; that I am established as a princess, yet without any of the amenities needed to put my home to proper use. That, and it is practically a fortress, making it very easy to keep us from getting out,” she gestured towards the walls, indicating the single entrance.
Anghil didn’t reply, looking over each piece of information, trying to see how they fit into the larger image. “How long have you stayed like this?” he asked at last, and a quick warning flashed across Vengel’s features, but then she visibly went blank, no emotion traceable at all. “Annik and I were sent here three years ago,” she said at last. “Though for the first one, I do not recall all that much.”
“Kuhn took the throne five years ago. What happened before your arrest?”
Vengel did not look at him. “Even he is capable of some patience, and our future pains were not quite so blatant at the onset. His plan was carefully crafted and masterfully executed; I’ll give him that.” There was a strain on her voice, not quite a shake, but perhaps some venomous insect slithering around each word. Anghil didn’t push the issue further, but she suddenly turned the topic back on him, catching him off guard.
“How long were you imprisoned?”
He hesitated for the briefest of moments, then bowed his head slightly. “We were caught last year, near the border. A good eight months, at least. Five in Kuhn prison, but by then my comrades were all dead,” he replied, and Vengel stopped in her tracks. Her fingers dug hard into his arm, pulling him around so that she could look him straight in the eye, and Anghil tried not to look away.
Vengel studied her husband intently, trying to gauge if he was telling her the full truth or not. The prison beneath Kuhn palace was well known, though rarely spoken of. Its entrance was on ground level, but the prison itself was dug deep into the ground, blocking any light from entering the holding pens or hallways, making the light from even a cheap candle much treasured – and equally feared – among those imprisoned there.
Light meant people from the outside, and anyone interred quickly learned to fear that more than darkness. The jailers didn’t even need to be particularly cruel for the prisoners to lose all hope: the stale air and continuous darkness drove most of them mad within only a few days.
Most prisoners had seen whatever torture and mistreatment they would long before being disposed of in this tomb, to be forgotten by friends and enemies alike. If he had spent five months there, then he should have been in an even worse state than when he arrived at her estate. But he held her eye, and she could not find anything but truth in his.
“Which side of the border?” she asked at last, and the faintest of smiles tugged at Anghil’s lips. “Tevyun. Kuhn’s men were the ones trespassing.”
Vengel shook her head. “Why? He is nowhere near strong enough to invade.”
“His forces might be stronger than what you believe,” Anghil warned. “But mostly, we were after the same thing.”
She didn’t take the bait yet. “But if the King of Tevyun learns that Kuhn is violating the border he won’t sit idly by,” she protested. “What could spur Kuhn to risk a war in the east?”
“My guess is that he gambled on going unnoticed. And the reward would be worth it; possibly enough to keep both Tevyun and Eidr under his heel.” Anghil took a breath. “Enough so that he has bothered to keep me alive.”
Vengel made a sharp, angry sound and Anghil looked her over. He couldn’t be certain what she was thinking, but he had no doubt she intended to make certain Varan Kuhn never saw whatever he had searched for. “If he keeps you alive, then he suspects you may know something about this thing he is after,” Vengel deduced. “Why then, would he marry you to me?”
Anghil made towards a small bench overlooking an unkempt pond, watching the green that had overtaken the water. “He might think he can use me more efficiently this way,” he suggested.
“If he keeps me alive for fear that I still know something more than him, then me going mad makes this piece of information irreparably lost or damaged. Unreliable, at best. Thus, he moves me to house arrest. Ordering our marriage, he achieves this goal, but also utilizes me against you, binding you to Tevyun,” he rested one leg across the other, idly trailing the edge of the pond with his eyes.
Vengel didn’t sit beside him, her figure taut with an emotion too restless and furious to allow for anything that resembled idleness. “The most important thing to him right now is to keep Tevyun in the dark as to his intent, me available if needed, and you weakened,” Anghil listed each priority on his fingers, before deliberately catching her eye. “He appears to only want you helpless, but not dead. That means you are also still useful to him.”
Vengel looked to the sky, chewing back her resentment, taking a long time to answer. “What were you looking for?” she demanded, and Anghil shook his head. “I cannot answer that,” he said softly. “My friends are dead keeping this secret for Tevyun. Even if you are my wife, and even if this information could buy you some leverage against Kuhn, I would not disclose it to you.”
He moved a little, shifting into a more alert poise, though he did not stand. “I am certain you can understand my position.”
Anghil was aware of the shared awkwardness of being forcibly married to a stranger, though neither of them had ventured to elaborate their feelings on that point. He was a constant humiliation to her, but she treated him with more kindness than he would have expected from a Kuhn. A small part of him was also increasingly aware that had they met under different circumstances, he would have made an effort to know her better, and not only because of her recent climb in regard to the throne of Kuhn.
Though she had developed a habit of avoiding conflict, she was a brilliant analyst. A rare survivor of Kuhn’s paranoid purge, there was no doubt Vengel Tein had a gift of correctly guessing at people’s motives, and the applicable skill set to stay out of trouble. And then there was a part of him that was vividly aware of her striking presence, even dimmed as they were by her current circumstances. If dressed up and pampered like a noblewoman – or even just a rich merchant’s wife – she would be able to hold a court of her own.
***
“Can we trust him?” Annik asked as they settled in for the night, and Vengel sighed. “Can we leave him?” she asked rhetorically, and Annik grimaced.
“If he’s a soldier -and he is on our side – he might be useful,” she bit her lip. “If not, I guess it won’t matter much, in the end.”
