Chapter 24 - Hate of Existence

  Remind me again how I ended up here, Valencia wanted to say out loud. Alas, if she were to start complaining, she'd set a poor example for her apprentices huddled in cloaks on the wain beside her. Its wheels left behind a trail as they crushed through a layer of frost blanketing the hills. A foul current had been passing through Red Vine for the past several days. A current carrying with it the echoes of what should have been a dead winter. Snow came with it, light for the most part, and easily cleared from the roads. It was the relentless tempests that burdened Valencia the most. The wind found its way through her many layers and straight into her marrow.

  “How did I end up here,” she muttered anyway, just as a gale cut through and stole her voice. Yara and Cali were whispering excitedly, not at all bothering to clutch their cloaks before their chests. Their cheeks held more color than what cold weather could work of them. They discussed some folly, no doubt. Something about young, handsome soldiers from down south.

  Right. That's how we got here. There's an army camped two miles outside our walls and our lord has decided to feed them with plenty rather than send them away.

  Valencia eyed her apprentices with envy. It was easy to ignore everything when lost to the whims of youthful emotions. On a different morn they might bat their lashes at Lord Caranel, and now they found themselves enamored with the well-dressed soldiers from Flames knew where. Their camp came into view, several banners bearing an eagle fluttering in the wind.

  Valencia tucked her knees in further. Conflicting rumors were floating around about this mysterious force. The boys who stood watch before the town gates made claims that this army was hostile, claimed even that their captain had insulted Aarondel to his face. The young lord himself had been saying otherwise. There was that matter with our miners getting attacked, Valencia recalled. Likely Aaron had called this force up for aid. But if that were the case, hadn't they arrived too quickly?

  Valencia racked her brain for knowledge of those grey eagle banners. Once she'd been ardent on studying the nobility. She had truly believed that Agrienne would one day wed her. A sigh escaped her. What a fool she'd been. Silver eagle. High House… Serene I think? Weren't they too far south to have come on such short notice? And could a foreign army really be trusted, after High House Galadin had sacked these lands when Agrienne had abandoned them?

  Another harsh wind passed by, wisps of loose snow gliding across the surface of the ground like the fleeting shadow of a small bird. The wagon train rolled into the Serene encampment, Valencia's being the fourth in a chain of ten. She covered her mouth, half stifling a yawn. Not only was there work to be done ere dawn for the wives and mothers come to her store in the early mornings, but Aaron had also placed orders for this army here. She obviously couldn't make enough bread for even a fifth of them on time, but he'd insisted on whatever she might manage, and paid handsomely.

  Still, Valencia would rather have been at home, resting near a fire or perhaps plucking through the dresses in her wardrobe for the Triluna festival on the morrow. Flames had it the weather eased in time for celebrations.

  The wagon train steered through multiple tents, avoiding the glowing embers of many a campfire, as well as open pockets of space where squads of soldiers trained to keep warm or some such. The two girls next to Valencia sat on their knees, smiling to each other as they watched the soldiers run through drills, some among them being haughty enough to go without shirts in this Flame forsaken weather. Those toned torsos drew Yara and Cali's eyes for lengthy periods of time. Their giggles carried far enough to distract the training soldiers, earning the men harsh words from their squad captains. Valencia rolled her eyes. Surely she hadn't been that insufferable at that age, had she?

  The wagon train stopped near other supply tents. A number of soldiers in leather with sweaters on top aided in unloading the carts while several women in long blue dresses guided them and recorded supply stock in ledgers of some sort. There was another taller young woman among them standing to the side. She had thick brown hair like Valencia's own, but hers was pulled back and done in a single braid that went down to her waist while Valencia had her hair in a bun. This woman was dressed in a plain white shirt with a hard leather vest atop, and a pair of tight fitted breeches that, in all honesty, seemed rather scandalous. The army's logistic manager maybe?

  Valencia jumped off the wagon, hands too worn from kneading dough to bother with the unloading. She clutched the ends of her cloak before her breast and approached this woman in boyish clothes. “Are you not cold?” she said, trying to break ice. Only then did Valencia see the knife at the woman's belt.

  “Crates of… bread?” one soldier asked, looking through the baker's wagon. “And they're still warm. Dozens of them.”

  Almost two hundred loaves actually, Valencia thought. Two hundred split between three pairs of hands. Yara and Cali were helping excitedly. Where that energy came from, Valencia could not guess.

  “Hand those out to the soldiers immediately then,” a blue dressed woman said.

  “Was a pain making all of those, you know,” Valencia muttered.

  “Hmm? Are you perhaps a baker?” the woman with the braid asked.

  “The baker,” Valencia said. “The only one in Red Vine. My arms and waist are in pain after all that kneading.”

  “Oh. Might I get you a chair?”

