The Knight and the Peasant [FIRST DRAFT]

Chapter 37

As he walked the streets of Sersalvon, no one recognized him. And he recognized few. The town had grown massively, and had spread far across the other side of the river. Some were calling it the "City of Rivièrra." The scent of spices drifted through the air, as music and dancing complimented the aroma. Many of the streets were now cobbled, and carriages rode up and down the paths he knew by heart. This town had grown... once he knew it as well as the back of his hand. But now he was a stranger to it. The last time he had been here, he had left some of the garrison in pieces.

The banner of José Rivera flew proudly in the wind. But it was not the only heraldry that Salvador saw. Multiple nobles rode through the streets in their carriages, their sigils bright and colorful and so varying.

This was not the home he remembered.

The old keep of José had been expanded and renovated. His sigil draped the walls of the keep. A wavy per fess murrey and azure charged with three fleur-de-lys. The lord of the keep was away today, taking up residence in Rivièrra itself.

Salvador just wandered around. He didn't have a specific goal. An aim. He just... walked. Right behind him was the princess. The one who should be queen. Emma's mouth hung in awe as she soaked in what had once been Salvador's home. The color, the beauty, the music. It was all new to her. But she did not see what Salvador saw. He felt the shadow that seemed to hang over the town. It loomed over and its great, dark claws grasped at the edges.

Something's happened.

They passed the market. It was grander than ever before. He gave Emma the coin to try a multitude of fruits and vegetables and treats. "Look at this Sa-" the princess exclaimed but she was cut off by a sharp look from Salvador. His name was not to be spoken. The princess was chastised but still visibly excited. In her hands, she held a small piece of cake. A special type of cake special to Sersalvon. Deliace delle lacche. Caramelized sugar in milk. One of his favorite desserts growing up. He told her the name and her face brightened.

She did not notice the dark stares she got.

Although pale skin was not a rarity in Sersalvon, neither was it common. Nor was anyone as pale as Emma. She immediately stood out. Her dialect of the Merchant Tongue only served to identify her even further as a foreigner. And there was a deep mistrust for foreigners these days. The tales of Grenaserrat had spread. Not only the fall of the city, but the enslavement of the people. And they all knew it was the Evrúopeans who had enslaved her.

"Come, Emma," he whispered to her. "You are not among friends here."

The girl immediately stiffened. Her happiness melted away like Nyove Royne cream ice in the Sersalvonian sun. She nodded as he took her by the hand and led her away, but she still held on to her deliace delle lacche.

As he led her up the winding path, he felt a sense of déjà vu, the path beneath his feet felt familiar. And then... he realized. But... how had he forgotten?

And when saw that little plot of land on that little hill with the winding path that led down to the market... he felt nothing and yet everything.

Emma noticed it. "Salvador? Is this..."

"Yes," he said. "Yes, it is."

Had he been here the last time he returned to Sapinsville? He couldn't remember. He had never been one to face the ghosts of his past. The house hadn't been used in eight years. He wondered if everything was exactly how he left it. And there... there was the spot where the spear was driven through his father's chest.

His mask broke.

A wretched sob escaped from his mouth. But then he remembered the princess was right next to him, and he patched up all the cracks that had appeared. He did it so well that he even suppressed his own feelings.