Vengel nodded. “Take care of him. He needs to regain a lot of strength if he’s to be able to keep up when we set out,” she said, staring up at the ceiling, revising her escape plan yet another time. Involving Anghil meant taking a risk she couldn’t afford to, but with what little she knew now, leaving him behind was perhaps even more dangerous.
“We could go to Tevyun,” Annik suggested. “If he is a soldier there.”
Vengel sighed. “We will go north, seek refuge with Eidr. They have no love for Varan Kuhn, and I am well-connected with their royal family. As for Tevyun, I doubt a marriage into their military ranks is enough to make the king guarantee safety for you and me. If Anghil speaks the truth, Kuhn has all but declared war, and I am still a pawn. We won’t risk it.”
Annik was quiet for a while. “Do you think he will agree to that?” she asked at last, and Vengel shook her head. “It’s not up to him.”
Annik rested her head in her hand. “He stays up late,” she commented. “I usually see a light in his room well until the morning. Even without a map, he is already planning an escape. We will risk working against each other if we don’t involve him.”
Vengel shrugged. “Would be stranger if he didn’t plan something,” she replied but then paused. “He keeps a light burning all night?” she repeated, a furrow deepening on her brow, recalling that Anghil had spent five months in Kuhn Prison. Though he had recovered well during the month that had passed since his arrival, there might be wounds of a different sort.
It was hard to imagine, much more to remember, in part because he gave the impression of having returned from near death with a ferocious appetite for life. Quick to engage in conversation or offer a hand, he had moved from gaunt specter to pleasant surprise in a timespan so short she wouldn’t have believed it possible unless she had seen it firsthand.
But she also knew that while physical bodies healed when tended to, wounds inflicted on a mind had the uncanny ability to hide themselves, burrowing deep to avoid their tormentor, eventually festering in dark confines and hiding spaces of their own making.
***
“Wait,” Vengel approached Anghil as he passed her in the dim hall. “I have something for you,” she added, presenting him with what looked like a worn clay pot. “It’s a burner for twigs,” She explained, smiling at his puzzled expression. “The nights are growing colder. These are easy to maintain and relight if they go out. If you intend to stay up all night they give enough light for reading.”
Anghil accepted the gift quietly, looking vaguely embarrassed, and Vengel turned away, not interested in prying into his private matters or making him uncomfortable.
“Thank you,” Anghil called after her, and she gave a short bow, heading back to her room. Watching her, Anghil wondered how much of the burner was mere practical sense, and how much was her subtle way of telling him that she had noticed he sat up at night.
Conversations
The mornings were crisp, and apart from the laundry, most tasks were moved inside the house to keep warm. A corner of the main room was converted into a kitchen, and all three took their meals together, huddling beside the fire as Annik poured them each a cup of warm water, adding mint and other dried herbs to substitute for tea.
“I have questions,” Vengel said, running a finger along a small chip at the edge of her cup, “I hope you will answer some of them.”
Anghil merely looked at her, not making any promises. “Ask first,” he suggested calmly, warming both hands around his cup. This close Vengel also noticed how his eyes were not the dull voids from when he had first been brought to her doorstep, but a vivid dark brown. He was still pale and thin, but his features had an underlying warmth, as if under different circumstances he would laugh easily and smile often.
“What can you tell me about your capture?” Vengel asked candidly, and he rolled a shoulder. He knew he could refuse her, or attempt a lie, but a part of him was curious. If he offered a little cooperation, would Vengel turn on him, or return the favor?
“My group was sent to the Baiche mountains in search of something,” he said at last. “I am not at liberty to disclose exactly what,” he added quickly, “but I can tell you we were unsuccessful, encountering instead a small group of Kuhn soldiers who had secretly crossed the border, presumably in search of the same thing.”
Vengel and Annik listened closely, Annik voicing her question first. “Why did they not kill you? It must have been much more difficult, and a higher risk involved in taking captives?”
To this Anghil only nodded, his thoughts still elsewhere. “My guess is that they were in need of more information,” he said at last, “opting to secure whatever we knew. That, and murder is not easy to hide, not even in such a remote location.”
Vengel considered his explanation, filling in the missing context. “If so, then you were indeed very close to the border,” she deduced, “and the possible gain for Kuhn must be immense.”
Again, Anghil merely nodded.
“A group of Kuhn soldiers trespassing into Tevyun, deciding to abduct a group of Tevyun soldiers,” Vengel mused, “can only be explained if they are under strict orders not to leave any possible trace that could incriminate Kuhn.”
She watched Anghil for a reaction, but he studied her intently, not giving away anything but interest in her deduction. “If they didn’t even dare to leave bodies behind for fear of a Tevyun investigation on the off chance that a corpse be discovered…” she trailed off, glancing at Annik, who was watching in rapt attention. “Chances are that these soldiers going missing are most certainly also noticed. You said yourself, the location is very remote,” she met Anghil’s eye, “So Tevyun probably knows you and your group were there, and disappeared, which means they almost certainly expect foul play.”
“I can disclose that this is highly likely,” Anghil agreed, and Vengel studied him, a flicker of caution behind her smile. “What else can you tell me?”
“I want to borrow a map,” Anghil tested her reaction, but Vengel’s smile didn’t waver.
“You mean you want to escape this place,” she corrected, and Anghil laughed. “Don’t you?” he parried, and Vengel’s smile dropped. “Of course I do,” she admitted. “But you are currently not in a state to go anywhere.”
Anghil was startled at the implication that she expected them to go together, watching the two women closely. Vengel looked back at him with a sense of serene calm, and Annik busied herself with heating more water, pretending she had nothing to do with their conversation.
“Can I borrow a map?” he repeated, and Vengel shook her head. “No.”