  Valencia frowned. That was way too formal. Or perhaps I'm being too casual. This woman could easily be of lesser nobility. She's logistic personnel. She's probably had good education. Likely nobility or gentry. “No, that's alright. I just want to be away from the cold.”

  “Ah, that is a sentiment I can understand,” the young woman said. She held out her hand. “Elizia.”

  Again Valencia frowned. Since when did women shake hands? She took the offer anyhow, finding Elizia's hands far colder than her own. “Valencia. Or Val if you might.”

  “Well, Val, I appreciate your efforts for the men. Is there any way in which I might compensate you? We're a little short on coin, but arrangements can be made.”

  Valencia put up her hands. “Oh no, Lord Caranel's compensated me enough.”

  “Ah, I see.”

  An awkward silence passed between them. A silence occupied by the grunts of working people and the snorts of horses. The carts were only a quarter way done unloading.

  A cloud escaped Valencia's mouth as she bit down at the edge of her lip. Here she was, a peasant, attempting conversation with what was probably nobility. She felt small in Elizia's presence. In fact, the woman was almost a good head taller. Her curves were none more enviable than Valencia's own, but the way Elizia's legs pushed against the fabric of her breeches made the baker a tad jealous. That knife on her belt probably does a lot to keep these soldiers' gazes elsewhere, Valencia thought. “So…” she began, “I heard the commander of this army insulted Lord Caranel.” Valencia let the question go unasked. Maybe Elizia would be open to gossiping.

  The taller woman glanced down. “Yes. I've… heard so as well.”

  “Probably rumors from the town's gate guards. Those boys are jumpy with an army so close to home. Lord Caranel asked this lot to come, didn't he? To deal with whatever it is hiding in the Spinewood?”

  “Is that right?”

  Valencia frowned. “Now you're just teasing me, Elizia. Surely there's something juicy you know that I can share with the wives in tomorrow's fete.”

  Elizia smiled. “A trade then. Tell me about Lord Caranel, and I'll let you in on some secrets I might happen to possess.”

  Valencia felt the warmth of a nefarious mirth. Gossiping was never not fun. “And why might you want to know more about Lord Caranel?”

  ***

  Elizia folded her arms. More than a cycle had come and gone, and Lord Caranel still refused her an audience. The men, for their part, had not grown irate. Plenty of hot meals were coming through from town. What sickness did develop was easily managed by the few physics Elizia had accompanying her riders. Physics who also aided in bookkeeping and logistic headaches.

  “Oh, no reason…” Elizia said, playfully answering the baker's question. All the more reason to be worried. How deep of a debt does this Aarondel want to put me in before he's decided he's had enough? Any more, and Elizia feared she'd be extorted for iron just as Lord Galadin was already doing to her father. Perhaps this gossiping baker can give insight to this boy lord's character.

  “No reason…,” Valencia echoed. “I don't imagine you need help attracting a man of your fancy,” she then said, stealing a glance at Elizia's legs again. “But that one in particular? That one might be difficult.”

  “You speak as if you know Lord Caranel rather intimately, Val.”

  “A lot of us do. He makes regular trips to stores and such in Red Vine. He's done a lot for us, since we were robbed of much two years ago.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Alright. Definitely not a despot. It was time Elizia let go of that image. She mulled over her thoughts for several seconds, watching the endless motion of her soldiers moving back and forth with boxes in their arms, stacking them in proper order. Bread, vegetables, raw meats… The high lord wasn't sparing any luxury. The soldiers did not even eat this well at the garrison.

  “Does he have someone he fancies?” Elizia finally asked, continuing the act of an emotionally inept young woman. I am inept though aren't I? It was my rash emotions that led me up to this cold place.

  “No,” Valencia said. “Not that I'm aware of. He's just… strange. Oft he seems young, and other times much older than what his looks suggest. He's a good lord —better than Red Vine's had in the last decade, but as far as personal interests go… I don't know. Flames, he comes to my shop every other morning for to break his fast and… I know next to nothing about him.”

  Elizia raised a brow. “Every other morning? I daresay I know his type now.”

  Valencia raised her hands. “Oh no. Not me. I had… with Lord Agrienne… er, I mean, Lord Caranel is well aware of me and his, er, father… bah! That's not important. The Triluna festival is tomorrow. Maybe you'll have an opportunity to dance with him then.”

  Or I can go visit him now. If he really did wander among his own peasant class, perhaps she'd catch him on the streets. Surely he wouldn't spurn her before his people for his own image's sake. Her soldiers were allowed in and out of Red Vine, but no more than a dozen at a time. Elizia herself had stayed put, stubbornly awaiting summons. She'd been patient and courteous long enough. There's also the matter of the captured Field Burners…

  Elizia, to her own dismay, had given custody of them to the Trillian temple within Red Vine. Supposedly they were doing better and slowly being taught how to speak and read.

