‘You look like shit.’

Maeve’s eyes sprang wide open. Darine was rubbing her eyes, pushing herself higher on the bed. ‘Have you slept at all?’

Maeve quickly put her hand in front of her mouth to hide the yawn inevitably breaking out upon hearing the word ‘slept’. She shook her head and pulled her stool closer, asking the redhead, ‘How do you feel?’

‘As if I were trampled down by a horde of oxen.’

‘Are you often trampled down by oxen?’

‘Quite. Please tell me you didn’t waste your powers on me.’

‘I tried. I found … some sort of gate, I could not touch even if I wanted to.’

‘Told you.’

Morning light seeped into the spacious room through the narrow windows; dust floated languidly in the air.

‘So …’ Maeve began tentatively, ‘I didn’t want to bother you, but I’ve been here because—’

‘I know,’ Darine cut in. ‘How’s Mindu?’

‘He is fine as far as I know,’ said Maeve, reluctant, frowning on Darine’s interruption. ‘We are in some sort of sanctuary right now—’

‘It’s not the first time I’m in Tusk Ridge.’ Darine sat up in the bed, looking Maeve in the eye dead seriously. ‘I don’t believe there’s much to your question. Yes, I used your powers. Yes, I wasn’t strong enough for that filth… I was weak. I tapped into your Well.’

Maeve was silent.

‘It’s not ethical,’ Darine went on, encouraged now that Maeve did not speak. ‘If you asked Aluri, she would probably say it is very much like raping. She says it’s even worse.’

Maeve swallowed; she was too agitated to ask about who Aluri was. ‘Have you ever been …?’

‘Don’t seek trauma where there’s none,’ Darine chortled, then narrowed her eyes. ‘Have you got the answer you were hoping for?’

‘I need to ask you not to do it again.’

Maeve was quiet, her words hardly more than whispers.

‘But of course,’ the redhead tilted her head. ‘Next time a fucking dragon comes at us, I shall let it eat us alive.’

‘This isn’t what I—’

‘I’m sorry you need to hear it from me, Merv, but you are weak. Unlearned, uncouth, inexperienced, you stood there, motionless, like a gods-damned statue. We have no time to let you play around until you find out what’s what. So no, I can’t promise you that it won’t happen again.’

‘All I asked is not to do it without my permission!’ Maeve snapped, fingers clenched.

‘I’m sorry and I’ll ask for your permission next time. There. Feeling better?’

‘No!’

‘There’s a bit more on stakes than a little girl’s offended feelings, don’t you think?’

‘You don’t understand! Yesterday you told me you would be my teacher. If we are to work together, I must know that I can trust you! We didn’t even know each other two days before!’

‘I’m no teacher. If you want to learn, we’ll do it my way. If that’s no good for you, we can gladly part ways before we even begin.’

‘Arrogant who—’ Maeve shut her mouth before she could finish the thought, shocked for a moment by her impulses. Growling in frustration, she stood and darted out of the room.

She stormed through the long, rocky corridors of the sanctuary, gasping, a plethora of feelings churning inside her. The memory of that repulsive, wet sense when Darine penetrated her Well haunted her throughout the night, constantly rekindling her helpless anger. She twisted her hands, one clasping the other, bringing it to her chest. She breathed deeply, suddenly realizing the awkward presence of the two Boar warriors behind her, those who were appointed the day before to follow and guide her. They waited outside the room in which Darine was recovering through the night, and consequently, Maeve remained as well.

They must have heard everything.

Maeve straightened, she put her hands in the pockets of her robe, hoping it would be easier not to fidget. The events of the past few days had started to take a toll on her she knew she could not bear for too long.

The cavern-like hallways seemed to get closer and closer, threatening with crushing her fragile body; few roamed the sanctuary at this hour, yet Maeve felt suffocating panic building up in her with unreasonable certainty. She paced up, breathing heavily, seeking the one entrance of the rocky formation. Those warriors behind her silently followed.

Sunlight blinded her for a brief couple of moments when she drew the thick, heavy curtains aside in the gateway. She blinked, respiring in relief so deep that her entire body quivered.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Dawn in Tusk Ridge came with ethereal magnificence. The sun hung low above the many hills and lowlands in the east, its light rapidly dispersed the thick mist covering the grasslands. Many a river glistened in the morning light, like silver snakes stretching amid a cold haze. The air was fresh and chill, a slight, piercing tingle in her nostrils. The unnatural warmth of the stone structure of the sanctuary remained within its corridors.

Maeve sat at the top of the rugged stairs that led to the plateau at the base of the sanctuary. It was the highest building on the Ridge, she could watch the entire area without turning her head much. Below lay the square, a huge space of unused grass and rocks, along the edges of which many small stone houses stood, crooked. A great circle of stones towered beyond the hill of the sanctuary, an open space for meetings and discussion. Several paths ran from the square; the two widest were the West Road and the North Road, both eventually leading out of the settlement; Maeve could not yet decide whether Tusk Ridge was a safehold in times of need or an independent town on its own.

The warriors kept a certain distance from Maeve, they stood at the far-end of the plateau; yet sounds of footsteps approached.

‘So charming it makes you forget the desolation in the distance.’

