Blades of Men (on hold - sorry!)

Chapter Ten: Athalia

I am so sorry for such a late upload. Anyway, updates should be more regular now as my exams are out of the way, and even though I hated revising, I must admit I'm a bit bored.

Pathetic, I know.

Thanks all, and keep all the support coming,  

SleepyBug.

Chapter Ten: Athalia

   We rode quickly throughout the next day; no time for anything other than a quick sip of water and a few steps of stretching legs. I almost hated Conrad – so much intimacy and trust had been ignored and dismissed with nothing more than a quiet smirk. The thunder of hooves on the dry earth echoed through my thoughts, driving me to breaking point. I was tense enough to snap, each breath an effort and laced with the charge of a gathering thunderstorm.

   Conrad was not oblivious to it, as much as he liked to appear as if he was on another plane, far more important than the blistering heat of the sun on our backs or the sweat gathering on the horse’s flanks. I could see it in his eyes – the restless shifting of his gray irises warning him of the approaching danger. My face was bruised and tender, my legs sore from the constant rolling movement.

   “He needs a name,” I said suddenly, breaking the tense silence with a sudden pointless realisation. Conrad glanced at me briefly before looking to the horizon, his impatience evident in his tone.

   “I know that one day, women will make sense,” he muttered to himself. “I presume you are talking about the horse?”

   “Of course. Unless you think that the saddle needs to be christened, in which case we had better run for the clergy.” He said nothing at this, not deeming the comment clever enough to deserve any response other than silence. I continued with my musings. “What about Bob – it’s a friendly name at least.” He cringed before sending me a withering glance.

   “I didn’t realise our horse was the local drunkard,” he bit out. I noticed he had said ‘our horse’. It was amazing how the hint of possession filled me with warmth, even as his dark humour sent chills down my spine and blood rushing to my cheeks.

   “Conrad,” I said.

   “Yes?” he replied, looking at me expectantly as he slowed the animal to a walk.

   “I meant as a name – he looks a little like you.” The real Conrad cast his eyes heavenward, looking for all intents and purposes like a man driven to the brink of his patience. I hid a smile, refusing to let him see the corners of my mouth twitch at his expense.

   “I didn’t believe I had a muzzle, but I must have developed one since the last time I checked in the mirror.” The scenery had changed as we held the conversation, the lonely trees and wild grasses drifting into a well-trampled path, the dust kicking up into clouds at the hooves underneath us.   

   “Maybe you have,” I said glibly. He sighed sadly, as if I would never understand the trials he had to go through. I held back a retort reminding him he had chosen me to ransom, rather than any other well-mannered girl – someone too afraid to do much more than pout with full lips and soulful eyes.      

   “I like Albert,” he mused. His brows furrowed slightly, the sight of him looking pensive and thoughtful a complete opposite to his usual untouchable air of mystery. He still seemed unhappy, the controlled misery in his eyes not abating entirely as he lost himself in trivial matters.   

   “I wasn’t aware he was a scholar,” I countered, the horse giving a condescending snort at the words. Unfortunately, it appeared Conrad had taken that as an agreement rather than a voice of ill content, the shadow filling his face lifting as he broke into a delighted grin. I was too stunned at his reaction, the first time I had ever seen him as anything other than a clichéd ‘dark and brooding’ rake. He seemed so happy, his face suddenly radiating joy, that I couldn’t even contemplate turning his brief moment of delight into disappointment.        

   “Albert agrees with me,” he said proudly. I raised an eyebrow, but otherwise chose not to comment.

   I could no longer deny that we were getting close to a town, glancing at the cluster of houses resting on the hilltop, bellows of smoke rising from chimneys and a honey-coloured glow rising from the settlement in the darkening air. Twilight again. Another day had passed as easily as smoke into mist.

   I thought about home, about what must be happening. I wondered whether my father would ever forgive me, or if he had realised I had gone yet. I wanted so much for him to be concerned, felt the burn in my eyes as I realised it was more likely he had just dismissed me as one less thing he was forced to spend money on.

   I thought about the bottles of ale languishing guiltily over the house, the stench of stale beer no longer tempered with fresh air and clean sheets. I imagined the mounds of filth gradually building through the house, the raucous roars of laughter reverberating around the cluttered rooms even whenever there was no one there to hear them. I wondered if he ever looked at my hairpins, bleary-eyed and stumbling, and wondered where it had all gone wrong.

   Probably not.

   “We should probably stay at a hotel – there is no point in spending a night in frigid fields whenever there is more luxurious surroundings close by. I’m sure even a place as small as this must have somewhere to rest our heads.” His remark was flippant, but I couldn’t help but feel cornered. I struggled in the saddle, wanting to be able to face him but knowing he would be able to read my expression as easily as a book. I wasn’t ready to allow him another hold on me, another vulnerability to use against me.

   My head throbbed with tiredness. I wanted a clean bed and a hot bath, yet my mind rebelled against the thought of strangers a corridor away and Conrad even closer. I decided it was better to plead my case from a more ambiguous vantage point, allowing my body to relax once more but unable to do anything about the stiff set of my shoulders.

   “What if I’m recognised?” I asked, knowing the point was weak.

   “Surely not this far from home? Besides, Albert needs to rest. There is not much use in trying to ride an animal exhausted and sick.” I sighed at the use of the name, but continued to desperately grasp at straws. I could imagine Conrad’s expression, disbelieving at the figment in front of him – my rejection of extravagance and comfort.

   “Money?” I said questioningly.

   “Not a problem,” he answered. His piercing gaze caught my own as I turned back to look at him. “If you tell me the real problem, I might consider staying away from the town,” he murmured into my ear. I stayed silent, acutely aware of his body against mine as I turned back to my original position.

   We stopped at a pretty inn, ivy creeping stealthily up the wall. As I quickly dismounted, I noticed a man appear almost from nowhere and watched as Conrad handed the horse to the waiting stable hand. My feet slowly steadied themselves on firmer ground.

   His hand brushed against my waist for a mere second, burning like a scorch mark, yet somehow pleasurable in its heat. Conrad walked in without a backward glance, and reluctantly, I followed.