Twenty-Three

It was raining. The damp air clung desperately to the previous evening’s cold, which, paired with the low-hanging, pregnant clouds, gave the atmosphere in front of the Marquis’ manor a dreary feel. Marcus used to always enjoy days like today. He would sit in one of his only two chairs, stare out the window of his tiny apartment with a steaming cup of bitter coffee, and watch the cleansing rain pelt the sprawling city below.

Now, he stood at attention, his ornate armor doing nothing to keep the cold at bay, and not a cup of coffee in sight. At least the cold hardly affected him anymore; that couldn’t have been said about the other soldiers standing around him.

They were doing their level best not to show their discomfort, but shivering was something that they couldn’t control, and it was spreading through them like the plague. There were thirty of them, all in full plate, but nowhere near as flowery as his own armor. They stood at attention with spears at their sides, all of them waiting for Alissa to arrive.

Marcus knew that she wanted to get out of the manor as quickly as possible. She told him as much last night as they lay in bed together. She disliked the Marquis, even after his show of hospitality, and couldn’t stand his arrogant ‘louche’ of a son, but the person she despised the most was actually the Marquis’ wife, Abigail.

She had taken tea with her the second full day they were there. It had taken place in a beautiful setting atop the manor’s rear terrace, overlooking a stunning garden, a sundry of pleasant scents rising up to complement the tea in their cups. Marcus wasn’t there as it wasn’t a formal affair, but Alissa had told him everything in great detail.

It had started out as one would have expected. The usual pleasantries were exchanged, compliments on their dresses and meticulously pampered hair. Then, it transitioned into light gossip before devolving into the scandalous ongoings of other nobility. None of that was out of the ordinary for Alissa. She had been to so many balls, brunches, and banquets that nothing would have surprised her, until it did.

A serving girl was pouring their second cup of tea when she suddenly dropped the fragile ceramic teapot onto their table. Alissa had told him it looked like the teapot itself was defective, the decorative handle snapping off at the worst possible time, but no matter the cause, the outcome was the same. It shattered into countless pieces, the hot tea surging out in every direction along with the sharp pieces of pottery.

Alissa avoided most of the ruinous tea, her dress only catching a spattering of the liquid, but Abigail Mayweather was not so lucky. Her lap caught most of the brown liquid, ruining her ivory-tinted sundress and sending her into a maelstrom of inconsolable rage.

The woman shot to her feet, striking the poor maid across the face with an open palm. She hit the girl several more times until her face was red and angry, her nose trickling a thin ribbon of blood. The sight of the blood only served to anger the woman even more, turning her open palms into closed fists that pelted the maid as she curled into herself.

Alissa was stunned, speechless, as she watched everything unfold. It was only when she gasped at the sight of the serving girl dropping to the ground did Lady Mayweather remember that she was there and stopped abusing the battered girl. The tea party ended quickly after that , with nary a word between the two of them as other brow-beaten servants flitted into the room to clean up the mess left behind.

Marcus had wished he was there, but all he could do was comfort her as she retold the story. Something that he was more than happy to do.

The door opened behind him, voices filtering out and underneath the tall eave shielding them from the rain. Marcus struggled not to turn around when Alissa’s pleasant voice reached his ears. He managed to maintain his imposing air as he marched forward towards her waiting carriage and opened the door, giving her a hidden smile as he helped her inside and a deep scowl as Thomas Mayweather quickly followed her.

He was her ‘escort’ for the remainder of the journey to the capital and was thus allowed to be alone with her without the risk of looking improper. Marcus wasn’t worried about the sorry excuse of a man pressing his luck with her but was more than a little bitter about him spending any time at all with the woman he himself had fallen for.

“Move out.” Sir Caldwell barked, eliciting crisp salutes from the waiting soldiers before they moved to the other carriages or to mount their horses.

Marcus once again found himself sitting atop the driver’s bench, a surly old man next to him gripping the reins. “Fucking rain…” the old man grumbled as he flicked the reins, driving the carriage from underneath the sloped canopy and into the pouring rain.

It rained and rained, and then it rained some more. By the third day, Marcus was well past miserable, and into the territory of wanting to smash his own head in with his hammer. If it was just the rain, he might have been able to withstand the terrible weather for at least another week, but with the constant din of Thomas’ nasally voice coming from the passenger box behind him, it was almost impossible for him to take much more.

