Private Tales Virtue and Valor in Shades of Scarlet

[Sir Alaric]

Alaric slumped low in the saddle. He'd ridden fully for three days, sleeping on horse, but could feel his great beast and friend tiring.

"Aye, Thunder," he croaked, bone-weary.

The horse snorted, lathered with sweat and trembling with exhaustion. He was bred for war and brilliant charges, not slogging across hill and dale for days on end. They needed to stop and soon, else he risked losing the horse and their quarry both.

In the distance, he spied the outline of a great manor. Surely, the lord of such a place would not turn away a knight in need? Alaric nudged Thunder in that direction, his eyes swimming. As they came upon the manor, dusk fell swiftly. How strange, he'd spotted no tended fields outside the manor, nor any servants coming and going. As he drew toward the door, no one came out to answer the clop of shod-horse. Alaric's tired mind could not work out this mystery.

Exhausted, he slid from the saddle with a groan. He should not have worn chainmail on such a ride. His tabard, normally white and emblazoned with the brilliant sun of the Radiant Church, was caked with dust. So too his locks of golden hair. Resting a hand on the hilt of his sword from comfort, its presence at his hip reassuring, Alaric lurched forward and pounded on the door of this manor, fearful it might be abandoned.

"Hello? I am Sir Alaric of Cortos. I beg shelter for the night."

No answer.

He pounded on the door again.

"Please, let me speak to your lord. We only need room for the night and we'll be gone. I beg of thee."

Evadne

 

[Evadne]

The knock at the great oak doors of the manor shivered through the empty halls, startling the lone candle by which Evadne sat. She stilled, cup of dark wine poised in her hand, head tilted to listen.

A man’s voice. Worn, desperate, yet steady still..

She heard more than his words. The groan of chainmail as he shifted his weight. The rasp of his tired breath. The horse outside, trembling on the edge of collapse. And beneath it all, the beat of his heart, young, strong, achingly alive.

Hunger twisted inside her, sharp as knives. How long had it been since she fed well? Too long. This place was her prison, and nobody ever came here. Not anymore. Her tongue pressed to the back of her teeth, and her grip on the cup tightened until crystal creaked. One taste would silence the ache..

She rose, shadows unfurling with her as though eager to hunt. Candlelight caught the pale fall of her white hair, the silk of her dressing gown clinging where it plunged low, leaving nothing to the imagination despite the icy cold of the manor. When she drew the door open, she leaned lazily against the frame, cup in hand, gaze upon the knight who stood on her threshold.

“My Lord is not home,” she said, voice smooth as velvet, though her eyes slid past him to the storm gathering swift and black across the hills. “But the night grows cruel, and you… you are far from shelter.”

Her gaze returned to study him, exhaustion carving harsh lines across his handsome face. Temptation made flesh. A beautiful thing, beneath all that dirt and sweat. Under that sun that burned on his chest...

Evadne sipped her wine instead, letting the silence linger just long enough to sharpen the air between them. Then her lips curved faintly.. "I am not supposed to open the door to strangers.. But, I am sure that for a knight, it would be alright to make an exception.." she said softly, and stepped aside, allowing him to enter.

 

[Sir Alaric]

The knight felt a surge of hope as the door finally swung open, then he saw her. At first he thought her some apparition of the mist, pale of hair and pale of flesh and clad only in a wisp of a gown that draped her curving figure in ways that drew the eye. But ghosts did not speak so, with words languid as dripping honey. Nor did they lean lithe bodies against doorframes in such a manner.

Alaric stiffened and looked away from her, to some middle-distance just over her shoulder.

"My lady," he bowed, eyes darting toward the ground, but finding no relief at the glimpse of bare ankles. He studied a crack in the floor, then rose and met her gaze with gentle brown eyes. Something pulled him in that gaze of hers, drawing him in. "My sincerest apologies. If your Lord isn't home - I shouldn't."

And yet, she bade him enter.

He wet his lips and tore his eyes away from her to glance over his shoulder at Thunder, who stood lathered in sweat and so exhausted he could barely stand. If they left now and tried to find somewhere else, Thunder would not last more than a mile. The realization struck Alaric as sure as a sword edge and he winced.

"But my horse and I need shelter... if you're sure it's alright..."

No, boy, I won't make you suffer further.

