Private Tales Shallow Graves

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
Her eyes squeezed shut, forcing tears to drip from her lashes. Her breaths came quick and shallow with pain and panic. The adrenaline had nowhere left to go, it left her shaking, a fine tremor running through her arms and shoulders as the pain finally caught up.

When he nicked the skin she gasped, fingers clawing briefly at the blanket before she forced herself still. She didn’t cry out. She wouldn’t. Instead she reached blindly for the nearest bottle, fumbled the cork out of it, and drank deep, ignoring the burn in her throat.

She said nothing as he spoke, she couldn’t trust her voice not to break. She nodded quickly, eyes still shut, jaw clenched as she rode out the last sting of stitches in silence.
 
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He murmured a quiet “Sorry” under his breath and paused until her breathing evened again.

Only when the last stitch was tied and the wounds bound with clean cloth did he sit back on his heels. He set the bloodied tools aside, wiped his right hand on the towel, and spoke softly to the floorboards between them.

“Done. It’ll scar, but it’ll hold. No glass left.”
He stayed kneeling, giving her space, waiting until she was ready to move or speak or send him away. The rain kept its steady drum on the roof, and the faint smell of spirits and blood hung in the close air.

“I’ll clean the tools,” he added after a moment, still not looking up. “Then I can go, if that’s what you want.”
 
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She shook her head faintly at his apology, a small, dismissive motion. He was helping her and apologising for it. That was new...

When he leaned back at last, relief loosened something in her chest and she let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. A quiet, humourless laugh slipped free at his mention of scarring.

Like it mattered. Like it could be worse than the scars she already bore..

She pulled the blanket around her back, holding it closed across her chest, and finally dared a look over her shoulder at him. Her brow furrowed, suspicion softening into something more uncertain.

“Thank you,” she said quietly.

At his offer to clean up and leave, she snorted softly and shook her head again. “You don’t need to clean them. Or go.” She gave a tired huff. “It’s not safe for either of us right now.”

She rose carefully to her feet, wincing, then turned enough to offer him the bottle she still held, rainwater dripping from her hair onto the boards.

“Do disgraced knights drink?” she asked wryly.
 
Leoric remained on his knees a moment longer, head still lowered. The quiet thank you caught him off guard; he had not expected it.

He looked up only when she turned, careful to keep his gaze on her face. The expression there made something in his chest tighten. Broken.

Why had he even helped her? They were both beyond redemption.

“You’re welcome,” he said.

When she offered the bottle, he rose slowly to his feet, mindful of her wounds and the blanket she clutched. He took it with his right hand.

“I might not have embraced every vice, but disgraced knights drink more than most,” he admitted. He lifted the bottle in a small, solemn toast toward her, then took a measured pull. The spirits burned clean down his throat, chasing away some of the cold that had settled in his bones.

He handed it back carefully.

“Leoric,” he said again,L.

He glanced toward the plank door, listening to the rain, then back to her.

“We’ve got a few hours before Gav’s lot dare flood the streets. Rest while you can. I’ll keep watch.”
 
Her eyelids were already growing heavy, the sharp edge of adrenaline ebbing away and leaving only exhaustion in its wake. When he spoke of disgraced knights and drink, she nodded and let out a quiet huff of a laugh, dry and humourless.

“Figures,” she murmured.

“Leoric,” she repeated quietly as she took the bottle back. She drank again, wincing as the burn tore down her throat, then swallowed hard. The idea of someone keeping watch while she slept made unease coil in her gut, but her body was betraying her, dragging her under whether she liked it or not.

She pushed herself unsteadily to her feet, legs trembling, and left the bottle with him as she stepped into the cushioned rowboat. She tossed him a pillow, then a blanket.

Lowering herself down, she grimaced as the stitches pulled and fire lanced through her back. Her head hit the pillow with more force than she’d meant, breath leaving her in a soft huff.

“Althea,” she sighed.. He certainly hadn't heard it from Gav, he never said it, she was always 'dollface' or 'toots' or 'wingless sky rat'...

Her eyes slid shut. And she crashed, hard and deep, into sleep.
 
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Leoric caught the pillow and blanket with a quiet nod of thanks. He spread the blanket over his knees as he settled onto the stool near the door. He set his warhammer across his lap.