He couldn’t imagine what Alissa must be going through.

“When are we going to stop?” Marcus asked the old man next to him, his voice taking on a mechanical sound as he looked out into the sporadic copse of trees surrounding them. He didn’t need to wear his helmet while they traveled, but he found that the visor really helped to keep the rain from getting in his eyes.

“Another hour, at least.” The old driver spat, his phlegm disappearing into the deluge of water falling all around them. “I ain't never seen so much damn rain…”

The old driver next to him was as crass as they came but had still managed to grow on Marcus. He was an expert in his craft, managing to weave the large carriage through the larger holes and the deep ruts, minimizing the shaking of the carriage and saving all of their backs from giving out on them.

And, true to his word, they soon came upon a huge strip mine with a small village nearby. This was the lifeblood of Kilnfire, a coal mine just as old as the city itself. Half-drowned men worked tirelessly in the rain, digging, trenching, and transporting carts of coal to waiting covered wagons. Marcus could even see a few women barely covered in threadbare rags, working crude pumps in a never-ending battle against the rising waters.

All of the men and women had a familiar seal branded onto their backs along with long, crisscrossing scars, most likely a result of the whips hanging from the waists of the few men standing around who wore actual clothes that protected them from the rain. Marcus knew all too well the effectiveness of the slave seals and could think of no other reason to whip any of them other than pure malice. The longer he looked, the more retched the poor souls appeared. They were all just skin and bones, barely able to walk, let alone work the mine, and sure enough, one man simply collapsed as their convoy slowly passed by, his body quickly dragged off somewhere by two other slaves.

He had to look away. The cruelty of this world sickened him.

“Are we stopping at the village?” Marcus asked the driver, already knowing the answer but desperate to keep his mind off of what was happening so close to him.

“Aye,” the old man rumbled. “I’m looking forward to not resting my head in a puddle…”

The village was small. Only two dozen buildings were spread out over a small area with a footprint no bigger than Marquis Mayweather’s manor. They were all constructed from quarried stone, leftovers from digging down into the earth. It didn’t look like much thought was put into cutting the stone, as no single piece was uniform in size or shape, the buildings taking on a haphazard look that spoke to the disregard put into this place.

Their caravan, now seventy-five strong with seven carriages and wagons, rolled to a squelching stop in the middle of what passed for a village. The mud was deep and sucked at the spoked wheels and horses pulling them. The poor animals struggled but were unable to move any further; the thick mud was much too deep.

It would take some work to free the carriages from the sloppy bog.

“Godsdamnit,” the old diver cursed as he whipped the horses to little effect.

“Should have pulled around the side.” Marcus quipped, stating the obvious. That only earned him a scowl from the old man before they both dropped down into the mud.

Marcus instantly sank up to his knees. He felt the cold and gritty muck leak in through the gaps in his armor and could only sigh in defeat. He was long past being mad over the situation and had accepted that no matter what he did, he would be miserable. He was just like the driver, looking forward to a dry bed and maybe some warm food if he was lucky.

Marcus looked around but had yet to spy a building big enough to be considered an inn. The largest building was only two stories tall and very wide, making it look squat and thick. He saw Sir Caldwell speaking to a few of his men, survivors of the night raid they had experienced nearly a week ago. He was very animated in whatever he was saying as he pointed toward the buildings around them. It was difficult for Marcus to hear him clearly over the deluge of water, even with his enhanced hearing, but once he had conveyed his orders, the men eagerly took off into the village.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

Sir Caldwell himself entered the squat, two-story building, not bothering to announce his presence as he practically kicked down the door. After a few minutes, Sir Caldwell reappeared inside the open threshold and then proceeded to squelch his way over to where Marcus was watching him.

“Lady Dresden and Lord Mayweather can rest inside.” He told him, not extrapolating any further before trudging off through the swampy ground.

Marcus just shrugged his shoulders and moved to the carriage’s door. All of the windows were up, and the water streamed from the roof and over the sides in numerous little waterfalls. “Lady Dresden,” Marcus called out, her proper title feeling awkward to him as it came out of his mouth. “We’ve arrived.”

