A Tale of Crown and Country

Reila

Reila prided herself on her ability to take a step back from any situation and return to it level-headed and calm. She tried her best not to panic. Panic was not in the least helpful for solving a problem. It was often the most drastic situations she found herself in that, to the bemusement of others, she most calm in.

This was one of those situations.

Anyone who looked on to the scene would have been surprised at how placid Reila appeared. How she hadn't yelled or screamed or scratched or attacked anyone. How she hadn't yet tried to escape. Reila had weighed her every option carefully during the short horse ride before the bandits set up camp. She had understood that escape was not her best option. Even if she were successful, her chances of finding someone willing to help her before the bandits found her were slim. And besides, she'd heard that bandits were not the most forgiving sort of people.

The sun shone through her eyelids, waking her when most of the bandits were rubbing sand from their eyes. She'd momentarily forgotten where she was, but the ropes around her wrists and waist brought back vivid flashes of yesterday's events.

The bandit leader, appearing exactly as he had yesterday, ambled towards her. When he crouched down to meet her eyes, his large hat blocked the sun from her face. It was the only thing that hat was good for. She noted how his shirt fell in a v-shape down his chest, but more than that, she noted the old scars that seemed to criss-cross there. He caught her gaze and uncomfortably pulled his shirt closed.

"Didn't think we'd make the same mistake as last time, did you?" he said, gesturing to her obvious frustration at the ropes binding her. They weren't tight, but neither were they comfortable.

She looked at him indifferently. She still hadn't said a word, and she didn't plan on doing so until she could find the right words and muster the courage to say them without a hint of desperation and anxiety.

He looked at her quizzically, studying her, as if he was trying to find the answer to a question neither of them understood. "You're not scared of me," he said suddenly. He said it plainly, curiously, as if voicing a prompting question aloud.

"Why should I?" she asked, her voice only breaking slightly. But she fixed that as she garnered the courage to speak to him straight. Away from the rest of the bandits, their leader appeared younger, experienced, even harmless; even a hint of hurt rested in his sharp eyes. "I've no idea who you are. You didn't even have the decency to introduce yourself before you kidnapped me."

A spark of concern and interest glinted in his eyes just as quickly as it disappeared. But Reila caught it. Now she was unsure of the man, who by the second no longer appeared the fierce and dashing bandit leader.

"My apologies," he said gallantly. "Morto Domev, at your service." He nodded his head almost like a bow.

Reila didn't deign him the honour of an answer. He thought he knew who she was, and she was perfectly content to keep it that way. If he figured out now that he had mistaken her for some other girl, than who knows what he'd do to her.

"Very well then," Morto said, peeved at the momentary silence. He stood and brushed invisible dust from his coat. "Your father will be glad to have his daughter back in his possession, though I'm not sure he'll be as forgiving to you."

Reila couldn't help it any longer. Her desire to remain mysterious, to remain in control of herself was seriously outweighed to know who these men thought she was. "My father?" she asked as Morto turned around.

He faced her, most confused than she was; an eyebrow raised, a lip curled, a curious expression across his angular face. "Yes, your father."

"See, I'm looking for my father," she said. She switched from questioning to inciting his response. She was in control of the conversation now.

"You're looking for him?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes, and if you could direct me to him that would be wonderful. That's why I was on my way to Aldira," she said plainly. "I was looking for my birth parents."

Morto shook his head and laughed. "You almost had me there. With searching for your father." He shook his head again. "Clever girl."

Reila lost it. Wanting to remain in control, remain in the dark to them, snapped like a sapling under pressure. This game they were playing couldn't continue because Morto didn't know it was a game, because he believed it to be true. He thought she was messing with him–though she had been, but in a different sense.

"I'm not who you think I am!" she shrieked. "I'm not who you're looking for!"

"I didn't think you could keep up this performance for so long," he said, not believing her at all. "Pretending you don't know who I am, travelling with those strangers. I just don't understand travelling towards Aldira. Your kidnappers were not too bright. I guess it makes sense to have more accomplices. I could never see how that small kid–Arlan–could have gotten you out of the capital without help."

Reila had a million questions, all of them spilling out of her mind like the first melt in spring. "Arlan?" she didn't recognize the name. "You're the only kidnappers I've ever met." Standing up would have helped prove her point, but Reila was still tied to the tree. "For the last time, I'm not whoever you think I am!"

"Seems we've got a long ride ahead of us," Morto said, ignoring her. "Best get on our way as soon as possible." He turned and strode away from her.

"I'm not who–" but it was no use. The words died in her throat once she realized he was too far out of earshot.

Two men untied her and hoisted her back up onto the same horse as yesterday. Reila's stomach growled with hunger. She hadn't eaten, but it didn't seem like the bandits cared at all about it. They set off again for Aldira, and Reila studied Morto's back as a means of distraction. Her only consolation was that two of the bandits had to share a horse because of her.