The horse needed rest. And food. And not in an open plain or wood where the wolves might come.

Reluctantly, the knight crossed the threshold and entered the manor. The air was no warmer inside, but an odd chill that he felt even through his layers of cloth and chain. His eyes looked around the interior, avoiding dwelling on her. Honor demanded he look elsewhere.

"What may I call you, Lady? Will your Lord return soon? I don't wish to impose."

Evadne

 

[Evadne]

The knight’s bow was almost quaint, his gaze fixed anywhere but on her. Evadne let the corner of her mouth lift, faint and sharp, as if she were in on some private joke. She trailed one finger along the rim of her wine cup, her pale eyes following the tremble of the horse beyond him, then returning to Alaric with a languid sweep that left little doubt she was studying him.

“He has been gone some time, I'm afraid I'm unsure of when he will return” she said at last. She stepped back into the shadowed hall, allowing him passage with a gesture as fluid as water. “But you are not imposing, Sir Alaric…” her eyes lingered on his weary frame, the golden locks dulled with dust and sweat, the stubborn pride in the way he held himself upright though exhaustion dragged at his limbs, “…I am not so cruel as to turn a knight of Cortos from my door. You and your beast may rest in shelter tonight.”

How long since I spoke thus to another? Since I offered shelter rather than ruin? He smells of steel, of sunlight, of dust and salt sweat. Warmth clings to him like a cloak. How easy it would be to strip it all away, to drink him dry and let his bones cool beside the horse in the yard. Just one taste…

The thought twisted in her gut, sharp and hungry. She pressed her lips against the rim of the cup, letting the wine soften the ache, though it did little more than sting.

“You may call me Evadne,” she said, finally giving him her name, though the words left her lips like a sigh, weighted with something unsaid.

Her gaze lingered, pale and piercing, before softening, just slightly.

“Come. You look near to falling where you stand. I'm afraid I do not have much to eat, but there is plenty wine to warm you, and water for your steed. That much, at least, I can promise.”

 

[Sir Alaric]

"Wine and water would do well, thank you for your kindness, Lady Evadne."

In truth, his stomach yearned for a hot meal. What he would not give for some roast venison topped with stewed carrots and a slice of manchet.

The knight met her gaze briefly and felt a tingle shiver up his spine. He must have imagined things, for he thought for a moment that her eyes glowed in the dark with a strange light.

In the chill air, the sweat on his brow cooled and he felt the weight of the road in the grime matted in his hair and in the layer of dust and dirt on his tabard and boots. He must look a sight.

"Your Lord must be a kind man to let a stranger in at this hour, as are you. I am in your debt. May we send for a servant for my horse?"

He looked around, stepping deeper into the manor, frowning e'er so slightly at the furnishings lit by soft candles. Trying to avoid thoughts lingering on the way she'd stared at him and on the state of her dress.

Evadne

 

[Evadne]

“Yes, yes, rest assured, someone will tend to your horse,” she promised smoothly. Her tone carried the weight of certainty, though there was no bell rung, no servant summoned. And while his weary eyes wandered over the faded grandeur of the hall, candelabras weeping wax, curtains heavy with dust, a darker shape peeled from her own shadow. It moved with a liquid grace, hips swaying as though in mimicry of her own, and slipped silently out into the storm to lead the beast to the stables.

Evadne alone remained. She always did.

Once, this manor had teemed with life- twenty staff bustling through its corridors, laughter echoing from dining halls, children’s footsteps on the stairs. But time had hollowed it. Or perhaps she had. The house still stood in its finery, but it was a finery that grew brittle, tired, and neglected. Unlike her. Evadne had never changed.

She led him into the main sitting room, the hearth roared to life, flames licking eagerly at logs that had been cold but a moment before.

“Yes… kind,” she echoed his words, a dryness in her throat as she gave him the faintest smile, too tight around the edges. “Of course he is.” A lie, but one she dressed in silk.

“Please,” she gestured to the fireside chairs. “Sit. Warm yourself. I can have a bath drawn in the guest suite, if you wish…” The words came like an afterthought, though her hand lingered as she poured a generous goblet of Obanian red, the dark liquid rich as blood in the firelight. She pressed it into his hand, her fingers cool against his skin.

