Mercy & Fire

8. A Hard Place to Land On

Roselena

I had only ever seen the capital city of Bermillia in my mother's old sketchbook. She once lived here as a portrait artist barely scraping by on these very streets, so when we arrived at the city limits of Bermillia's own capital, I quickly glued my eyes to the window at my left.

Unlike DuPont, the city wasn't burned and terrorized. Either that or all the evidence had been cleaned over the past week.

It was grandiose with smooth roads and grand wooden homes with beautiful flowering vines growing alongside their walls. My favorites were the brick houses pieced together with dried and sealed clay. It reminded me of the story my father used to read to me as a child. The three lowly villagers and the cruel dragon. Only the brick house ever withstands the fiery flames of the dragon's breath.

I wondered if my mother had ever lived in one of these brick houses.

Many people bustled around silently with stiff necks and posture, especially when they rushed past the Dhernon soldiers dressed in full armor standing at every corner.

They reminded me of my own prison guard. My eyes strayed to the snoozing man across from me.

His skin had gained a little color over the past few days, and his hair had grown rather messy. He looked more youthful this way, with unkempt black curls ruffled over his forehead.

The black hair and pale skin were certainly a contrast, and if anything, it accentuated the dark circles around his eyes, making him appear sickly. But sometimes, under the right angle of sunlight, he looked like a normal, healthy  young man, even with the growing facial hair. It reminded me of my brother at twenty-three.

My brother had a darker skin tone as I did because of our beautiful mother. Both of our hair fell straight, courtesy of our father, but I was the only one who inherited my mother's dark black hair.

One thing was for sure though, Commander Rovan was nothing like my brother in personality. The commander barely spoke a word, and I never spoke up for fear of upsetting him. He seemed like the kind of guy who liked his peace and quiet.

Even now, the Commander had his arms crossed with his head tilted back and his eyes closed.

My eyes trailed down from his eyes to his nose. The bridge of his nose was sloped to the left as if someone had broken it, and the bone just healed that way. His lips were chapped but a distinct pink color. The sort of color you'd expect to see on a woman with cosmetics. I was actually quite jealous of the shade of pink.

My eyes trailed down further as they had many times before on this horridly long, silent trip. His shoulders were wide, and as  if a god had come down from the sky to chisel him out of marble, his torso perfectly converged down to his narrow hips. From there onward, his thighs only widened with what I knew had to be hard muscle.

How could such an ill looking man maintain a physique like that? It didn't make sense.

Realizing I had been staring a bit too long, I looked away with heat creeping up my neck in embarrassment. Had anyone seen me, they would've thought I was having impure thoughts. Really though, looking at him only made me despair. The size of the man before me only reminded me of how he could easily overpower and kill me at any moment.

There was a reason he could command an army with mere words. How else would he have stopped that man from killing Adelia?

It had been four days since I saw her last, and I worried for her safety. Then Bellfire popped into my mind. I still had yet to know whether he survived our attempt at escaping. Guilt and grief seized me for a moment as I remembered how I'd embarrassed him in front of his friends.