  “Elizia?” Valencia asked. “I'd say you were lost in thought about a dance, but there's not a touch of color in your face.”

  “Dance? That's not possible,” Elizia said. “After all, I insulted the man to his face.”

  “You did? Wait. Elizia… is that not the name of Xenaria's second princess?”

  “First princess now,” Elizia said. She stayed long enough to see a look of shock come over the poor baker. She then left the tent and headed for Red Vine.

  ***

  The temple of Red Vine was about the same size as Aaron's own manor, but its rooms were not many. A grand hall took up most of the space, tall pillars of wood supporting the angled roof. At the hall's end was a life sized statue of the goddess carved from red oak, fresh flowers adorning her head.

  Aaron stepped out from the infirmary quarters which were comprised of multiple small rooms, leaving the physics and clerics to their work. He entered the main prayer hall. Several of the town's citizens sitting within the drab pews prayed with their eyes closed and hands clasped. Grey light filtered through the building's windows, giving the hall a colder feel than what really was. A single chandelier hung from the ceiling, one with small orange luminite stones. Their light was meager, like that of a dozen candles. Not at all sufficient for after dark.

  Ophelia came out from within the infirmary. There were bags beneath the poor girl's eyes. “I've done all I can, but I cannot heal them,” she said.

  Aaron nodded, expecting as much. The Field Burners of Tarmia were an odd lot. A group of thirty-three boys a year or three younger than Ophelia herself, who could not speak and had very little understanding of people in general. A shadow lingered at the edge of Aaron's memory, a definite answer on how it was these boys might have ended up in the state that they did. He refused to delve into such knowledge, for doing so, he feared, would be acknowledging a truth he did not want to do. There's a good reason for this, he lied to himself.

  “My lord, regarding my visit to Heira this time around—”

  “Ophelia, you can rest. I will hear your report on the morrow.” She'd only arrived to town a few hours ere, and had stopped for a bath and a meal before attending to the many duties awaiting her. She wore a thin white shawl over her bright hair which shone with the dull light of something damp. “And get yourself a towel. Your hair is still wet. I don't need you catching a fever in this weather.”

  “I'm not tired,” she insisted, holding in her eye that stubborn look that implied disobedience. A look many her age tended to give their parents. She pinched locks of her hair and slid her fingers down them as if that would drain the water away.

  Aaron sighed. “Then I'll hear it at the manor. I've some ledgers I might need your help with too.” That made her smile. She was ever eager to please, to make herself useful. Aaron felt a drop of guilt for using her as he did.

  Just a single drop within a lake of all else.

  Aaron had already heard the most of it from Viper while Ophelia was attending to her needs. She had succeeded in a plan he'd expected to take several years, and in a most unexpected manner. But she'd succeeded nonetheless, and that meant plans had to be moved up. “You've retrieved my tribute to the Heiran temple, yes?” he asked, walking between the pews and toward the arched entrance of the hall. The ends of his unbuttoned black coat fluttered with his long strides. Ophelia jogged to keep up, offering smiles to townsfolk greeting her with reverence. 'Saintess' they all breathed.

  Perfect, Aaron thought. With Red Vine's population growing steadily thanks to migration, word of the Saintess would spread far throughout the nation.

  “Yes, with some extra actually,” the girl beamed.

  “Extra? Child, everyone gets lazy in some aspect or another, but the one thing every person insists on being meticulous about is money. I know the Trillians get a lot of donations, but I don't want you taking conspicuous amounts.”

  “It's alright. I was asked by one of the Second Seat to sort through their ledgers,” she said with pride. Then she frowned. “Child? I'm not a child.”

  But you are. Everyone is. More and more ancient memories intruded upon Aaron's thoughts. His own sense of self was unraveling, leaving something else in its place to endure the lashes of fate. He wondered, for the briefest of seconds, how it was his mother had maintained her genuine self with such thoughts plaguing her head. Or was it that she'd abandoned it all and placed her hopes on him?

  “Don't do it again,” Aaron said. “Even if you get to work their ledgers again.”

  “But—”

  “No, Ophelia. That is an order. You're too important to lose on something so trifling.” Red Vine would soon have grander sources of income anyhow.

  “Important to you, or important to use?” the girl asked.

  Aaron paused midstride, the temple doors several feet before him. “Important to everyone. To this town, as their guiding light and religious figurehead.”

  “But… that wasn't what I asked,” she muttered.

  What to do about her feelings? “You're important to me as well,” he said. “I have need of you, and I wouldn't see you hurt just to keep a few extra pennies from the Highers of the temple.”

  “It's hardly a few pennies. And I have two new guards with me.”