Amodh sat by Maeve, his unruly mane held by a worn headband without much effect. Annoyed by the disturbance of this serene moment, Maeve only grunted.

‘Reminds me of home,’ the Crownguard went on.

‘It should,’ Maeve said absent-mindedly. ‘It is still Amrith. Part of the kingdom.’

‘I meant … yes. You are right, Lady Maeve.’

Maeve sighed, and grudgingly, though trying to conceal it, asked, ‘Where is home?’

‘Here, in Amrith, of course.’

‘I’m sorry Amodh,’ The Reborn looked at the man, regretful, but also frustrated. She did not want to talk in the first place. ‘I’m just … exhausted.’

Amodh shook his head with a sad smile. ‘No, you are right. I haven’t been home in the last five years. Back in Andoriel. Pillawa, if you are interested at all.’

‘That’s the neighbouring duchy to my … former … home. Angmark.’

‘Angmark is beautiful. Been there a couple of times. So much of the land is untouched. The “Slender Rose”, as they call it, right?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry to have disturbed you,’ said the Crownguard, and for a moment he looked like he was to move, but then he sighed. ‘Thing is I don’t even know any of you. I’ve been serving in the castle. City watch, night sentry, that sort. I’ve seen some battles in Andoriel, but never been in the front lines, you know. And here I am, locked in an island full of vengeful rebels, with strangers I haven’t once talked to since the Landfall, and terrors most hideous behind my back. Here I am, with no beacon of hope, and all I can think is of home, of how these lands failed to return the warmth of my cradle. Here I am, fighting a war in a kingdom I no longer feel mine.’

Silence was heavy when he finished talking. Maeve felt something shattering inside her.

‘I … I did not know you face a storm that violent every day …’ That you also face a storm like that. Tears welled her eyes. Someone had finally found the words she had sought for a long, long time.

‘I, uh… I shouldn’t have …’ Amodh looked embarrassed, he scratched his temples, rubbed his face, blinked heavily. ‘I am sorry, Lady Maeve, I shouldn’t have bothered you with my—’

‘It’s Maeve,’ the girl whispered. ‘I’ve never been a Lady.’

Amodh swallowed, looking at Maeve worriedly. The girl tried to blink away her tears. One drop ran through her cheek; she did not bother to wipe it away.

‘My name is Maeve Scatterbough. Hardly a name of a nobleborn, don’t you think? But you understand. You are from Pillawa. Angmark and Pillawa had never been the land of the nobleborn. I was born the first daughter of a woodward. I thought if I leave home and do something for a higher purpose, I would find some meaning to my life, that I would feel whole, that … and now you say those words I could not have found this past year. I am still a wayward child, nothing more than a broken doll.’

‘Lady Maeve!’ Amodh looked seriously frightened, his face pale. ‘You shall not speak of yourself like that! Do not belittle yourself, you are invaluable!’

‘No, Amodh,’ Maeve stared at the horizon. ‘My power is invaluable. Maeve is nothing. No one. Maeve is expendable.’

Silence. Sticky, repulsive, suffocating silence.

Maeve stared at a point in the distance, her vision obscured. Getting this burden down from her chest felt liberating. She breathed, long, kept it for several moments, then sighed. If only she could get rid of those intrusive thoughts that easily.

‘What’s that?’

Maeve glanced at the gates. A handful of the tribe’s people gathered there, watching some sort of hustle between four or so figures.

‘Should we …?’ asked Maeve half-heartedly, and Amodh only shrugged.

As the group advanced forward, towards the sanctuary and its plateau, Maeve could find out the shiny armour of the knight they met the night before. The warrior dragged three individuals after herself, bound by three long chains.

‘How did he get a chain?’ asked Amodh, frowning.

‘She,’ Maeve corrected.

‘Pardon me?’

The Reborn only shook her head.

One of the prisoners tried to charge at the knight; Lyn turned about when she felt the chains lax, waited for painfully long moments, then suddenly grabbed the knot of chains and jerked it, while doing a pirouette. The two other prisoners who had already been swaying in their gait fell without ceremony, their hands stretched far out in front of their bodies. The one who tried to assault the knight, missed, slipped, and glided in the mud for several feet.

Lyn, holding the chains in one hand over her shoulder, slowly ascended the steps, dragging all three of her prisoner up the stair. Amodh quickly stood, Maeve continued to sit, chin resting in her palm. She could finally make out the knight’s features now in daylight. Her short fair hair was tied up, her angular face displayed a stoic calm, but also a look of superiority; not in a condescending way, it felt more like an untold fact that was obvious for anyone in her vicinity.

Boyish, true, but she’s definitely woman.

‘A present for the Most Honoured,’ said the knight, mock evident in her raspy tone.

‘We are not of his people,’ said Maeve, and quickly wiped away the trace of tears on her face. Lyn’s green eyes glinted with amused curiosity when she looked at the girl and the Crownguard.

‘Mhm. But these are of yours.’

Maeve straightened and peeked behind the knight’s back. The three bound figures were not like those barbarian red-clad soldiers. They, in fact, wore the black and yellow uniform and armour of the Amrithean Royal Army.

One of the prisoners, a woman, looked up at her. Maeve’s heart pounded with sudden horror when she saw Nehlia’s smile widen into a sneer, revealing a line of sharp, jagged teeth.