The door shot open, nearly smacking into his shoulder. Alissa practically jumped from the passenger box before barely catching herself. She had almost sailed into the mud Marcus was currently standing in, knee-deep. “Yes… Let us get inside immediately. ”

Marcus reached out his arms like he would pick up a child, lifting her up and into his arms. She was as light as a feather to him, and he had no trouble at all in carrying her the few dozen feet to where the ground wasn’t a complete mess. Of course, she still managed to get completely soaked and her honey-colored hair was stuck to her face and neck in wet tufts that somehow only added to her charm.

“You’re beautiful,” Marcus whispered to her as he set her on the ground.

Her cheeks were already flushed from the cold rain, but that didn’t keep them from growing darker. She turned around and gave him a wanting look, a small smile on the corner of her lips. “Come to me tonight. I long for your touch…”

“Come and retrieve me, you oaf!” A disgruntled shout interrupted their loving moment, causing Marcus to turn around and roll his eyes as he saw Thomas Mayweather standing in the open passenger box. All of the other soldiers and attendants that his father had sent with them were pointedly ignoring the young man, leaving the task of looking after him up to Marcus. It had been that way since they had left, something that hadn’t been too much of a pain, but now he wanted nothing more than to drown him in the mud.

With a sigh, Marcus trekked back through the mud.

“Tell me, Marcus. What is on your mind?” Alissa asked him as she traced the contours of his muscles with the tip of one delicate finger, her naked body lying atop his chest. He squeezed her tightly against himself, the warmth from her body trapped beneath the thick woolen blanket. “You have been unusually silent during our short time together.”

“I’m… sorry.” He said noncommittedly, breathing in deep to capture her scent. “I’ve just been thinking.”

Alissa laid her ear against his chest, Marcus’ steady heartbeat providing her with comfort with every deep thump. “…are you willing to tell me what about?”

Marcus let out a deep sigh, his hot breath rustling her golden hair as her head moved with his chest. “The future… our future. Everything happened so fast… And it’s going to end soon. I don’t want it to.”

Alissa didn’t reply. She lay there and continued to listen to several more slow, steady beats before speaking. “Let us run.” She whispered so lowly that Marcus could scarcely make out her words over the sound of the rain hitting the rooftop. “We could build a life somewhere. Leave everything behind.”

#x200e “And then what?” Marcus asked her as she picked her head up off of his chest and looked into his eyes. “I don’t think the prince would let you go so easily, neither would your father…”

“My… my Father has already washed his hands of me; why would he care what happens to me now?”

Marcus looked deeply into her glistening eyes, the sadness in them breaking his heart. “He cares for you…” He didn’t like the man one bit and wouldn’t piss on him to put him out if he was on fire, but he wouldn’t tell Alissa that. She still very clearly loved him; he was her father, after all, but the betrayal she felt from him was something that she wouldn’t get over for quite some time. “He loves you. That’s why he… he did what he did.”

“He was complicit in the guards’ scheme.” She hissed, her face scrunching up in disgust. Marcus found her expression to be cute despite the emotions behind it. “How long has he looked past such corruption? How many innocent people have been sentenced to a life of servitude, abuse, and death because he looked the other way?”

“I don’t know,” Marcus admitted, kissing her on the forehead. “But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love…”

A deep rumbling that shook the entire building stopped him cold. Dust fell from the exposed rafters, falling down on them like snow. Marcus quickly rolled over, putting himself over the top of the frightened Alissa. The paper windows rattled in their frames, and the warped timber skeleton of the large house creaked and groaned.

Then nothing.

The ground stopped moving , and there was silence. Even the rain seemed to stop for a moment as the world began to turn once more. Then the screaming began. The sounds of pain and loss filled the night air outside. The frantic shouts of men and the keening shrieks of women prompted Marcus to move, but not before making sure Alissa was alright.

“Are you hurt?”

“I am whole and healthy,” Alissa told him, placing a small, warm palm on his cheek. “Are you injured at all?”

“I’m fine,” he offered her with a smile before pushing off of the bed and getting another good look at her before slipping back into his clothes. “You should hurry and get dressed. Something is happening.”