Then she reclined in her own high-backed chair, sinking into it with effortless grace. The fire caught her eyes. Crossing one long leg over the other, the silk of her gown falling away to her upper thigh, a casual unveiling, though nothing about her gaze was casual as it lingered on him.

“Seems like you’ve travelled far, Sir Alaric…” she said, her tone lilting into a question as she raised her own cup. Wine touched her lips, but it was not the drink that made her throat work in a swallow.

Gods, the warmth radiating from him. Dust, sweat, steel, blood, the scent of life itself clinging to every inch of him. I can hear it, pulsing through his veins. So close, so temptingly close. He does not see the hunger in me. Or does he?

She sipped again, her eyes never leaving his.

 

[Sir Alaric]

A frown creased his brow and he watched with a mix of relief and confusion as the silent servant whisked off to tend his horse. How strange, he hadn’t been able to make out their face in the candlelight.

Words and wine drew his attention back to her and he gratefully accepted the glass. Their fingers grazed as she handed him the wine. Sun above. Her touch was ice cold.

Adjusting his scabbard so he could sit down, the knight did so but only at the edge of the seat. Back among polite society, he felt self conscious of the filth costing him and the smell of horse and sweat in such company.

“A bath would be sublime,” he confessed. “I apologize for my present state, as you say… I’ve traveled far.”

His eyes moved inevitably to her where she reclined, legs crossed, clad only in that thinnest of night gowns that did nothing to conceal her figure. She was exceedingly beautiful, with white-gold hair cut short past the chin, exposing a bare, ivory neck and framing high cheekbones and eyes that possed an alluring, feline languidness to them.

Sir Alaric hurriedly took a sip from his wine, focusing on the rim of the glass and the taste of the red.

“Oban vintage,” he remarked, surprised. So far from that city. And the taste… he’d had worse at his uncle’s in Torleon when dining with the Duke.

He glanced up, once more distracted by her beauty, which she made no motion to conceal.

“I have woken you at an unseemly hour. You must be cold,” he thought of her fingers earlier, chill as a corpse’s. “Should I fetch a coat for you, my lady?”

Evadne

 

[Evadne]

Evadne’s lips curved faintly at his offer, a flicker of surprise, then amusement, then something softer.

“How very chivalrous,” she murmured, the words almost a sigh. “A coat for me..”

She tilted her head, studying him as though she’d never seen such a creature before. She hadn't in such a long time, years in fact, and warmth looked strange to her now, alien. It clung to him like a halo.

“No,” she said at last, her voice smooth. “I do not feel the cold.”

Her gaze lingered on his hand, still wrapped around the cup, knuckles rough and scarred, veins alive beneath the skin. The pulse there called to her, slow, steady, human. She forced herself to look away.

“You are kind, Sir Alaric,” she said quietly. “The sort of man who would offer warmth to a stranger even when frozen himself.”

The fire popped in the hearth, and her eyes flicked toward it, as though drawn to its light, even though it hurt to look at. When she spoke again, her tone had changed, brittle around the edges, an echo of something broken.

“You should be careful with such kindness. It can draw the wrong sort of creatures to your door.”

For a heartbeat, the air between them seemed to thrum with a subtle tension. Then she smiled again, all composure and grace. “I’ll have your bath prepared. You’ll sleep well here, I promise.”

 

[Sir Alaric]

Her mood seemed to shift before him, as unknowable and immaterial as morning mist. First forlorn, then all languid grace again. Alaric nodded his thanks to her.

“You are generous. Thank you for your warning, but I dare not abandon my principles out of fear, lest they become no principles at all.”

Some steel shone in his words there, as if to dare whatever monsters she spoke of to show themselves so he might drive them hence with his blade. What greater glory than to face a foe for honor’s sake? Alaric could think of none.

He wondered though at her tone, almost fragile, as if she had been hurt once for showing too much kindness. He would have words with the offender.

The Knight took another long drink of his glass, then carefully set it down. The wine filled him with a warmth, but it did little to put life back into spent limbs. He felt sapped of all his energy.

Best to wash off the road and find sleep while there was still time.

“Sleep would do me well, I feel half delirious from the road, I confess.”

Evadne

 

[Evadne]

Evadne’s gaze lingered on him a moment longer, the firelight catching in her pale eyes and casting fleeting shadows across her high cheekbones. She let the faintest sigh escape her, almost inaudible, like the brushing of silk against stone. "Hm.." she smiled. "A light these halls have not seen in a great many years.." she commented distantly..

