That same day… Who, in all the heavens above and the hells below, was that blonde bastard?! He not only almost ruined today’s plans— he put Maia’s life in danger, as well! Unable to suppress my anger down at the man who called out the brunette’s name out in public, I furiously undo my cloak and throw it at my bed upon our return to the dug-out. “My deepest apologies, Severin,” I hear her speaking from behind me as she closes off the entrance, cutting off the cold wind from outside when she secures its ends to the weights. “I know you’re angry—” Angry?! I am bloody incensed! I need not think about using my abilities to end that man! “—But I did not expect to see my childhood friend in the same village, either!” “That was him? We could have died by The Order’s hands back in that village, and it would have been all his fault,” I reply snappishly, turning to find her slowly doffing her shoulder cape. I calm down a wee bit when I see the brunette’s contrite expression. Taking a d
Continuation. “S-such a surprise, my friend,” I utter, faking a grin as the blonde happily throws his arms around my shoulders and wrapping me in a rather tight embrace. He is practically crying at the sight of me. “I have found you! By the gods, you do not know how long I’ve been searching for you, Maia,” he replies, sighing in relief whilst he pats the back of my head fondly. “It has been too long; you have not returned home yet, and Wyatt and I have been so, so worried about you…” When he mentions my uncle, I gently push him away by his shoulders to keep him at arm’s length. I am finally able to get a good look at him from head to toe: his blonde hair is more unkempt than usual, there are dark circles resting beneath his tired blue eyes, his clothes are slightly ragged and torn, mayhap from all the travelling he has done, and he seems… lankier, as if he has not been eating nor sleeping properly lately. “You look like you’ve gone through one of the hells and back,” I tell him, w
After a quiet— well, mayhap not so quiet— afternoon, the brunette still wonders why her so-called ‘childhood friend’ acted the way he did, challenging me as if t’was the bloody solution to her refusing to return home with him. “I understand that he could have been perturbed by what has been happening lately in Augborough, I really do,” the brunette states whilst she ravels out the knots in her hair with her fingers. “But was it necessary for him to start a fight with you like that out of nowhere? He has never acted like this before!” I watch her grab her ivory comb from atop her bedroll, jabbering about the earlier occurrences as she vigorously combs through her brown tresses with it. I fear that she may hurt herself with how forceful she is being with her hair… “I mean, he was never— ow— one to force me to do something if it was not— ow— in his favor, but it was as if he was a completely different person! The man knows me well enough that when I decide on something, be it well-thou
“Valiant of these two, I must say… ‘tis a shame they wasted their skills in thiev’ng; they could have done much more if they worked for the lord.” I am awakened by the sounds of roistering men. When I open my eyes, everything seems as if it is spinning. I find myself on a cold, damp, stone floor, barely recognizing my surroundings due to the dimness of the space. Ugh, everything is spinning and my bloody head hurts… I jolt upright when it all comes back to me— Nicolaus leading The Order to the pit house, watching him destroy the seal of protection, and us getting apprehended by Davidson’s men. Panicked at the memory of the knights breaking into the pit house, I begin scrambling off of the floor. I wince in pain when I feel a large, painful bump on the back of my head. It hurts more when I touch it… I must’ve been knocked unconscious. As I look around, my eyes adjusting to the dimness, I come to a realization that I am in a dungeon with two helmetless armored men, drinking to th
Water. That is all I hear and feel… The sound of the waves as they crash into each other— and into me. I never learned how to swim; I never thought it would be necessary. I should have listened to Mother when she offered. Now that she is gone and the people of my hometown were after me, there wasn’t anywhere else for me to run. I only escaped because I have foreseen my fate if I was to stay in my village any longer— His Majesty wanted me dead. I gasp for air as I desperately clutch onto nothing, seawater getting into my mouth. That island off the coast… I must get to it at all costs, live a new life, away from the King! But the more I struggled in this vast, slick trap, the weaker I grew... Is this what being on the verge of death feels like? Will this be a painful way of passing? For once, I cannot see what will happen… How I wish it didn’t end this way. As my consciousness slowly drifts away, I feel numb. I succumb to the tossing and turning of the tides; it is the end for me.
“It is hither, coming through! Delivery for the one and only barmaid of Augborough, the beautiful Matilda,” I bellow, villagers moving out of the way as I slide the heavy cart I’m pulling to a halt right in front of the beerhouse, almost running into the stout, irritable, antiquated widow. “Straight from the brewery!” She turns to me, raising a bushy eyebrow at the wobbling barrels on the cart before nodding in approval. She then glowers at me, inspecting me up and down, and shrugs at the ends of my gown, which I have tied a little higher than usual, revealing the leather boots that reached my calves. She orders her sons to load the barrels into the local pub with a yell, her shrilling voice booming across the center of the village. Ah, good ol’ Matilda. “Gramercy, lass, yer timing is impeccable, as always! Here's ye payment, and— hold on, where is that blue-eyed lad? Ain’t he supposed to be with ye? That scobberlotcher leaving all the weight-liftin’ to the woman!” “At ease, Matilda
'Tis harvest season. Father and I had just finished threshing the last bit of wheat into the second bushel basket. He starts scooping the grain with a tin measuring cup as the sun began peeking over the horizon, pouring quarts of it into a small, separate bag— this is what we’re to keep. “Ah, it is time, Severin,” my father says, removing the coif off his head to wipe the beads of sweat forming on his forehead. “Are ye ready to head into the neighboring village, son?” I peek into the bag he is holding and notice that the amount of grain in it is less than what he poured last time. “That will not be enough for us,” I state, pointing a finger at the bag. “I see no harm in adding another quart or two for ourselves, Father.” “Yer mother dislikes the grain we harvest, son. That is why two pecks of this grain is what we trade for vegetables; the other bushel is for Lord Davidson.” I twitch slightly at the mention of my “mother”. “She is not my mother, and she will never be. Moreover,
“Cheese…” my childhood friend mumbles to himself whilst I rip the bread I bought in half to share for the noontime meal. “It has been a while since I last bought whey.” “Well, if you were not frequently insistent on giving me most of your daily earnings and then running off before I refuse and return it to you, you would be able to buy some proper meals for you and your father, you stubborn oaf.” Nicolaus raises his forefinger at me, to hush me perchance, before leaning against the delivery cart. He spreads some of the cheese onto the bread with a small knife, heartily biting into the pastry before sighing in satisfaction. I lean on the cart next to him, watching him savor his meal. He then turns to me, with his mouth full, to tell me the same thing he has always told me ever since we were young: “It is more important that you and your family get fed.” I give the blonde a wry look and take a bite of my bread, savoring the crusty exterior. While he continues spreading an excessive