  “So I noticed,” Aaron said. New as in she knew of the old one. Viper had blundered, but Ophelia was too kind a child to flee in fear from a Shadow Walker. Aaron wasn't certain what to make of her new guards. They were rogues, their appearance an all too familiar one from his time in Kovar. He scratched at his chin, clicking his tongue. He'd forgotten to shave yesterday and this morning. “These guards are loyal to you I hear.”

  “Yes. I don't know what —wait. You hear? As in Viper—” she suddenly clasped her own mouth shut. “I mean Viper already told you?” she then whispered. “Did he give you the full report too?”

  Aaron sighed. The girl was too perceptive for her own good.

  “I'm redundant then,” she said.

  “You're not,” Aaron insisted. “I'd like to hear everything from your point of view, and I still need help with the ledgers. I've spent a sum on tomorrow's celebrations and need supply costs worked out for what I'm sending those soldiers outside our walls.” Aaron turned again to make for the doors when they opened, letting in two in leather armor bearing the vague outline of an eagle on the breast, swords hanging from their belts. Behind the two was a woman just as tall, her brown hair done in a single braid. She wore a leather vest over a shirt, a grey soldier's cloak hanging from her shoulders, and a knife conveniently close to her left hand.

  Elizia Serene.

  Such that it was that this woman who'd done Aaron no harm inspired a wave of anger within him that he could not ignore. Anger born only from the name she carried and not the person itself. For the person herself, Aaron felt conflicted. There was something familiar about her, about the color in her eyes, and the shape of her face. Spots of red brought on by the cold touched her supple and high cheeks, as well as the tip of her sharp nose. The sight of her pulled delicately at gentler memories, coaxing them from a long slumber. Aaron knew to whom that face belonged, though never having seen this woman before.

  He closed his eyes and twisted his neck. No. No he did not know her. Whoever knew her was long gone, and had no right to influence what it was Aaron thought of her. The fact of it was that this was Elizia Serene, the heir of High House Serene with whom he had to treat and maneuver into doing his bidding. Yet when he opened his eyes again, he got lost in the subtle green hue of her pair.

  Aaron swallowed hard and summoned forth every ounce of hatred he had for High House Serene, whom once many centuries ago, had been the staunchest supporters of those that would see his forefathers deposed of the Xenarian throne. He did this to be rid of his impure thoughts, and within it found a layer of hate deeper than the sea. His hand went to the hilt of Butter Knife without meaning to, and fortunate that it had, for in his state of blind rage, he would have seen the Xenarian Princess slaughtered at that very moment if Butter Knife did not steal away those vicious emotions.

  Replacing those emotions was a well of power with nowhere to go. And so Aaron glared at Elizia, letting his knuckles pale as the grip on his sword only tightened. She had a brow quirked, oblivious to his dilemma, seemingly surprised to have even found him within the temple. She passed by her guards and stood before Aaron, nodding in respect. She took notice of his left hand curled around the hilt of his blade and hesitated, looking into his eyes to gauge the truth of the threat they represented. A step back implied that she did not believe it a bluff “Lord Caranel,” she began slowly, narrowing her eyes at his worn coat. “It is a pleasure to finally make your—”

  Aaron did not bother waiting. The way she looked at him brought more discomfort than should have been possible. He strode forward, body strengthened well beyond normal from the power Butter Knife fed him. To the normal eye, it might have seemed a lunge, and Elizia found herself startled, stumbling back while reaching for her knife. Aaron walked right past her, his shoulder connecting with hers and throwing her entirely off balance. She stumbled back, catching the edge of a pew for support with a shallow gasp.

  Her voice, too, is the same as in my memory…

  Aaron stepped outside into the embrace of a grey sky and the cold aid birthed therefrom. He heard blades drawn behind him, along with Elizia's voice calling for them to be sheathed. Aaron allowed himself several breaths, bringing to heel the invasive memories, and the conflicting emotions spawned therefrom. His hand remained curled around the hilt of his weapon all the while. He had hoped to take a few more days before granting the first princess an audience now that Viper had returned, but situations had changed. The woman being here now suggested she was at the end of her patience, and his own actions just now might have been enough to throw her even more off balance. Now's ideal to negotiate with her…

  Assuming Aaron himself could maintain control of his own emotions in her presence.

  He marched down the temple steps, surprised to find Ophelia's new guards standing watch with straight postures. Not at all what he expected from rogues. She must have done really well just as Viper had claimed. “You,” Aaron said, nodding to the leaner and taller of the guards. Ophelia was running out of the temple just as he spoke. “Tell that brown haired woman who just went inside that she'll be granted an audience at my manor within an hour.” Aaron then left, striding down the street with his enhanced strength, not bothering to slow for the Saintess who struggled to navigate through the mud and slush on the ground in her long white skirt.

  Poor girl, Aaron thought as he went. And she'd just bathed and changed into a new set of robes too. He was too bothered to care.