Sleep. The word twisted inside her like a bitter blade. She had not known it in so long. Sleep. How simple it sounded, how unbearably human. How cruel that he could lie down and surrender to oblivion.

She watched him settle into the chair, body finally loosening, eyes heavy with exhaustion. Each slow blink of his lids, each exhalation, stirred something dark and aching within her. How I envy you, knight. How I would give anything, give everything, to feel that surrender, even for a moment.

And yet… the hunger hummed beneath her skin, a constant, insistent murmur. It was never quiet, never satiated. To touch him, to taste even a drop of his warmth, might quiet the ache for a heartbeat… but at what cost?

Her fingers brushed the silk of her gown, the small comfort of her own warmth. Pale as she was, she shivered, not from cold but from longing - for sleep, for touch, for something untainted. He was alive, unbound, human… and yet so close, so achingly close to what she could never fully take. She frowned at her momentary failure to hide her discomfort.

She sipped her wine, letting it coat her throat. The warmth it offered was faint, fleeting. A poor substitute..

“Then sleep you shall, Sir Alaric,” she murmured, her voice a soft melody. She rose, the movement fluid, the silk of her gown sliding over her skin with a whisper of sound. “Come… I shall show you to your chambers..”

She moved ahead, bare feet silent on the cold stone. The grand staircase loomed ahead, its banisters carved with twisting vines and grotesque faces, worn smooth by centuries of hands. Candles lined the walls, long burned down to pools of hardened wax, flickering as she passed. She raised a hand, brushing it along the dark wood; the carvings seemed to shiver under her touch, though the air was still.

The hall beyond was lined with paintings of men and women and children all with the same white hair, though their eyes were blue and grey. Dusty vases held arrangements of dead flowers, their petals brittle and curled in death.

Evadne paused before the final door before her hand moved to the handle. The faint light spilling from beneath it painted her figure in silhouette as she pushed the door open, revealing the guest chamber bathed in firelight. Her eyes narrowed against it. The hearth glowed warmly, crackling softly, and steam rose from a bath in the corner, carrying a subtle scent of lavender. The bed had been turned down, blankets folded back with exacting care, ready for him to fall into its embrace.

“Here,” she said softly, stepping aside to allow him entrance.. "I hope it is comfortable enough.."

 

[Sir Alaric]

He followed her, doing his best to keep his eyes off of her scarcely clothed form as she led the way up the staircase. Alaric’s weary hand found the wooden rail and he held it for support as he clambered up after her.

They passed through a hallway lined with pictures and Alaric glanced briefly at them, no stranger to such portraits in the homes of manor lords and barons alike. How strange the white hair though of this family line, a far paler blonde than his own curls of dull gold.

At last, they came to his guest quarters and Alaric stepped past Evadne into the room. He took a brief look around. The bed looked inviting, sleep calling his name, but he needed to wash off the filth of the road.

A fire crackled in the hearth, thank the Sun for that. He supposed he would indeed sleep well tonight.

“This looks wonderful, thank you again, my lady. I hope you sleep well despite my interruption.” Alaric gave her a stiff, shallow bow, then turned away and began unbuckling his sword belt. The red dyed oxhide and bronze buckling came free and he took up the sword sheath in one hand, fingers firm on the familiar leather. He moved with intent for the bath, expecting to hear the door shut behind him as he set the leaned his arming sword against the side of the bath and began fiddling with the straps of his vambraces.

Evadne

 

[Evadne]

Evadne lingered in the doorway, one hand resting lightly on the frame, her figure outlined by the fire’s glow. Shadows moved about her as if reluctant to let her go, pooling at her feet and crawling up the walls in long, languid tendrils toward him before she pulled them back again.

For a moment, she only watched him. The way his shoulders relaxed as he unbuckled his sword belt, the way fatigue softened his movements. His pulse - she could hear it from here, faint but insistent - thrummed beneath his skin like a distant drumbeat.

He trusts me, she thought, a hollow ache settling in her chest. Or, underestimates me.. A foolish man, either way.

Her eyes flicked briefly to the sword he’d set aside, then back to him. She smiled faintly, a ghost of a thing, more melancholy than warmth. “If you need anything, call for me.. I’ll hear.”

