'When this is all over'

Alexander stood up. He walked back and forth in the space between the shelf and the small table behind the couch where Arabella later sat down.

Dehstun placed his hand on the knight's chest and offered an incomprehensible prayer, in a language and accent Alexander's not familiar with. After that, Dehstun met Alexander's eyes carefully and he mouthed the words, "He's gone." and "I'm sorry." The young duke felt a numbing chill along his back and neck. He thought he'd react to his friend's death with an uncontrollable emotion, but that was all. In the span of time spent sitting there waiting for a miracle or the inevitable to happen, deep inside him, he must've accepted the more obvious outcome.

"Are you okay?" Elias placed a hand on Alexander's shoulders.

"Yes. I just... I need to be alone," he answered after glancing one last time at the cloth covered body on the floor.

"If it makes you feel any better, after a job, Ancel would always tell me that it's just another soulless body. It doesn't have emotions; it doesn't have thoughts—it's just a body." Arabella stood from her seat, her eyes lingering on the floor.

But even if it's just another body, it's still Jyver's. It has its face and his scars. 

"Yeah. Thanks." Alexander gave the lady assassin a small smile before heading out. He's not sure where he's going but he needs to get away. Maybe he'd go back to his room? Or maybe not, because then again, he'd be alone with his thoughts and right now that's not really a good idea. Maybe he should pen a letter to Symon? Tell him that Jyver's gone. But Leti's mansion was in another town near the capital. If he sends a letter now in this weather, it would take the messenger hours before it gets there. Maybe he should tell Symon himself?

Yes, Alexander nodded at the thought. In order to avoid misunderstandings, he just needs to show up there.

With his cloak in hand, Alexander took wide strides towards the door, but as soon as his hand touched the main entrance door's handle, Reignold's voice crept from behind.

"We don't leave our dead behind," he said in an imposing voice. "Come, we'll offer our prayer then my men will clean and wrap his body to be placed in the Felfords' crypt."

"Why go through all that trouble? Your granddaughter said he's just another soulless body." the young duke snickered, taunting. Maybe he's not really in his right mind after all, but the old man knew better. 

"That's what she repeatedly tells herself when she's having trouble accepting certain deaths. Come. Let's not make your knight wait." The old man left him by the door and Alexander saw how his granddaughter rushed up to him and buried her face in his chest.

"Another soulless body," Alexander whispered, his every step heavy and his throat drier than before. "Just another soulless body. Another soulless body. It's just a body... just a body."

——- 

"Salwyn! Get'a hold of ya'self!"

"I told you not to call me that." Vance glared the brusque man following him. It's already dark out and he just received a message that Clement's knight has been found near a forest entrance northwest of the capital. The pathway's all covered with snow now, but thanks to the location where he was found, he remembers the quaint cottage that altered his niece's fate for good.

"Apologies. Ol'habits die hard, ya know." Stanwinx sniffed. His breath fogging with every word. "Ridin' with ya like this brings back the ol'times."

With a tighter grip on his reigns, Vance only shrugged. They travelled past two towns from the capital, and if his memories served him right, past the second town was a forest nestled between the ends of Aclador's snowy mountains and Bruilles' mountain border. The number of times he had to go in that place in the past was enough for him to memorize it all—but it has been years now. That cabin might've already been abandoned and the path there might've changed completely.

If he's right and there's sign of his granddaughter being held there, he'd know where to look after. And this time, he's not holding back.

"Follow closely," with a tighter grip on his reigns, Vance nudged his horse until a walk slowly turned into a sprint. The two men crouched, their bodies closer to their four-legged companions, the cold air passed above them, failing to stop their racing hearts and ragged breathing.

Right, Left, passed an alleyway, left again until the third lamppost; from there, turn another left then straight ahead until an old Opessia tree that Priscilla wouldn't stop blabbering about comes to sight. It's hard to miss—thick time-worn trunk with elegantly twisted branches that droops downward, hovering slightly above the ground. From there, they'd have to tread slowly. There's a secret pathway a few feet to its right marked by another tree. It was bare when they visited so Vance didn't recognize what kind it was, but even without that, he still knew where to go.

Past the tall weeds, a silhouette of a cottage stood behind the growing darkness. Vance steadied his breath as the two of them approached closer. 

It was dead silent. Everywhere was, except for the whispers of the cold wind the rustles of disturbed leaves. Even without going inside, the house clearly looked abandoned. The once charming cottage with a small patch of white ruffled flowers with its pink edges, and a soft yellow throat, named after his niece, were replaced with tall ragged, thorny grass. Vining weeds blanketed half of the ruined cottage, as if trying to prevent any secrets to fly out, but the windows were broken, whether intentionally or by nature just running its course—soon, everything will be out in the open.

Soon, everyone will know what Vance feared to come. He wasn't able to protect Priscilla before, so he thought he'd do much more for his granddaughter this time.

"Let's go around once then head back," Vance barked.

"What is this place anyway? It's real'deep in the woods. Can we even go back the way we came? Our print's been covered with snow now. There's nothing behind us."

"We'll get out one way or another."

The horse strutted around the house carefully, but no signs of anything. With a sigh, Vance narrowed his gaze on the trees lining up ahead.

They all look the same in the dark. 

"Hey, ya haven't answered my question. How can ya be sure the duchess' 'ere?"

"It's... where her father, the emperor, and Vernon used to meet when they were kids."

"Okay? But why come here? There's no way the emperor took her, and definitely no way that bear-duke did too."

Vance chose not to answer. For a heartbeat, when he heard where that knight was found, there were only two person he could think of. And the reason why he could maintain some calmness within him, was because, to either of them, Amelia's more valuable alive than dead.

That alone was the sole reason he's still calmly riding his horse. The only reason why there's no trail of blood following him; why the emperor's still standing on his feet.

***** 

The way out was even more challenging than the advisor thought, and it would be embarrassing on his part to suddenly admit that to the mercenary following him. They turned right at a tree he made sure to remember when they entered earlier—was he wrong?

Vance looked around. They look like they've come deeper into the forest now. Where is this even? Closer to Bruilles? The only light there was was their own, and it's about to go out soon too. They better find an exit or a cave somewhere to spend the night, or they'll—

"Hey Salwyn, ain't that carriage..." Stanwix whispered, and Vance whipped his head to where the knight pointed him to.

It's Amelia's. There's no doubt about it!

With great urgency, both men squeezed their calves closer to make their horses walk faster. When they got there, Vance jumped off and ran towards the carriage door while Stanwix walked around to secure the area; looking for any broken branch, or any fabric stuck somewhere.

When he was sure they were the only souls there, he pulled a silver whistle out of his coat's secret pocket and blew on it, producing a long, thin delicate sound, lasting for seconds. When he's done, he looked up at the sky and within minutes a bird call sounded. It circled above them a few times before it plummeted from the sky when Stanwinx raised his arm.

It's a white Gyrfalcon. A bird reserved for kings—the Salwyn family's symbol.

"Gotta remember where I came from and how I started," the mercenary knight flashed a proud smile and a muscle feathered in Vance's face. 

Stanwinx commanded the bird in Osethi, a lost language in Pradour, a language Vance used to communicate with his men. At his signal, the bird rocketed to the sky, calling, circling just above them.

"A number of my trusted men have joined the search. When they hear Zhira's call, they'll know where to find us." Vance only nodded in response.

'When this is all over,' he thought, his eyes on Stanwinx's bird, 'and I've made sure that Amelia's safety is secured, I'll come home, Father. I can't protect our family like this.' Vance swallowed hard. He's never prayed or begged for his long-dead father like this. 'So just this once, please keep her safe until I take her home.'