Arc 1, Chapter 18

Honest, Awkward Courage

Erik

I had really thought I had managed to say goodbye to Rhiannon without her gaining any new ammunition to tease me with – which would have made this a personal best in that regard – but it looked like I was wrong.

“Soooooo, what happened here?”

Her sing-song voice brought back memories from when I was thirteen and she used to follow me around the duke’s estate, doing her utmost to annoy me. It worked well then and it was certainly working now.

I wanted to snap at her, but I was holding a clearly overwhelmed bundle of nerves and mud and I really did not want to ruin this situation any more than I already had. I shot Rhiannon a glare and nodded slightly at the Saintess in my arms. She seemed to get the message, more or less.

Rhiannon cleared her throat, schooling her expression into something less mischievous.

“Right, I’m glad to see you before I leave, Saintess. I trust you are feeling better?”

“Yes.” The Saintess’s voice was faint, and I felt a flash of alarm. Had she fallen ill again? The weather was still mild for autumn but walking around for who knows how long without shoes or a proper coat were probably enough to give her a chill. She was already far too weak as it was.

Apparently, I was not the only one with concerns, as the priestess started shouting again as soon as she reached us.

“Saintess, what on earth? Did someone take you out of the tent? Who –“

“Emilia, I’m fine. I left on my own. I just wanted to walk around.”

The Saintess’s voice was steady now, if still a bit too weak for my liking. Her firm tone seemed to stun the priestess into silence, and I took the opportunity to duck into the tent. Staying in the rain to argue about why she was in the rain was ridiculous.

Unsurprisingly, Rhiannon and the priestess followed.

“Please – let me down,” whispered the bedraggled Saintess, clearly still doing her best to be inconspicuous. I met her eyes and was again struck by their color – a delicate sort of purple shot through with a pale blue, like bruised flower petals. Suddenly feeling very aware of Rhiannon’s eyes on me, I set the Saintess on the ground as gently as possible but kept my hands at her shoulders, torn between keeping her upright and respecting her personal space.

“Can you stand now?”

“I can. I was just startled before.”

I nodded, stepping back to give her space and being careful not to show any of my doubt or concern on my face. I was confident from what I had seen of her reaction to Reed’s carelessness that she shared symptoms with some of the veteran knights I knew. In their case, certain things that echoed the traumatic experiences they had in battle could serve as a trigger for panic attacks, no matter how simple or innocuous those triggers might seem to other people. Knowing what little I did of her past in the temple, it was hardly surprising that she suffered from the same. I should have done more, prepared my knights for how to recognize her and warned them to be more careful and considerate. They would need to be cautious in how they behaved around her in order to minimize the stress we put on her in this new environment.

“Come on, Erik, don’t look so grim. The rain is picking up, and now I’m lucky enough to bid our Saintess farewell in person!” Rhiannon clapped me on the back, clearly trying to pick up some sort of normal conversation. She knew better than to ask outright what had happened – no one was wounded, and there was no clear emergency, so it was better to move forward than pry at whatever was making the Saintess so obviously nervous and uncomfortable. Of course, if it had just been me who was obviously nervous and uncomfortable, Rhiannon would never be so considerate.   

The Saintess, who had been wrapped in a blanket and pushed into a chair and was now withstanding a rather vigorous towel drying of her hair by Priest Emilia, spoke up.

“I’m sorry I was asleep so long. You need something from me before you leave, right? Was there an emergency for you to be leaving now?”

She looked almost defiant as she spoke, as if she half expected us to scold her for speaking.

“Well –“ Rhiannon started to answer, but I cut her off.

“You should make sure you're dry first. You must be freezing, and you were already unwell.”

I glanced at her still-muddy feet, concerned, and she flinched. I was not sure exactly why she thought I cared more about the slippers Rhiannon gave her than her well-being, but I held back on commenting on the shoe situation again, worried I might make it worse. I had done my best before not to make her feel judged, but I was pretty sure it had not worked.

“But – we need to talk now.” Purple eyes met mine, nervous but determined.