“Why?”
“Because I do not trust you, and because you need to heal up better first,” Vengel admitted, not bothering with hiding her motives. She noticed how he tensed at her rejection, his hands closing into fists on the worn table between them.
“How can I prove myself?” he demanded, but this time Vengel didn’t answer.
Annik watched them in silence, until Anghil relented with an indignant huff, “Fair enough. I’ll ask you again later.”
Vengel leaned back in her chair, watching him carefully. “Anything else I can do for you?” The invitation was polite, glossing over the conflict with an ease that would have interested him if he wasn’t desperate to search for a way out.
“I am restless. Would it bother you if I used the back garden for exercise?” he knew he was probably pushing it too far, but found he didn’t care. Annik made a long, teasing whistle, and Vengel shot her a dirty look. “So long as Annik can behave, I can’t see why not,” she replied. “Though I ask that you stay out of sight from the gate. I doubt Varan Kuhn’s people will forget to report if they find you are up and about, doing drills in my garden.”
Anghil nodded his understanding. “There is one more thing,” he said slowly. “I am curious about what has happened these past few years. Why is the prince regent lashing out against his court in this way?”
Vengel sighed, contemplating her words carefully before answering. “I can’t presume to know the details,” she began, “as I was not partaking much in life at court at the time.” She met Anghil’s eyes. “I need you to understand this; my mother was His Majesty the King’s youngest sister. Born fourteen years apart, they were not close growing up. When she married my father, she mostly left her life at court behind her. I was raised not to be a princess at court, but a state official, a steward of my lands, and a general’s daughter. I am a princess in title and blood relations only.”
Anghil nodded, and Vengel looked away. “His Majesty has been ill for a long time, age and sickness obstructing his capacity to rule. The Crown Prince therefore ruled in his stead,” she chewed on the inside of her cheek, looking as if the words tasted foul. “He was… unsatisfactory in many ways,” she said at last, looking away, suddenly more interested in the old drapes across the opposite wall. “There were strong voices advocating that the second prince, Varan Kuhn, was a better statesman.”
Vengel didn’t say anything more for so long Anghil wondered if he had pushed her too far, glancing at Annik for any indication if anything was wrong, but the young girl was watching Vengel with the same faraway expression.
“I was among them.” Vengel suddenly admitted, her voice detached. “My mother was close with His Majesty’s second wife. I grew up with Varan Kuhn. My view of him was much different then, compared to what I know now.”
Anghil’s breath hitched, the room darkening at her confession, but he said nothing.
“Five years ago, the Crown Prince had an accident. I do not think we will ever know the particulars of what happened,” Vengel still refused to look at anything but the wall ahead of her. “Varan Kuhn replaced him as Prince Regent, as His Majesty is incapable of officially acknowledging him as the new Crown Prince,” She rubbed a hand across her eyes, looking as if warding off an unpleasant sight. “There were rumors that Varan Kuhn had something to do with what happened to his brother. He retaliated to those more viciously than I would have thought possible of him. What you see here is the culmination of his fight for the throne, not mine or anybody else’s.” She took a shivering breath, and it suddenly dawned on Anghil that she was on the verge of crying. Panicking, he turned to Annik for help, but she only shook her head, silently mouthing what looked like a suggestion to shut his stupid mouth.
Vengel stared hard at the wall, her eyes red, but then she visibly pushed everything back down, another jerking breath the only indication that it took some effort. “I am second in line to the throne, Anghil,” her voice betrayed her fatigue, “Before all this, I was the 56th; I should never have been a pretender to the throne. Many of my other cousins had children of their own, some of those preceding me had barely learned to walk. All gone.”
There was an undeniable pain in that number alone, and yet Anghil found himself calculating the true reach, approximating how many more had died. Nobility rarely passed without taking soldiers, servants, and friends with them. Varan Kuhn’s purge must have felt a heavier toll on his people than any of his exorbitant taxes.
“I’ll leave first, then,” Anghil said at last, knowing nothing would be sufficient to acknowledge their pain, and unwilling to explore the depths of it.
As he left Annik and Vengel said nothing for a long time, both deep in thoughts of what had once been.
“He is clever. He hardly ever wastes a question,” Annik observed, stoking a few embers, “He will be strong enough to attempt an escape soon.”
“I know.” Vengel waited, baiting for the follow up. Finally, Annik turned around, her eyes calm, no secrets or qualms to hide anymore.
“Should I kill him?”
Vengel’s head tilted slightly, but she didn’t seem shocked or unsettled by the question.
“Do you think we should?”
“I want to know if you do.”
Vengel set her cup down with a soft clink, her fingers curling into fists on the tabletop, the decision taking shape.
“I want to kill a lot of people. This tortured soldier isn’t on that list.”
Annik said nothing.
“Most of all I want to kill Varan. I want to hang him with just enough rope that he can struggle for a while. I want to tie him to a stake at low tide and let the rising water undo him. I want his death to take long enough for him to feel the retribution.” She bit herself off, not allowing her anger to carry her further. “I want all this, Annik, while you and I both know I can’t have it. That if I rise to claim the throne it will be backed by somebody else – for who is still alive to rally in our name? And even if I do rise to claim the throne – then I must also serve without vengeance. I must be a Kuhn, not a Tein, a continuation and a symbol of unity, not the burning hate and anger Varan and his followers deserve.”
Annik didn’t argue or feign hope. Between the two of them this was already understood. Instead she summarized in her typical, precise manner: “Judging by your marriage and the possibility that even Janvor rebelled, Varan Kuhn is under pressure. This is our window. Whether or not to include Anghil I’ll leave to you.”