Althea’s breathing evened out almost at once. She was exhausted. This was the kind of sleep that came only after the body has nothing left to give.

He watched the rise and fall of the blanket over her for a long moment, then forced his gaze to the door instead.

For a few moments he imagined he was a paladin again. Weapon close at hand, He guarded the princess.

The rain had softened to a steady whisper on the roof. Inside, the boathouse was fairly quiet except for the occasional drip into buckets and the faint creak of old wood settling.

Quiet enough for thoughts to creep in.

He flexed his left hand slowly, watching the faint cracks of ember-glow pulse beneath skin.

What had he done?

Gav would wake in a fury. The Knife-Eels would come looking, and they would not come alone. He had thrown away steady coin, such as it was, for a woman he did not know. Put both their necks on the block for... what? A moment of conscience?

His jaw tightened.

He had stood by for years. Watched worse than tonight happen and done nothing. Told himself survival mattered more than honour. And the one time he finally moved, it was half-cocked and reckless, leaving them both hunted in the Shallows with winter closing in.

Stupid.

The old shame stirred, whispering that he had always been better at breaking things than fixing them. Blood on his hands long before the fire took it.

He rubbed a thumb across the scarred palm, feeling the heat that never quite left.

Althea shifted in her sleep, a small sound of pain escaping as the stitches pulled. Leoric’s eyes flicked back to her, and the whisper faltered.

She was still breathing. Still whole, more or less.

He exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging. Maybe that was enough for one night. At least he hadn't even considered using the hammer to make her sleep endless, to take her back to try and curry favour with Gav.

He pulled the blanket higher over his knees and fixed his gaze on the door. The crisis did not vanish, but it quieted.

He would keep watch.

Leoric Stormcrowned sat in the dim with the ghosts he could not outrun, waiting for morning.
 
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Her sleep was deep and heavy and mercifully empty. No dreams, no falling, no knives or hands pinning her down. Her body drank it in greedily, knitting itself together as best it could. She'd needed it, and perahps in some small subconscious place beneath the exhaustion, she was aware that someone had watch over her.

The rain had stopped by the time the rosy light of morning began to seep through the cracks in the boathouse. The air smelled cleaner, washed. Seabirds cried around the docks as fishermen set off. Morning.

Her brow furrowed and she shifted, reluctant to surface. Then memory came rushing back all at once, of last night and the realisation that she had not been alone. Her eyes snapped open, searching for Leoric. She found him where she’d left him, still awake..

A long breath slipped out of her, tension easing as quickly as it had returned. She tried to stretch, immediately hissing as the stitches pulled hard across her back. She stilled, jaw tightening, then let herself relax again.

“You should get some sleep,” she murmured, voice gritty with sleep, eyes still on him.
 
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Leoric had not moved from the stool all night. The warhammer lay across his knees. His greatcoat was still drying, his hair loose and tangled from the rain, eyes shadowed with fatigue.

“Morning,” he said.

At her words he gave a small, tired shake of his head.

"I’ve gone longer without,” he answered. Truth was his body ached for rest, but the thought of closing his eyes in a place he did not know, with threats still loose in the streets, had kept him pinned awake.

He shifted slightly, rolling one shoulder to ease the stiffness. Seabirds wheeled and called outside, their cries muffled through the planks.

“You’ll be sore today,” he said. “Stitches held through the night, but they’ll pull if you move fast.” A pause. “Gav’s lot won’t come in daylight, not bold enough. But come dusk... we should be gone from the Shallows.”

He rubbed a thumb across his scarred palm, hesitating.

“Maybe I should catch an hour or two before I try and figure out this mess."
 
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She grimaced as she shifted, a soft sound of discomfort slipping past her teeth, then gave a short, resigned nod at his assessment.

“Mh. I’ve had worse,” she murmured.

She pushed herself carefully upright and wrapped the blanket tighter around herself against the chill creeping in with the morning air. Her shoulders ached, her back throbbed, but she stayed on her feet.

At his hesitation, she glanced at him, then tipped her chin toward the rowboat.

“Get in,” she said as she stepped out, a little firmer than before. “It’s surprisingly comfortable.”

