The Lady Penitent

II. The Past

Holland tugged on her reins, bringing her horse to a gradual stop. They had been riding for upwards of a week and spent most of their time in conversation, though Seva did the vast majority of the talking. It wasn't that the warrior was particularly dour. It was just that she found herself fond of the baroness's soft and gently lilting voice.

"Thou hast evaded mine questions most skillfully," Seva said with amusement as she swung down from the saddle.

Their campsite-to-be was in the midst of a clearing in the woods defined by an ancient monolith surrounded by a few pieces of ancient stonework. The ground sloped gently down into a little hollow with the great standing piece as its center, surrounded by a still pool. Holland lead her horse down to the water and let him drink, working to unfasten the saddle. They had not seen hide nor hair of any bandits or other people at all, which meant the road was comfortably quiet. Holland hadn't been expecting merchants, not with a war on this way. Autumn leaves fell around them in brilliant shades of red and gold from a mix of trees: white-barked birch and hard maple, spreading oaks and red-purple ash trees. It was beautiful. Holland loved that about the east.

"There's not much to tell," Holland said, smiling over at her companion as they set up camp. It fell to the warrior to collect wood, but she didn't have to go far to find dead branches aplenty, which kept her just at the edge of the conversation.

"Thou hast no tales of courage? No stories of great battles?" Seva said. She had enjoyed regaling the westerner with tales of her homeland's history and heroes, which seemed to fascinate Holland, but she was a little disappointed not to receive the same.

"Not a one," Holland said as she set down the wood. Seva had a small fire going already, so it was easy enough to get it fed enough to ward away the chill.

"Thy birthplace, what was it called?" the baroness asked, studying her new friend. They had each found that it was surprisingly easy to get along for two people with such different histories.

"Iveală," Holland said pleasantly. When she looked up, her breath almost stole itself away. In the light of the fire and the setting sun, Seva's golden hair reflected the light like a halo. She felt an unfamiliar flutter in her stomach and staunchly ignored it. "I am of the Oameni, or I was at least in part. I left that life behind long ago. Even long before I was a penitent."

"Wherefore didst thou become a penitent?"

"That would be a complicated answer to a simple question," Holland said with a wry smile. "I was forced to make a decision about who I wanted to be, what life I wanted to lead. I had no choice but to throw away the life I had known and the name I wore since birth. And I had very much to atone for by that point."

"What was thy name?" Seva said softly, curiously. Her blue eyes seemed almost crystalline in the firelight. It made it hard for Holland to find and marshal a resistance.

"Immortalis Ilex Calida Invicta," Holland recited, feeling a faint chill even as she just said the name. It was a reminder of everything she had done. She hated the first word more than she would ever be able to express. It was a burning reminder of what she had been bred for, what she had been groomed for. Once upon a time, it had been a mark of pride. Now she hated it.

"Why Holland? Why Cea Trădată?"

"Ilex is a name for the plant your people call holly. It grows everywhere in the lands of the Oameni. When I told the old knight who found me that, he started referring to me as 'the Hollander'. It was shortened with affection and so I have left it be," Holland said, smiling faintly. "I have many good memories of Alan. He taught me to speak your tongue and dress properly and conduct myself properly. Before he died, he called me daughter."