I raised my eyebrows, not sure where to start, and Rhiannon laughed.

“Then we will talk, but let’s have you cleaned and warmed up a bit first. If you are feeling well enough now, then I can delay my departure for a short while to hear what you need to say.”

“But –“

“I don’t want us to make a habit of only having discussions while you are clearly freezing and also, somehow, perpetually shoeless.” Rhiannon winked at her, and I rolled my eyes.

“This time was – well, the first time in the temple, I wasn’t supposed to be there so I didn’t have time to get shoes, and now –“

“I did not mean to criticize you, Saintess. I just want you to be comfortable. And so does this man, despite his inability to emote in a normal way.”

The Saintess nodded, looking at her feet in a way that was almost shy.

Behind her, the priestess glared at us with an expression that clearly said to kindly buzz off, thanks very much, but she stayed quiet. I still was not sure exactly what to think of the dynamic between this woman and the Saintess, but at the very least she seemed to want to protect her, even if the Saintess did not seem to trust her.

After about fifteen minutes, the three of us met and settled down to talk back in the officers’ tent. Rhiannon was now fully dressed to leave immediately after this conversation, looking all the more regal for it. Sitting across the table, the Saintess was wrapped up in an infeasible amount of cloth. Her skin and hair looked shockingly pale against the deep blues, purples, and greens of the robes and scarf she had piled around her. She looked almost as though she was made of ice or glass, brittle and thin and liable to shatter or melt under too much pressure. And yet I had seen her drink enough holy water to kill a dozen knights twice now. What kind of iron soul must she have to endure that?  

Rhiannon looked eager as she gathered some parchment in front of her, ready to take note of whatever intel the Saintess was willing to share. I found myself wishing Doctor Mortona were still here. I usually hated sharing classified information with anyone more than necessary, but I found pushing the Saintess for information so soon even more distasteful. The doctor knew better than we did where to draw the line.

Someone – Rhiannon – kicked my foot, and I realized I had been scowling slightly. I tried to clear up my expression, very aware of how tense the Saintess was across the table.

To my surprise, she spoke first.

“I need you to understand that I don’t know what you want or what you are planning. I appreciate you helping me leave the temple, but I don’t trust you.”

Rhiannon’s mouth opened slightly. I would have savored the rare sight of a speechless Rhia, but I was also shocked. The woman who was too timid to use the slippers we gave her was bluntly and informally telling an imperial princess that she was not trustworthy – not to mention doing that all while in the heart of that princess’s miliary encampment without any real support of her own. She was clearly asserting that this was a negotiation, and that she was an equal to the princess, not a subordinate; that she was someone we needed. It was a bold choice, full of risk from her perspective, but she was not wrong.

Right. Iron, indeed.

Before either of us responded, the Saintess spoke again, her eyes gleaming from the light from the oil lamp.

“I took a risk. I think we share an enemy, and I know Captain Oesten shares at least one of my goals. But I’m bad at politics and doublespeak, and I haven’t left the temple since I was four. Before I tell you what you want to know or agree to give you more prophecies, I need you to explain things to me. Don’t lie. I may not have much experience outside the temple, but I know more than you can predict I do from my visions. I’ll be able to tell.”

By shared goals, did she mean stopping incursions? If she was emphasizing that now, then our suspicion that the temple did not truly want to protect people from incursions might be true.

Rhiannon nodded, her previous mirth now completely gone from her expression.

“Of course. We don’t know much about each other at all, Saintess, and you have ever right to be wary. But I do think we can help each other.”

The Saintess relaxed a bit, perhaps relieved at being taken seriously. It was obvious to me that she was not lying about being bad at politics. Her body language was transparent, every emotion clearly transmitted despite her efforts to hide them. I felt certain she was not some sort of double agent from the temple. If their blatant abuse of her was not proof enough, then her clumsy social graces were. Very few people could act out being awkward so effectively.

She probably would not appreciate me complimenting her on that, though.

“Alright. Then –" she hesitated a bit, glancing at me – “what are you trying to do?”