She'd been somewhat fond of this little shelter, a pitiful piece of safety she'd managed to find herself, a small sanctuary she could escape to when the streets were too much. When she'd been afraid. But he was right. Gav wouldn’t swallow an insult like last night, and the Shallows would turn vicious once the sun dipped again.

“We can figure it out, after you sleep.” she huffed..
 
Leoric watched her rise, noting the careful way she moved.

When she told him to get in the boat, he , surprise flickering across tired eyes. Then he gave a small nod, no argument left in him.

“Aye,” he murmured.

No one had told him to get into a boat whilst it was in the middle of an old warehouse before.

He set the warhammer down gently against the crate, within arm’s reach of the boat. His tunic clung cold to his skin, but he left it.

He eased himself into the padded rowboat with the stiffness of a man who had sat rigid all night. His long frame folded as best it could into the narrow space.

The cushions were softer than he expected. He let his head rest back against the curved hull.

His eyes found hers in the pale light.

“Althea,” he said, tasting the name properly for the first time. It suited her more than any of Gav’s slurs ever had.

He drew a slow breath, fatigue finally pulling at him now that permission had been given.

“Wake me if anything moves out there,” he said, voice already thickening. “Or if you need anything.”

The words trailed off. His eyes slid shut, storm-blue disappearing. Within moments his breathing deepened, even and quiet.
 
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She stared at him for a long moment after he said her name, after he told her to wake him if she needed anything. It sat strangely with her. She frowned briefly, then waited until his breathing deepened and evened, until she was certain sleep had claimed him before she moved.

She set the blanket aside and washed quickly over a bucket with soap and cold water, hissing softly when it stung the stitches. She dried herself, then dressed with care in leggings and a clean white blouse. She tried the corset and abandoned it with a quiet curse when the pressure made her back flare with pain.

Moving lightly, she packed a small bag. What meagre rations of food she had, some supplies from the medical kit, clean clothes.. She paused, glanced at Leoric to ensure he was still asleep, then lifted a loose floorboard and retrieved the purses and the few valuables she’d hidden there, tucking them away with practiced speed.

That was when she heard voices. Too close for comfort.

Her hand stilled. She eased toward a narrow gap in the wall and peered out.

Men were moving along the docks, men she recognised instantly, checking hulls and holds as cargo was loaded onto the nearest ship.

One familiar voice cut through the rest. “I want them all checked! No ship leaves this dock without my say so!”

Her stomach dropped… Gav.

“Leoric…. We have to go.” She whispered urgently, moving to attempt, and miserably fail, to lift his war hammer.
 
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Leoric came awake instantly at the whisper of his name, no groggy transition, just eyes snapping open and body tensing beneath the blanket. Years of sleeping light in hostile places had burned that reflex into him. His hand slapped down onto the handle of the hammer.

He sat up fast, blanket sliding away, and took in the scene with one sweep. Althea already dressed and packed, she had drawn her hand bakx quickly from his weapon.

Her posture was sharp with tension. He had felt a flutter of panic that she had been attempting to steal his weapon, but he quickly saw the truth of the matter.

The voices filtered through the planks, muffled but unmistakable. Gav’s bark carried clearest, laced with fury.

He had thought they would not search in broad daylight.

The habits of old oathes kept him from swearing.

Leoric swung his legs over the edge of the boat and stood in one fluid motion, no trace of the exhaustion that had pulled him under minutes ago.

He scooped the warhammer up with his right hand and shrugged his coat back on.

“How many?” he asked, voice low and calm, stepping to the gap in the wall to peer out beside her.

He counted six that he could see, maybe more out of sight. Armed, moving methodical along the docks, kicking crates and questioning dockhands. Gav limped slightly, temple swollen dark, but the half-orc’s eyes burned hot.

Leoric’s jaw tightened. His left hand flexed; faint embers stirred beneath the cracked skin, answering the quickening of his pulse.

“Back way out?” he murmured, eyes still on the search party.

“We’ll make it,” he added quieter, more to himself than her. After his choice last night, he couldn't fail now. Gav would force him to watch as he took out his rage on her. Neither of them would survive the night. But it would be a long night.
 
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She flinched back a half step as his hand closed around the hammer, blinking at the ease with which he lifted it. The thing looked and felt as heavy as an anvil, and he moved it like it weighed nothing at all. Althea was avariel - light-boned, quick, made for air and flight that had long since been denied her. Strength like his was… unsettling. Useful, though.

