Fighting For What?

Early Mornings

Hours pass as we wait inside the small abode. Tate eventually moves onto the small sofa where he can stop moaning in pain. He finally falls asleep with his right arm dangling off the side of the weathered couch and his hand flat against the wooden floorboards. Pohon sits at the table fiddling with his hands as he eyes the door every few seconds. Having not seen my bed all night, I ask Pohon for one to rest on.

"There's one upstairs that's free to use," He gestures to the ladder standing isolated from any wall.

    Exhausted, I don't care to ask for a blanket. I saunter toward the ladder and make my way up. The pegs creak and squeak but don't budge out of place. At the top, I use my right shoulder to push up against the ceiling. A square swings up and I push it completely open. The dusty loft is empty except for the three spare cots with patched blankets and weathered, wooden frames.

   I inch my way toward the closest cot. Pulling myself onto the wool blankets, I exhale in relief. As I lie my head onto the dusty pillow, I hear the creak of the door downstairs.

"So much for a quick rest," I mutter to myself as I sit upright and swing my legs over the edge of the wooden frame. Voices are carried up the ladder from below, and Pohon's words freeze me on the side of my bed.

"Corvin, where in all the Wastelands have you been?"

"This one couldn't stop chatting with Princess Adelia."

The familiar voice of the ebony haired lord climbs into the loft.

He's not actually a lord?

"What happened here?" Corvin's voice becomes tense, probably at the sight of his friend on the couch downstairs.

"We had some—trouble..." Pohon is hesitant and chooses his words carefully. "We came across a noblewoman at a tavern. Tate and I underestimated her abilities."

Underestimated indeed, I shake my head at the memory of me throwing the knife into Tate's leg only hours prior. I rise from the bed frame, inching my way back to the ladder that peeked barely above the floorboards. Dragging my heavy feet, the wooden planks creak as I shift my weight across them. Then I make my decent. With my feet firmly planted on the floor again, I search the small home for unfamiliar faces. I find none.

"M'lady," Pohon says from the doorway. The brass lock is turned and he keeps his back to the door. He gestures across the room with an outstretched arm, "This is Lord Corvin Barnett, and his younger brother Lord Robert Barnett."

"Nice to meet you, M'lady." The younger Barnett coos. His silky hair seems vaguely familiar—Adelia's dance partner from the feast. He seemed taller then. Perhaps because he was not standing beside his older brother. Corvin steps closer, his hand waiting for mine. I accept and he plants a kiss on my knuckles.

"M'lady," he whispers. "'Tis good to see you again."

"You've met this woman?" Pohon inquires with confusion, his brow furrowed and his arms crossed over his chest.

Keeping his eyes locked with mine, Corvin relaxes his hands to his sides. "The lady and I met at King Charles' feast this evening—where I asked her to join us in our quest."

"Right, and how does she plan to do that?" Robert takes a seat at the table, his legs sprawl out in a comfortable position, as most men do. "We don't even know who she is."

"You don't need to know my identity," I insist without hesitation. "Be reassured in the fact that I am personally close to the Jardin royal family. Anything else is irrelevant as of this moment."

"Then the next question would be, are you willing to help us?" Robert, taking control of the interview, leans forward with his elbows digging into his kneecaps. "We need a guarantee that there won't be any violations of trust here. Seeing that you've already injured one of our messengers, you must understand that we are forced into taking precautions."

"Of course I want to assist the people of Jardina, but precautions will be taken under MY consent."

"Good. Now that that's settled, we'll move out in a few hours."