She lingered one heartbeat longer, as though warring with herself. The firelight glinted off the Bloodstone Amulet that rested against her breast, its crimson core pulsing faintly like a second heart. Her fingers brushed against it absently, and she drew in a slow breath.

“Goodnight, Sir Alaric,” she murmured, her voice a dark silk as she turned away.

Outside, the manor seemed to sigh, the timbers creaking, the wind pressing at the shutters, the faint echo of her footsteps receding into the long and lonely halls, his room all the warmer for the lack of her presence.

 

[Sir Alaric]

“Thank you,” he murmured again at her departing words, before slipping out of a vambrace.

In moments, bits of doffed armor lay strewn about him as if he were a tree in autumn shaking free of its leaves. Greaves and chainmail piled atop each other, the tabard lay folded near the hearth. Last came his tunic and trousers and undergarments which he stripped out of heedlessly. Standing bare before the bath for a moment he breathed in a lungful of air, his body rejoicing at the sudden weight lifted from it. Alaric rolled his shield arm shoulder. It had been dislocated once and never quite felt the same. The bath would help that too.

Gripping the sides of the tub he lowered himself into the steaming water, submerging his head completely for a moment, then sat up and began scrubbing himself furiously with brush and soap. Satisfied that he felt reasonably clean, Alaric leaned back for a moment,wet strands of his wheat colored hair plastered to his sunburnt forehead, and closed his eyes.

He sighed happily, relief flooding him as all the aches and sores of the road fled momentarily before the warm water of the bath.

Just a moment here, he thought to himself, as the wind shook the shutters and the house creaked.

How strange this Evadne was, yet how kind. He would not think ill of her generosity, though he had seen that hunger in her eyes and her refusal to don anything but the barest of gowns. No. No he should not think wrongly of his host.

Alaric lay there, trying to think of anything but the way her skin shone in the candlelight.

Evadne

 

[Evadne]

The door closed softly behind her, sealing him in the warmth of his chamber and her in the quiet chill of the corridor. For a long moment, Evadne stood there, hand resting against the wood as if she could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat through it.

It had been so long.

Years, decades perhaps, since another living soul had crossed her threshold. The manor had become a mausoleum in that time, a monument to stillness and dust. And now, within its walls, something breathed. Something warm. The sound of it reached her in waves, the steady beat of his heart, the subtle sigh of his breath, the faint ripple of water as he moved in the bath.

It unsettled her, more than she cared to admit.

The silence she had learned to bear had become her companion, her punishment. But now it was cracked open by life, and she did not know whether to weep or to feed.

Evadne pressed her fingers to her lips, trying to quiet the tremor that came with the thought. She could taste him already; sunlight and steel and salt. Her hunger stirred from its slumber, stretching, whispering.

She descended the stair in silence, though her thoughts clamoured louder with every step. At the foot of the stairs, her shadow detached from her completely, slithering along the wall like smoke caught in a draft. It paused only once, by the door of his chamber where it lingered, curious. Through the crack of the door, it watched. The faint glow of the firelight touched the knight’s face, his bare shoulders glistening with water.

A tremor of yearning passed through her. So alive.

Evadne turned away, eyes closing, teeth pressing into her lip until she tasted cold iron. “Go,” she whispered to the shadow. “Before I do something I cannot undo.”

The shadow obeyed, slipping through the trees like spilled ink, her hunger her own, and soon the forest echoed with the soft panic of a dying thing. A roe deer fell beneath its reach.

When her shadow returned with carcass, Evadne watched from kitchen table as the creature was butchered. No blades were needed; shadow cut as cleanly as steel. Flesh parted, hide sloughed away, blood collected, meat sliced from bone.

The liquid was still warm, still alive, and she drank it deep. It filled her mouth with the taste of earth and panic, a poor imitation of what she imagined the knight’s blood might be: bright, rich, touched by sunlight.

Her nose wrinkled as the shadow moved to its task of hanging the meat and setting the carcass to roast for the mortal guest above. The scent rose quickly, thick and greasy, filling the house.. Evadne turned from it, hand pressed against her ribs as if to quiet the storm that scent awoke.

“What a waste.." she muttered over her cup as she made her way back to her sitting room, choosing the seat he had briefly occupied as though some warmth might yet linger there.

