The Gathering of the Hunt

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (Part Two)

Anlai’s heart hurt. He could go longer denying it. It was the truth and he was so damned tired of spending his entire life trying to outrun the wind. It was impossible and entirely useless. He wanted freedom, and more importantly, he wanted out. Out of the palace, out of his position as General, and out of his life. 
   
The headache pulsing in his temples didn’t seem to be going anywhere, and so as he collapsed on his bed, he truly allowed himself to feel the pain. He hadn't even bothered to change out of his bloodied clothes. 

It was a few minutes after he had collapsed in his bed that he realised that the incessant thumping noise was not a result of the pounding headache, rather one of someone that had been knocking on the door. The curses that spilled from his mouth were enough to curdle all the milk in Aisilyria and then some. 

The servant girl before him looked at him with every ounce of burning hate she could muster, not backing down even as he cocked his brow and smirked—an expression that many had learned ended in violence. Unlike his brother, he had gotten good enough at masking his anger well enough that it came off as arrogance and the wanton lust of bloodshed. Talen was a flame, burning bright and fully prepared to start slitting throats with the slightest provocation.

He had no shield except for it. 

The girl—she wasn’t really a girl. If he had to hazard a guess, she was only a few years younger than he was, but with her frail frame, she looked much younger than she was.  
“I know that everyone loves to see me, so I’m going to pretend that the hatred in your eyes is just enjoyment over my incredible physique.”

The girl scowled, eyes roving over his body and taking in the bloodstained material. She blanched as if remembering exactly who she was speaking to. “The Emperor sent me to collect you, General. He wished your audience in the throne room,” she said stiffly. 

“Well, who would dare to deny the invitation of our most illustrious ruler. Certainly not a humble peasant like me.”

“He’s waiting for you,” the girl insisted, fingers playing with the tattered ends of her hair. “You should hurry, lest you be branded a traitor to Cardovia.” The girl didn’t need to add anything else. He heard it in her tone loud and clear. Just like you are to Aisilyria. 

He didn’t know what made him do it. Maybe it was the anger in her eyes, or the fact that he was at the beck and call of the very monster that ruined his life. Maybe it was the hopeless air around her, or the fact that he was feeling particularly risky. But Anlai risked a glance around the deserted corridor before he lent in close. The girl made a soft sound of protest at the back of her throat. “If you want out of here, there’s a covered wagon that leaves from the cellar entrance to the kitchens. Show this to the head cook,” he said softly in Aisilyrian, pressing a coin into the girl's hand. It was nothing special, besides it being a relic from another time, tarnished and scratched from the time it spent being an outlawed good. Any coin from before the siege was one. But scratched into the one smooth side of the coin was the sign of the Order of the Hunt scratched into it—a bow kissed by the underside of the crown. “The cook can be trusted. He’ll help you find a good hiding spot on the wagon. You need only keep still until the first stop. It’ll take you to Nieharan harbour. From there, you can go anywhere you want. To your family, perhaps.” He smiled hesitantly, but from the fear that crossed the girls face, it was as good as a wolf learing at its prey. The girl had perked up at the mention of her family. 

“Why? Why are you doing this?”

Anlai didn’t have to think about his answer. “Because you don’t deserve this. I have the power to help and so I sure as hell am going to do so.”

“Thank you.” She hesitated. “Are you—are you one of them?”

He pulled the collar of his shirt down, revealing the slightly raised imprint that decorated his shoulder. The girl’s eyes widened. They further widened when he pulled a pendant out from the neck of his shirt—cheap copper crafted into the same symbol that marked his shoulder. It was risky to wear it in public, but according to the Emperor, it was a spoil of a battle against a group of rebels—a sign he wore to mock them, not to show his support and involvement with them.