***
“Anghil!” Vengel called out to him a few days later, catching up with him as he scouted out the garden. “Come, I need a favor,” she said, pulling him with her back towards the house. “The shelves in the pantry are too high,” she added, and he followed her obediently, noting how she had caught his sleeve rather than his hand.
The pantry was small and dark, and though Vengel had brought a single lamp with her, Anghil quickly lit a few of the candles that were placed among the shelves, illuminating the room. If Vengel considered the extra illumination a splurge of candles, she made no comment.
“What do you need?” he asked, looking over the top shelves, silently evaluating the contents. If these were the full stocks, it would be a meager winter.
“Help me with this,” Vengel replied, indicating a worn basket on the top shelf. I can’t reach it properly, and it is too heavy for me.”
The shelf was built into the gable wall of the house, and even Anghil had to stand on the tip of his toes to reach the basket. Testing the weight he quickly reevaluated his approach, kicking off his shoes and using the shelves as a ladder.
The basket offered little resistance to his first, testing tugs, and he slid it free of the shelf without trouble, twisting to look down at Vengel, acknowledging his precarious perch. “Can you help me steady this as I lower it to you? I would rather not come crashing down, shelf and all.”
Vengel replied immediately, her hands steadying the basket from below as he maneuvered it down to her, and she turned away for a moment, to place the basket on a nearby table, to sort through the contents. Anghil moved his hand to adjust himself as he climbed down, and his fingers found something else, a small, slick object swallowed by dust. Closing around on it on instinct he pulled it out, sliding it into his pocket to be inspected later.
The basket turned out to be their main supply of grain, packed neatly in several layers of rough cloth to discourage vermin from exploring the contents. Though filled to the brim, and as heavy as it was, it was still too little to support three grown people through the coming winter.
“Do you get supplies?” Anghil asked, not bothering to hide the fact that he found the amount concerning. Vengel shook her head. “Only occasionally, but usually enough not to outright starve.”
“How concerned should I be?”
Vengel met his eye, and for once there was an openness to her that spoke honestly. “All things considered,” she said calmly “We have greater worries. That is why I intend to increase our daily rations rather than stretching them thin through the winter.”
That was all the confirmation Anghil needed to be certain that she intended to pack up and leave, and this time, his smile was in earnest. Vengel shrugged, acknowledging that he was right, giving him a scrutiny that felt more like being back at the doctor’s barracks during military training. “Double rations for you. You are still recuperating from your ordeals. Triple, if you intend to keep up your exercise regime.”
She hoisted the basket onto her hip, making her way back towards the kitchen, and Anghil took a moment before turning out the lights to check the object he had found on the shelf.
It was a fine piece of porcelain, probably a decorative tile, a testament to the expenses that had once been put into the now-neglected mansion. Dirty and covered in dust, the material and glaze underneath were still of high quality, and Anghil turned it over a few times, before tucking it back into his pocket.
Later, during an idle moment beside the pond which had now become his preferred spot to think, he pulled out the tile again, studying it from different angles, before finding a suitable rock and breaking it into smaller pieces.
Picking a few of the better ones, he tested them in his hand, eventually settling on two, discarding the others. Shaping the shards by breaking off the unwanted edges, he worked methodically and slowly, enjoying the respite as his focus honed in on acquiring the desired shape, his hands testing the edges and weighing the tools needed.
It was slow work, grinding it into what he wanted, but he spent his evenings by the pond, continuing with the task, partly for want of something to do, partly driven by some other goal, harder to obtain.
One afternoon, Vengel came to sit beside him. The air was still, and the pond held the shape of the sky in its reflection. Across the water, a heron stood motionless, pale and strangely regal.
“They’ve always been here,” Vengel murmured, nodding toward the bird. “Sometimes I think they are the only loyal subjects left on this estate.”
Anghil glanced at her. “The Blood Heron?”
She didn’t answer right away. “You know the myth, then?”
“Only the Tevyun version. A title for royals willing to kill their own. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty.”
Vengel made a small sound, not quite arguing with him. “That’s a version Varan Kuhn would agree with,” she said. “It has been claimed as justification for almost every purge and cruel policy in Kuhn history. Necessity. The stomach to do all that must be done.” Her gaze followed the heron, slow-stepping through the shallows.
“But that’s not what it meant to my mother. She believed in the old curse. That our bloodline does indeed have capacity for killing each other, but that the Blood Heron was not a title of pride. A warning, not an idol.”
“And you?”
“I don’t know,” Vengel said, rising. “But if Varan Kuhn wants the rise of the Blood Heron again, he should remember that it has never been applied to the sitting ruler.”
That marked the end of their conversation.
Anghil watched her walk away, his gaze lingering until she disappeared around the corner. Slowly he turned his gaze to the heron, unmoving among the reeds, a sudden chill running up his spine at Vengel’s statement. In his palm he turned the small pieces of porcelain, contemplating the wisdom of making the promise he was shaping.
Then he returned to carving.
***
“Learn anything?” Annik asked conspiratorially, sitting down beside Vengel as she watched one of Anghil’s training sessions, and Vengel shot her a quick smile. “A little. He is quite skilled,” she replied, her voice hushed. “But he is not yet entirely healed from whatever Kuhn put him through. Some of his attacks seem to falter, at times.” She ran a hand across her face, watching the wilting leaves around them, reminded that autumn would arrive swiftly. They only had a window of a few more weeks before the weather would confine them for another year.
This time, staying confined for another year was not an option.