She filed that thought away and shifted closer to him, instinct already choosing where safety lay until Gav was nothing but a bad memory, or a corpse.

Her pulse spiked as the reality settled in. Running. Again.

“I.. I don’t know,” she whispered when he asked how many. “I was one of ten last time he wanted someone found..” Her head shook once, sharp and panicked. She hd no time to spiral. She turned and sheathed what knives she had, then slung her pack over her shoulder and tugged her hood up.

Moving quickly and quietly, she crossed to the back corner. A crate was shoved aside and two thick planks pulled free. Cool air breathed in through the gap. She glanced back toward the docks, listening. Clear, for now.

“If we can reach the Goldmarch house.. I work there sometimes,” she added grimly.. “They keep horses. Good ones. They're never as well guarded as the should be. If we get that far, at least we won’t be running on foot.”
 
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"Oh dear," went Leoric. "I'm better than Gav's common thugs but I can't fight ten."

It was an obvious thing to say and probably unnecessary. He wouldn't use a sword since he had broken his oaths. The hammer had a narrow head on one side and a claw on the other. It was a true warhammer for fighting armour, but hardly effective against a group.

"Goldmarch house then," he whispered. Horses might draw attention but he didn't have any better ideas.

"I will keep you safe," he said. For just a moment there was a flash of the paladin he had once been. It was more than the words, it was the way he held his head high instead of looking at the floor.

Leon followed her out into the light. Behind him, he heard the crack of planks pulled free from the other side of the warehouse.

They got passed an entire row of makeshift buildings. There were odd houses on stilts in the marshes that wouldn't last the year.

Leoric caught sight of a familiar face. He met the gaze of the young boy before he vanished from beneath a blanket.

"Oh dear. We've been marked by one of Gav's beggars. Just run now."
 
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She saw the boy too, and for a heartbeat, she froze.

Shit.

She ran. Her body went light, her movements clean and fast, feet barely touching the damp planks as she tore down the dockway. Pain flared hot across her back where the stitches pulled, but she shoved it down, breath coming sharp and quick. She didn’t look back. Looking back was how you died.

Shouts erupted behind them, voices rising, boots pounding, the sound of Gav’s rage carrying far too well.

They burst off the docks and into the street that hugged the water, where the morning had just begun. Dockworkers hauling crates, fishmongers gutting their catch, merchants setting up stalls and barking prices into the chill air. The crowd thickened, and Althea veered hard into it, weaving and slipping through any gaps she could, ducking under arms, twisting sideways between laden carts.

“Watch it!” someone snarled.

“Hey!” another yelled.

“THIEVES!” she heard Gav's voice, cutting through the noise.

The word was a weapon. Heads snapped around. Hands tightened on crates and poles. Suspicion rippled through the street. Althea swore under her breath and cut left, vaulting a low cart in one fluid motion, landing with a jolt that made her hiss through clenched teeth.

“This way!” she called back to Leoric, already angling toward a narrow side street that spilled uphill, away from the docks and toward wealth and stone and horses. Toward Goldmarch.

Her heart hammered, wings-that-were-not screaming to be used, fear and adrenaline tangling tight in her chest.
 
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Leoric pounded after her, boots slamming wet cobblestones. His coat flared behind him like a banner. They would have found changes of clothes and planned out their escape. He hadn't expected Gav to get moving at first light.

Every stride jarred his tired frame, but adrenaline and the old knightly discipline kept him moving.

He wasn't as agile as Althea, clambering over the cart and getting after her.

His storm-blue eyes scanned the slope ahead, spotting the gilded gates of the Goldmarch estate higher up the hill.

“You know a way in quiet?” he asked, falling in beside her.

A shout rose behind them - too close. Leoric half-turned, hammer ready, buying her the next few seconds if someone broke through the crowd.

“Lead on, Althea. I’ve your back.”
 
She nodded once, sharp and decisive, barely sparing him a glance. All she could hear was the chaos behind them.

“This way,” she breathed as she caught his wrist and hauled him hard to the right, dragging him into a narrow alley, shoving over some crates as she passed, hoping to slow whomever was on their heels. She didn’t slow. Stone steps dropped steeply ahead and she took them two at a time, pain screaming in her back as the stitches pulled.

