Yuragwyn: Yours

---Chapter 11

₰Traugott₰

Kaitra's eyes were alive while she studied the map. I saw them glitter and glint in the lantern light. She even smiled back at me for a time. She is beautiful when her soul stirs.

But, as soon as she recognizes the change in herself, she stuffs those stirrings to the bottom of her pack where everything else can beat against them and hold them down. I have never seen someone so intent on hibernating through life. I want to reach her, to show her what all I can be for her.

I turn my head to the wall as the color rises in my cheeks. I am not worthy. I am an orphan, a peasant boy who simply has a knack for ending lives and hanging on to his own. I am a soldier, one who does what his superiors ask without question or thought. I am one of broken promises and failed trusts.

I try fiercely to swallow the lump that rises in my throat as my eyes cloud over with the memory. His brown eyes are warm; his laugh is deep and rolling. I can feel his strong grip on my shoulder again as he shares his stories. I can see him walking before me in the deep woods, and I can see the arrow quivering perpendicular to the last rise and fall of his broad chest.

I close my eyes tight against the images. I don't want to hear his scream.

"Are you alright?"

Her gentle voice, normally musical, is cacophony to my heart. I turn and face Calanthe and paint a reassuring smile on, "Yes, just sore."

She eyes me curiously before nodding her head and joining Kaitra on the balcony. I follow them out and move to the other end, hearing but not perceiving their lively conversation. I scan the horizon for signs of troops making their way here, our going away party. They will gather here to march out under Lord Cadfael at daybreak tomorrow for the coast, probably Agord. I wish I could go with them. It feels cowardly and counterproductive to run from the fight towards the enemy. I know Lord Cadfael has faith in us, but is there really any chance we could do what he asks? Whole Yuragwynian armies have tried to batter down Pon's gates and every time so very few of them return.

Finally, the stamp of feet rolls in the distance, and I gesture to Lord Cadfael and Lady Carys, who step out onto the balcony to watch them approach. The unit breaks through the tree line and drops long planks across the Yaywah. Kaitra's eyes widen as she watches the puddle of people grow steadily larger. They fan out into wide, even ranks as they approach the gate. Everything about them is majestic and strong, and I cannot help but feel jealous of them. They look like soldiers; I feel like a coward. After a few more moments, they come to a halt outside Cordina's gate.

We don our packs and trudge out to meet them. As we walk through the streets, townspeople come out of their homes to wish us farewell. We can offer them only tight-lipped smiles. I hope beyond hope that someday soon I can walk down this same street to cheers of victory. Will these streets, these buildings be the same when—if—I return? What will happen to these people while we're gone?

Calanthe is already breathing heavily by the time we face the soldiers through the iron scrolling on the gate. Her cheeks are flushed scarlet, drowning her freckles in color. If coming to the gate is so taxing for her, what strength will she find while we travel?

The commander bows low, "Lord Cadfael, Lady Carys, we are at your leading."

"Thank you, sir, for your undying support," Lord Cadfael replies, nodding graciously. His right hand grips his sword until his fingers turn white. I can see the worry in his mannerisms; he knows the risk we are taking. Is he having second thoughts?