Though she tried not to spend too much time recalling the past, or how she had walked helplessly into Varan Kuhn’s trap, the news Anghil had brought with him had stirred something in her. It had been apparent for a long time that Varan Kuhn’s ambition was bold enough to purge his own bloodline, but if he was preparing to wage war against Tevyun, then the bloodbath was not nearing its end; it hadn’t even begun. Vengel had advocated for peace, for waiting out Varan Kuhn’s insecurities, but peace could not be obtained in their lifetime if he was allowed to start a war with their neighbours. And however much she hated the thought of rebelling against the crown, Vengel knew her duty as second in line to the throne. In this, she was and would always only be her mother’s daughter.
Rising, she picked up a nearby cane, and Annik watched with interest as Vengel calmly strode over to Anghil, her arm shooting out and blocking his current move without a moment’s hesitation. Anghil responded automatically, his other arm swinging at her without thought, but Vengel dodged, moving in to counter his next attack.
A puzzled smile split across Anghil’s face as he recognized the move, pivoting out of her way and maintaining the benefit of his longer reach. Vengel smiled briefly, falling in line with his next move, as the two of them tested each other’s skill. Annik watched in silence, recognizing that they seemed to be evenly matched, though if Anghil had been at full health Vengel would probably have struggled to keep the advantage.
“How come a princess knows such mastery?” Anghil asked as they passed each other, and Vengel stepped aside, parrying his feint attack. “I am my parent’s only child. I have been trained to rule in their stead,” she replied, ignoring the way he suddenly looked at her. “You have some skill, is this the expected level of competence within Tevyun’s army?” she parried again, and Anghil withdrew half a step, considering. “Are you flattering me?” he avoided the question, and Vengel seemed to draw her own conclusions from his defensiveness.
“You are not yet at full capacity,” she launched a swift series of attacks, forcing him to give up the distance between them, but not letting any of her blows connect, marking that she was merely demonstrating his weak points. “I will have you join me and Annik while we are practicing,” she added, coming to a halt beside him, lowering her guard, “I think we will have mutual benefit from pooling our resources.”
Anghil glanced from her to Annik, who made an amused salutation at him, indicating that her game of pretense was up. “Did your parents train your maids as well?” Anghil asked flippantly, wiping his brow. “Or could it be that you have trained your own bodyguard and spymaster?”
Vengel answered with a shrug, shooting him a furtive smile that made his heart flutter uncomfortably. “You are quite perceptive,” she remarked, adjusting her robes and belt, before combing her hair back. “Such vivid imagination,” she teased, and Annik faded back into her mask of polite alertness.
Suppressing a small smile Anghil watched the two women as they retreated, sorting through this new revelation. Perhaps they were not quite as docile and despondent as he had feared. If Vengel Tein was truly planning an escape, he would have a better chance of success than if he ventured alone.
Given the right preparations, if they could make it across the border in the small window of time before the first snow, Kuhn’s soldiers would have great difficulty following them without risking getting stuck in a winter campaign that would cost valuable resources. That would deter a prolonged manhunt. Autumn also meant they would have a chance of foraging for some of what they needed along the way, making it possible to risk traveling a little lighter.
Still, the timing was a gamble. They would be hard-pressed if they made for the mountains, and Kuhn would certainly have a good chance of intercepting them if they headed for the river ports. But Anghil was not going to let the chance go to waste. He had escaped prison only by a stroke of luck, he needed to make his move swiftly.
Swiftness seemed to be at the forefront of Vengel’s plans as well, for she wasted no time in arranging their sparring sessions. She and Annik moved in synchronized movements, demonstrating their drills, and Anghil mimicked, pausing to ask whenever their technique varied much from his own.
Both women also carefully copied his movements, Annik finding she preferred a blend of the two, adding a shorter stick to represent a dagger, testing out a few of Anghil’s dual moves. “This works,” she muttered, repeating the movement for Vengel. “See here? It can be drawn without the opponent seeing.”
Vengel reprised the move, but seemed unconvinced. “It’ll take some getting used to,” she admitted, “I don’t quite like the flow.” She made a few testing stabs. “If it suits you, make use of it,” she added, returning the stick to Annik with a firm pat on the arm. Annik didn’t seem the least bit perturbed by Vengel’s dismissal, immediately returning to explore this new set up with her usual curiosity.
Though she rarely seemed to take unnecessary risks, there was always an expediency to Vengel’s actions Anghil thought as he watched her. She wasted no time on concepts of purity or dogmatic teachings, adapting to circumstances and using whatever worked for her without hesitation, expecting those who followed her to do the same. There was a callousness to her adaptability, as if she had long since discarded her ideals in favor of survival, opting to fight as dirty as needed rather than risk playing a hand in vain. Yet occasionally there was a glimpse of something softer underneath the wrought iron; when she laughed with Annik, or in the way she would immediately halt her attack if she caught him having trouble because of his wounds.
He wondered what she would do if Tevyun offered her the means to fight Kuhn openly. She was a contestant in the fight for the throne. Rallying on her behalf, Tevyun could be settling their own score with Kuhn in her name. Helping a princess dispose of a tyrannical ruler made for a nobler war, it would be easier to navigate public opinion that way. There were bound to be people still supporting her in secret, even now, who might be instigated to openly cross Kuhn if she decided to fight for the throne. What better revenge could there be than to see Kuhn fall in front of Vengel Tein?
***
The evenings were turning cold, and Anghil had lit a small fire in the clay pot in his room, working beside the light as he tried to mend a few tears in the blankets Annik had left him with. The work was almost meditative, a quiet, familiar type of mending that allowed his mind to wander.
A knock at the door startled him, and it took him a moment to place the sound. Neither Annik nor Vengel usually sought his company, and he cast a glance from the patchwork in his hands to the door, wondering if he was mistaken, but then came another knock, harder this time.