At the bottom, a door. She fumbled with a large key with shaking fingers. The lock resisted for a heartbeat too long, then clicked. She shoved the heavy door open with a creek.

“Get in!”

The door slammed shut behind them and she pulled the drawbar down and locked it, chest heaving as darkness swallowed them. The space was narrow and cool, a service tunnel..

“Servants’ ... entrance,” she panted, pressing her back to the wood for just a second. The door rattled and she jolted away from it, reaching for his arm.

“Let’s go,” she whispered.

She didn’t wait. She headed for the pale rectangle of light at the far end, boots scuffing stone as the tunnel sloped upward. They emerged into a rear courtyard washed in morning sun. The elegant Goldmarch manor loomed above and servants were already moving about their tasks, sweeping, hauling, pruning..

No one looked twice, other than a young man trundling a wheelbarrow who glanced her way. “Morning, Lily,” he called easily, eyes flicking over her and then briefly over Leoric, before moving on. Not his business.

Althea smiled like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Morning, Sam,” she replied, clearing her throat. She started walking again immediately, angling them toward the stables.

“Stables are this way, mister horse washer.” she insisted loudly..
 
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Leoric let her haul him into the alley without resistance, her grip surprisingly strong on his wrist despite the blood and stitches. He had thought to make some foolish last stand and instead was dragged in her wake.

They soon emerged into sunlight and order. It was far removed from the busy marketplace. There were clipped hedges, swept flagstones. The casual greeting from the wheelbarrow boy caught him off guard.

Lily?

She said she worked here. Clearly enough that they were relaxed about her showing up.

"Oh, yeah, I'll need water..."

Leoric was quite clearly not good at putting on an act.

Leoric dipped his head in a rough approximation of a servant’s nod.

He shifted the warhammer to his left hand, holding it low against his leg like a tool rather than a weapon.

Horses, however, he did know. Leoric slowed as they stepped into the familiar scents of the stable.

"You don't work in the stables then?" he hissed as he walked down between the stalls. He kept going until he found where the tack was kept.

"You ride?"
 
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She cleared her throat, eyes flicking toward the house.

“Not exactly, no,” she murmured.

In the stables, two horses stood out immediately,. One was a black Friesian named Astraeus, massive and glossy, feathers thick around its legs, its massive head held high. The other was a tall, grey courser with a spotty coat and pale mane, named Aetheris.

She looked away when Leoric asked if she rode.

“Never,” she said flatly, edging toward the grey. "How hard could it be?.." she added with little confidence as she edged closer to Aetheris who was the smaller of the two. Smaller, but still a fair bit taller than she was. How the fuck was she supposed to get up there?

“I, uh…” Her lips pressed together, pride warring with survival. Finally she exhaled and looked at him, sheepish.. “I might need a little help.”
 
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Leoric followed her gaze to the two horses, taking in the massive black Friesian and the slightly less daunting grey courser. Fine animals, far finer than anything he had expected to find in a merchant’s stable. Gold was perhaps the important part of the name.

Her flat admission drew his eyes back to her.

“Never ridden,” he repeated under his breath, more to himself than to her. "And you went for horses."

Not a question. Just fact.

He glanced toward the stable doors and the courtyard beyond. There were no raised voices yet, no running feet. They still had minutes.

Leoric stepped forward, moving to Aetheris’s near side. He rested the warhammer carefully against a hay bale within easy reach, then ran a quick, practiced hand down the courser’s neck and shoulder, murmuring low nonsense words the way he had learned from the Order’s farriers years ago. The horse flicked an ear but stood calm.

“Right,” he said quietly, turning to Althea. “Aetheris is the better choice for you lighter, smoother gait. Won’t jar your back as much.”

He laced his fingers together and bent slightly, creating a stirrup with his hands at about knee height.

“Left foot here. Hands on the pommel and mane. Don’t pull the reins yet. I’ll boost you up, you swing the right leg over gentle. Settle slow; let the saddle take your weight.”

His storm-blue eyes met hers, steady and patient, no judgement in them.

“I’ll mount the big one after. He looks strong enough to carry us both if it comes to it, but better we ride separate for speed.”

He waited, hands ready, voice low.

“On three, or when you’re set. Your call.”
 