Putting the blanket aside, he made his way to the door, opening it only halfway.
To his surprise it wasn’t Annik with another set of old hand-me-down quilts.
Vengel still held her hand up as if to knock a third time, a thick shawl across her shoulders to ward off the cold, and an impatient air about her. “We need to talk.”
He didn’t quite move out of her way, but turned to make enough room that she could pass, closing the door after her. The room felt too small for the two of them, and as he passed her to light a few lamps he brushed against her, noting how tense she truly was.
“How are you?” she asked, sitting down on the only chair in the room, Anghil opting to return to his previous spot by the fire. “Better,” he said truthfully, and she nodded a little, deciding to go straight to the reason for her visit, “How far can you run in a night?”
Blinking very slowly, Anghil tried to do the math. “With or without extra weight?” he asked, watching her closely for more detail.
“With.”
“Not very far. Six or seven miles at best.” He wanted to say twenty, but that was a blatant lie. Vengel’s face darkened as she calculated this information.
“Are we going anywhere?” Anghil pointedly asked, and she shook her head. “If we can’t do more than six miles…” she trailed off, but Anghil grasped her shoulder, eager now that he could sense she was planning to flee their confinement. “At a run. If we can do a slower pace, I’d manage double of that, even with added weight. If the map you keep in the pantry is correct, then that will take us far enough eastward to reach the Rich River. From there we can secure passage to Tevyun.”
Vengel shook her head. “We are going north.”
“North?” Anghil spat. “You mean Eidr?” He looked at her with such vehemence Vengel almost took a step backwards. “The Eidr Clan and Tein family have a long history with each other. They will surely help us.”
“What about Tevyun?” Anghil challenged her. “Tevyun will help you.”
“I have no reason to think so well of Tevyun,” Vengel dismissed him, but Anghil was unconvinced. “I am a soldier of Tevyun. I doubt Eidr will welcome me into their home.”
Vengel slammed a hand down on the table beside them, betraying her impatience. “This is not up for debate!” she barked, but Anghil remained unimpressed.
“I’ll ask you to reconsider,” he said at last, exhaling deeply and not meeting her eye, “but tell me, then. What is your plan?”
She knew he wasn’t truly backing off, merely letting her know that he would cooperate if he thought they’d stand a chance at getting out of there. “This place is not heavily guarded, but the terrain leaves little room for hiding once we cross the wall,” she said calmly, proceeding with her outline, deciding she would risk a later confrontation. “Within a heavy enough rainfall, it is possible to make it out of town unnoticed at night. Once we are across the clearings, there is either the old riverbed or the forests. If we make it that far, they must split into smaller hunting groups to cover enough ground. We might slip between the cracks, or if we encounter them, we might even fight our way out.”
“We are still only three people, armed with kitchen knives,” Anghil commented, folding his arms, and watching her intently, “If they find us, we are likely dead.”
Vengel very nearly rolled her eyes at him, refusing to defend her optimism. “I’ll let you know when we are leaving. If you prefer to stay, you are free to do so,” she replied curtly, turning to leave, but Anghil grabbed her arm, pulling her back. “I did not say that,” he offered a bow that was only half apologetic. “But I still believe we should make for Tevyun. It is a shorter trek that also offers a lot of places to hide away.”
“True,” Vengel agreed. “But I am intent upon Eidr.”
Seeing his scowl, she shook her head, clearly battling the urge to fight him. “How about this,” she said at last, “I will let you go wherever you choose to. And I will consider Tevyun, depending on where this effort brings us.”
It was a reasonable proposal, but Anghil found he was dissatisfied with how easily she dodged the conflict. Postponing in hopes of urgency, deciding the battle for her at a later time. There was no real commitment to her suggestion, as easily given as avoided, and he wanted more than that.
Rain
There was a sense of brittle urgency within their small band as they watched the clouds deepen overhead, promising a change in weather. As the sky darkened from dull gray to purple the first heavy raindrops felt like a physical jolt, all three exchanging glances, pausing their work in the garden. “We should prepare for rain tonight,” Vengel said at last, straightening her back with a look of dark anticipation.
Annik wrinkled her nose, jabbing Anghil in the ribs. “Heard that? Rain,” she repeated meaningfully, and Anghil made a soft huff of a laugh. “Consider me informed,” he offered, and Vengel’s frown turned into a lopsided smile.
There was a specific kind of excitement in knowing that this marked their final day at the mansion, an immediate urgency that tingled through marrow and bone, leaving behind a fretful restlessness as they waited for darkness.
“What do we do if we attract attention?” Annik asked while tightening the straps that held her small backpack in place. “We are two women and a man in women’s clothing, running through the worst rainstorm in weeks. Nobody passing will notice anything unusual, surely.” Pausing to adjust her knife, she straightened back up again.
“It’s okay, he’s my husband,” Vengel suggested, her face blank. It took Anghil a moment to realize she had just made a joke, but Annik cackled. “I half wish to see you go with that one!” she grinned, disappearing out into the darkness, making only a faint scuffle as she climbed the wall, dropping out of sight on the other side.
Following close behind Vengel offered him a brief look, a rare smile flashing across her face before she took off, and Anghil followed immediately, dropping onto the soaked ground on the other side, sliding in the mud underneath. Cursing soundlessly, he got back on his feet, surprised to find that the others were waiting for him. Vengel offered an arm, pulling him up, and all three broke into a run.
The rain had turned the fields into deep mud, making it hard to keep up the pace and leaving deep tracks that were easy to follow. Vengel caught a hold of Annik’s cloak and pulled, getting her attention, noting how Anghil was making an effort to stay within arm’s length at all times. Not risking shouting over the rain, she pointed repeatedly for the road.
The dirt was packed hard there, making it less treacherous to navigate, and with luck their tracks would be harder to recognize. Anghil made some sort of gesture, indicating a question, but Annik was already sprinting for the road, her lack of hesitation settling the argument.
Vengel had long since forgotten the way her soaked robes clung to her, water drops running down her skin as she ran, mud and dirt rising with every splashing step to join in on the effort. The rain was relentless, meeting her with heavy knocks, making her skin feel like it was burning despite the cold. She tasted sand and blood and iron, her breathing only coming in raw coughs, yet she never looked back, all her effort pinpointed on moving forward.
The darkness had faded into the dull light of dawn, darkened through the still heavy clouds, but she might as well be blind, not capable of recognizing anything beyond another step.
“Vengel!” A voice called out behind her. “Vengel! We must leave the road!”
The words didn’t register, insignificant against the heavy jolt of every new step away from whatever was behind her, but then a hand clawed into her arm, pulling with enough strength to shake her from her trance as she found herself tumbling headfirst into a ditch, another body slamming into her, pinning her down in the running water.
“Off!” Anghil gasped, “Off the road! We must move before any travelers come by.” He clambered back on his feet, pulling her up as soon as he got his footing, hauling her up out of the ditch and nodding towards a rocky outcrop.
“This way,” he paused long enough to make sure Annik was still with them, one arm still supporting Vengel. “The rain won’t last forever. We need to leave the road,” he insisted, his voice rough through each wheezing breath.
The slate rock was flaking and brittle, but easy enough to climb and the trio stumbled across it relatively unhindered, thankful to be out of the mud. Keeping an eye out for a suitable hiding spot to catch their breath, they tried keeping their earlier pace, but fatigue was seeping into all three, though none would be the first to admit it.
“Here,” Vengel said at last, pointing to what seemed a shallow overhang. “We can use this if we pile a little of the smaller stones,” she suggested, just as Annik finally collapsed on the ground, breathing in deep gasps. “Yes,” she made a vague gesture, “in a moment.”
Hauling herself up Vengel almost laughed, offering a bleak smile as she took in their surroundings, the rain still pouring down. Anghil had collapsed a few feet away, watching her quietly, a disbelieving smile curling one corner of his lip. “You’ll risk a camp?” he asked at last, and Vengel shrugged. “Not much of a choice,” she coughed back. “Look at us.”
Annik only groaned, and Anghil laid his head back, ignoring the rain.
Vengel crawled back up on her feet, pulling impatiently at Annik. “Come. Out of the rain,” she coaxed, turning to Anghil. “You too. Out of the rain,” she ordered, ushering them into the shallow cave. “Quickly now! Get dried up.”
Leaving them to wring out their clothes Vengel returned outside, adding a few stones to already existing piles, breaking up the view of the cave entrance as best she could. It wasn’t a perfect job, but with luck it would be enough to avoid detection if anybody passed by.
She returned to find that Annik and Anghil had hung their cloaks to dry, the gray cloth further covering the cave opening, offering some additional shelter.
With a small sound of appreciation she acknowledged their work, unceremoniously stripping out of her own clothes. Annik sprang to her feet with a surprised gasp, holding out her own robe to cover her, and Anghil promptly turned to face the cave wall, pretending he hadn’t noticed.
Vengel huffed, but admitted her mistake. “I forgot about you,” she grumbled towards Anghil’s back, “I didn’t mean to offend you.”
To her surprise Anghil laughed, a pleasant sound despite his hoarseness. “None taken,” he assured her, “I was a little surprised to find you so familiar with me, despite our status as newly-weds.” he added slyly, and this time it was Annik who snickered, risking a glance at Vengel’s quickly reddening face.
“You two stop being silly!” She tried to brush them off, but the unexpected light-heartedness was much preferable to the reality of their situation, and all three giggled, elated with the taste of freedom and not ready to let go of it yet. Sliding an arm around Annik’s shoulders Vengel staggered over to Anghil, inviting him to join as well, and the three huddled together for warmth, sinking into an uneasy sleep almost immediately.
***
“What is the status of your other spymasters?” Anghil spoke without looking at them, his eyes traveling the contours of the surrounding landscape, while Annik and Vengel changed back into their traveling gear. His own robes and cloak were still damp, clinging cold and uncomfortable against his skin, and he shivered a little.
“Spymasters?” Vengel echoed meekly, but he didn’t turn to confront her.
“You are a princess. Even before all this you must have a few hidden groups to assist in gathering intelligence on the matter of state,” he elaborated.
“I don’t know,” she admitted curtly. “Some might still be hiding. Some might have been eradicated. Others might be compromised. I haven’t been in position to verify.”
Anghil smiled a little to himself, still not turning towards her. If there was a chance of reactivating a few of these groups, then Vengel might yet be a true contender. “I have a group,” he played his hand, “There is a Tevyun conclave to the east.”
Vengel didn’t move, and Annik shot her a quick look, trying to learn how this revelation made her feel, finding only quiet, unreadable darkness. “Go on,” Vengel’s voice was flat, but not hostile, any emotion carefully hidden away in her secret heart. Anghil shook his head. “We can’t keep running like this all the way to the border. We need help, but any interaction is equally dangerous. There is no reason to assume Kuhn doesn’t have plenty of spies and couriers. The conclave will offer us gear and protection, and they are skilled soldiers. Even if they only escort us across the border, we will be a less conspicuous band; Kuhn’s people are looking for two women and one man. Changing that number will help us hide.”