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“Well, my first choice was to stow away on one of those ships,” she huffed under her breath, eyes flicking toward the distant docks.. “But clearly he thought of that too. Unless you’ve got a better idea tucked away in that very large head of yours…”

Her gaze slid back to him as he handled the horse, brow creasing despite herself. He hadn't struck her as the gentle sort, and so there was something incongruous about the way he soothed the horse. It was rather un-brute like.

“You know horses, then,” she muttered rhetorically. “At least one of us does.”

She checked over her shoulder once more, breath tight, then nodded and lifted her leg. Her boot settled into his laced hands, her weight light. She followed his instructions carefully, hands to pommel and mane, a controlled breath, then the slow swing over.

The mare barely shifted as Thea settled gently into the saddle. She sucked in a sharp breath as the movement tugged at her back, a faint hiss escaping her teeth. Her shirt was damp, no doubt with blood, beneath her coat, and she rolled her shoulders gingerly, jaw setting as she forced herself still.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. Perhaps vaulting the merchant stalls wasn't the best of ideas.

She gathered the reins into her hands but didn’t pull, knuckles already whitening as nerves crept in. From up here the ground felt much farther away than she’d expected.

Her eyes dropped to him, then lifted toward the open courtyard beyond the stable doors. She gave him a tight, uncertain smile.

“I guess… north pass,” she said after a moment. “Then off the road as soon as we can.” A pause, trepidation slipping through with a small exhale. “I’m not exactly sure where I’m going yet.”

Her fingers tightened on the leather. “Just… somewhere Gav isn’t.”
 
Althea said:
"Unless you’ve got a better idea tucked away in that very large head of yours…”
Click to expand...

"Oh...f"

Old habits kept him from swearing at her under his breath. He hadn't picked him his hammer to curry favour with the thief, but he thought there might have been a touch of grace given that she still had a head because of him.

“You’re welcome,” he murmured. He grunted in frustration instead of swearing.

He stepped to Astraeus next. The big Friesian turned his massive head, dark eyes assessing the scarred man in the patched greatcoat. Leoric ran a firm hand along the stallion’s neck, feeling the power coiled there, then swung up into the saddle with practiced ease.

The horse accepted his weight without protest, stamping once as if eager to move.

He gathered the reins in his right hand, warhammer hooked to the saddle’s pommel ring for now. His ruined left rested light on his thigh, embers dim.

"North pass is good,ć he agreed quietly, guiding Astraeus alongside Aetheris so their knees nearly brushed.

" Road’s busy this time of day, caravans, farmers heading to market. We’ll look like any other pair of travellers till we’re clear of the walls."

He glanced at her white-knuckled grip on the reins, then reached over - not touching her, just loosening the leather a fraction so the mare’s head could move free.

“Hold them light for now. She’ll follow Astraeus if you let her. Squeeze your calves gentle to go, ease up to slow. She’s steady; she won’t bolt.”

His storm-blue eyes flicked to the stable doors, then back to her.

"I don't know where to go after that either," he said. This was already rock bottom for him and he was short of options.

"Gav has no sway far side of Alliria. Fact he can't even show his face. We don't need to go far to get out of reach. Even just circle round to far gate."
 
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She caught the flicker of frustration in him and gave a quick, crooked smirk that softened it, both amusement and apology.

“A wee joke...” she said lightly. Of course she knew what he’d done for her. Of course she was grateful. It wasn't lost on her that the fact she was still breathing was down to him.

Her eyes dropped to his hand as he adjusted the reins, and let her shoulders ease a little. Her grip loosened, fingers uncurling a little, and nodded quickly at his instruction.

“Right,” she muttered, more to herself than him.

At the mention of Gav, her mouth tightened. She caught her lower lip between her teeth, chewing at it as nerves crept back in.

“True,” she admitted quietly, “but I’ll have to keep my head down too. I’ve been working for him a while.” A beat. “There are people who won’t be thrilled to see me either.”

Her gaze snapped back toward the stable doors at a distant shout, pulse spiking.

“We should go,” she murmured, tugging her hood up and swallowing hard and doing the thing he told her to do with her legs.

Althea sucked in a sharp breath, half gasp, half laugh, eyes widening as Aetheris stepped forward obediently. Fuck, if she fell from up here she’d shatter like glass. She forced the thought away and steadied herself, heart hammering.