Vengel didn’t pay much attention to his arguments. Rather, she considered the implications of what he truly offered. The revelation of a Tevyun conclave meant Anghil had information that wasn’t readily available to any soldier of Tevyun. Nor would any regular soldier have reason to believe he would receive much assistance from such an organization. They would rather sacrifice him than risk being found. But Anghil had never seemed particularly naive. If he spoke truthfully – and she had the unsettling feeling that he did – then he was of even higher rank than she had assumed so far.
“Lead the way,” she said, not voicing her concerns aloud. Anghil smiled, content she agreed. “First, I have something for you,” he admitted, reaching into his pocket and withdrawing two small pendants, handing one to each. Vengel arched a brow as she accepted the gift, turning it over in her hand to inspect it better. It was made from a piece of tile carefully crafted into an oval shape and attached to a fine, braided cord.
On the front was a carving, and tilting it towards the light she could read what looked similar to Anghil’s tattoo, with an additional symbol beside it.
Annik looked over her shoulder, holding up her own pendant to compare. “These are different,” she pointed out the added symbols. “What do they represent?”
“Yours says ‘ally’” Anghil replied smoothly, his attention still on Vengel, gauging her thoughts, “Vengel’s says ‘wife’.”
Vengel almost dropped the entire thing in perplexion, but Anghil was already moving on, turning away from her. “More importantly, these will keep you safe. If you reach Tevyun, present these to any official, and they will put you in contact with… a friend of mine.”
That went a long way in affirming Vengel’s growing suspicion, but she had little choice but to trust him, and without further ado slid the cord over her head tucking the pendant away underneath her robe.
“Thank you,” she said, ignoring Annik’s look, not ready to explore the implications of whatever it was Anghil offered. Yet as she adjusted the pendant beneath her shirt, Vengel stole a glance at Anghil’s back as he moved ahead, his stride longer and more vigorous now that he had his goal in sight. In truth, she should have been more cautious. Anghil was a pleasant surprise — when Varan Kuhn had announced he was marrying her off she had expected a boorish liability, a man whose loyalty was undeniably with Varan Kuhn and whose main use was to shackle her.
Instead, by some unknown grace or fate she had been given this: a man handsome enough to unsettle her and courteous enough to almost make her forget the peril he represented.
Anghil’s Tevyun allegiance was a risk, no matter how agreeable he seemed. Varan Kuhn had chosen him at least in part because it immediately painted Vengel a traitor; if he hoped to learn more from Anghil by keeping him alive and sane, Vengel suspected that was hardly his main motive. Worse, if Anghil truly bore noble blood — as his bearing and knowledge increasingly suggested — he might have claims of his own. Claims that could complicate her fragile campaign against the Prince Regent, or if she dared dream it, claims that could lend it unexpected aid.
If she decided to trust and cooperate with Anghil, all of Kuhn’s fate was jeopardized on the fragile hope that his ambitions and wants aligned with hers. Annik was right to be sceptical – Vengel was already taking unnecessary risks by trusting him this far. And yet she had hardly any choice; there was nowhere else to turn for help, and the two of them alone meant gambling with even worse odds.
Matching her pace with Anghil’s, Vengel tucked her doubts away with experienced ease, readjusting herself to her priorities. First, they needed to get away from any pursuers. Then, she’d decide what to do with Anghil.
Yet for all her discipline, Vengel felt an unwanted stir behind her ribs whenever he was near, a dangerous, simple truth that she tried not to acknowledge.
She liked him.
She liked his quiet dignity, the stubborn remnants of his smile and the way he treated their uneven alliance. She even liked his appearance, though he was still gaunt and wearing clothes that were too short for him. But that was also part of the problem.
It shamed her how quickly she had come to rely on his presence, how easily she had accepted him – if not exactly as a husband then as part of her immediate future. If he had been suggested to her as a choice – would she have chosen him? Or had she accepted him now simply because he was there; the only available hand reaching toward her?
Vengel knew the consequence of her first failed vow to seek peace. Varan Kuhn had tricked and imprisoned her, cut her off from any meaningful action before she had even thought to rebel, forcing her path regardless of what she had once hoped.
If she was ever to face the memory of her parents, she could do nothing now but rebel against the Crown. She could not afford to indulge in whatever sentiment Anghil stirred in her, could not allow herself to consider the possibility of anything but an alliance during their escape.
She knew she had not chosen him and that she could not do so, and yet for every day they spent together she found herself wondering what it would be like to choose him anyway.
Not because he was the only hand offered, but because he was his hand.
And then she reminded herself that she didn’t even know who he was, and her mouth tightened as her heart hardened with restraint, the bleak reality of her position drowning all foolish thoughts.Ahead of her, Anghil pushed a branch aside — and held it there, clearing the path for her as she passed. It was a small thing, almost nothing at all. A courtesy so natural it might have gone unnoticed, save for the way he waited, the quiet care in the simple gesture. Vengel kept her gaze ahead, careful not to look at him, refusing to see what she already felt: the unspoken offering in the space between them.
It was dangerously tempting to let herself believe in that gentleness. To imagine a life where reaching for his hand would not come at the cost of an entire people.
Instead, she walked by him without a word, her cloak brushing his knuckles where he still held the branch, neither of them saying anything.
Self-Publishing Cold Launch: Costs, Downloads, and What I Learned ‘Sabotaging’ My Own Book Launch - Elise Otterlei | Author
[…] as soon as the book turned to Paid, I adjusted my sales strategy. Now the ads take you to a sample page with the first three chapters – and from there to […]