“This was a fucking terrible idea.”
 
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Leoric caught the crooked smirk and felt the corner of his own mouth tug upward despite everything. It was a brief, answering flicker that vanished as quickly as it came.

"Yeah well, it was still an idea."

The last few years of his life had been a litany of mistakes. This was the first time he'd felt good about ant of his choices.

He nudged Astraeus forward with a subtle shift of weight, guiding the big Friesian just ahead of Aetheris.

The stallion matched the mare’s pace, keeping them close enough that Leoric could reach back and across if needed.

The distant shout echoed again, closer now, carried on the morning breeze. His scarred hand tightened on the reins, embers stirring faintly beneath the skin.

They were too recognisable to get out of this one by blending in with a crowd. The only stealth in their favour was that Gav's lowest henchmen had lived keeping their eyes down as people rode by on horseback.

They moved out of the stables into the sunlit courtyard. Servants glanced their way. They started to attract attention.

"Go," he muttered as they approached the open gate, drawing them faster.

They emerged onto the downhill street. He mentally mapped a route to the north gate.

"There she is!" came a cry.

"Fuck." He dug in his heels and they accelerated down the road. One of Gav's thieves ran ahead of them. He bounced off the big friesian's flank and went tumbling along the ground.

Leoric thought of the charge of Blackwater. He had been magnificent in his armour, lance in hand for the first assault.
 
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She felt the subtle shift in the air, the way eyes lingered too long. Her spine went rigid, though she forced herself to keep looking ahead, chin level, hands light on the reins just as he’d told her. She tried to act natural.

Of course, none of this was natural. A housemaid had absolutely no business riding the mistress' horse at all, let alone toward the gates with a man nobody knew.. She caught fragments of murmurs, confusion rippling through the servants like a ripple on water.

“Lily?” someone whispered.

Well. That was that. She swallowed. She was never working in Goldmarch again.

Almost there.

Her heart hammered so hard she was sure the mare could feel it. Her breathing went shallow, too fast, her body coiled tight with panic. The horse huffed beneath her, picking up on it, tossing her head in irritation.

Almost there...

'There she is!'

Oh no.. “No, no, no, no.." The protest tumbled out of her as the world lurched.

Aetheris surged forward into a gallop and Althea’s breath tore from her lungs in a sharp, panicked sound. What came out of her mouth next wasn’t any common tongue, but it was unmistakably profanity, raw and frantic.

Flying had once been instinct. Running she had learned to be fast and light-footed. This - this was terror.

She had no control. None. The ground blurred beneath her, hooves thundered through the chaos, and all she could do was cling to the saddle horn with white-knuckled hands and pray fiercely and desperately to any horse god that might be listening.

The hood was ripped back, wind tangling in her hair. Chaos exploded around them, shouts, bodies scattering, the thump of impact as someone bounced off Leoric’s horse, but Althea saw only the road ahead.

"Don't fall... Don't fall... Please don't fall..."

'Close the gates!' someone bellowed.

Men rushed into their path, hands raised, shouting, clapping, waving cloaks to spook the horses. One kicked down a barrel of apples, and the mare screamed and reared, forelegs lashing out. Hooves struck flesh with a sickening crack and a man went down hard, rolling away clutching his ribs.

Althea cried out, fingers slipping on the reins as the world tilted violently beneath her. For one breathless heartbeat she thought she was going over the back. She lunged forward, pressing both hands to the mare’s neck. She didn’t know if it would work on horses. She had never tried. But she pushed anyway, pouring everything she had into the contact: steadiness, forward motion, the quiet certainty of flight carried on the wind.

Easy. Easy...

Aetheris shuddered beneath her, then came down hard, hooves striking stone. The mare snorted, ears pinning back as she felt the gentle current of magic. A hand shot up from the side and grabbed at Althea’s ankle, though she lifted her leg and her boot connected with a wet crunch and the man staggered back with a howl.

Althea snapped the reins, heart hammering, pain screaming through her stitched back as the horse leapt forward again. The gates loomed ahead, iron teeth grinding down, chains screaming in protest as the gap narrowed by the second.

“Go!” she screamed, voice wild with panic over the thunder of hooves.
 
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