 

[Sir Alaric]

After bathing, exhausted, Alaric dried himself off with a towel. He perused a wardrobe nearby and found a simple white tunic, loose with a slit and laced v at the front common decades ago. Not fashionable now though. Alaric scarcely cared and donned it, along with tan, soft trousers and a pair of high calf socks.

Thus somewhat clad and not having the strength for much else, he arranged his discarded armor in a neat pile, then took up his sword and set it on the bed. He slipped under the covers and closed his eyes. The covers were exceptionally warm and soft compared to what he’d suffered in his travels and he drifted off to sleep in mere moments.

He awoke to the smell of cooking meat. Alaric rose quickly, not sure how long he’d slept for as all the curtains hung thickly before the windows.

Odd.

Alaric stood and folded back his bed, then eyed his sword. He could leave it there, he supposed. It would be impolite to bring it with him.

Cracking open the door, he thought a moment, then called out, “Lady Evadne?”

Evadne

 

[Evadne]

Evadne’s head lifted at the sound of his voice, muffled by stone, yet she heard it as clearly as if he stood beside her. The mortal’s pulse had slowed into sleep hours ago, and she had listened to its rhythm like a lullaby she could never follow into dreams. Now it was quickening again, the steady thrum of life winding through the silence.

Her quill stilled. The parchment before her was a tangle of forgotten words, ink gone dry in the long hours she’d sat unmoving. Beyond the heavy drapes of her study, dawn crept nearer. Though she could not see the growing light, she could always feel it, the press of it at the edges of the world, crawling under her skin like a fever, threatening to unmake her. If only...

Evadne rose from her desk, but did not answer him. Instead, she sent the faintest whisper through the halls, a soft hum, coaxing him to follow the scent of the meal her shadow had prepared.

Down the corridor, the air grew warmer. Candlelight trembled across the faded portraits and wilted flowers. The door to the dining room stood slightly ajar. Within, a single place had been set, roast venison browned perfectly, a loaf of bread still steaming, and a goblet of deep red wine glimmering in the firelight.

Evadne stood at the far end of the long table, her hand resting lightly upon the carved back of a chair. She did not eat. When he appeared at the doorway, she smiled faintly, as though she had been waiting all along.

“You’re awake, perfect timing.." she said, voice smooth. “Forgive me, I thought it best not to disturb you. You must be famished.”

Her eyes lingered on him a moment too long, glinting in the dimness. “Sit. Eat while it’s still warm.”

Her tone was almost gentle, though her fingers twitched against the wood, aching to still the hum of his blood that echoed through the room.

 

[Sir Alaric]

Alaric followed his nose until he reached the dining room and found Evadne waiting at the end of the table, behind a chair, as if she had been expecting him. Uncanny. Alaric tried to ignore the way her eyes lingered on him. Instead, he looked at the food set out and felt hunger claw at his stomach.

Crossing the distance, Alaric sat himself in the chair. She stood very close. He swallowed, looking between the food and the slight woman.

“I trust you slept well?”

He picked up the bread and took a bite. The dark bread was perfect. He swallowed and tried a bite of the roast venison, chewing thoughtfully then looking around at the table.

Why, she’d only set a place for him…

Alaric washed down the mouthful with some of the wine.

“Have you already eaten? Will you not be joining me?”

Evadne

 

[Evadne]

Her lips curved faintly, the expression not quite reaching her eyes at his question about sleep, but she did not answer.

Evadne tilted her head, watching him eat as though she were trying to recall the sensation herself, though the smell of the roasted venison turned her stomach, but it was his scent that filled her senses now.

Clean now, scrubbed of the road’s dust and sweat, he smelled of soap and steel and something warm beneath it all, of life itself, pulsing and rich. It curled through the air like a whisper she could taste on her tongue.

“I have already eaten,” she said softly, “It has been… a long while since I’ve had a guest to share a table with. Forgive me, I did not wish to disturb your rest.”

She moved as she spoke, her bare feet against the stone near soundless. The light caught on the pale curve of her neck, on the edge of her white-gold hair. She rested her hand lightly on the back of his chair, near enough that he could feel the chill radiating from her skin, the kind that seeped into bone.

She took a seat beside him.. "But I will join you, if you do not mind the company.."

“Tell me, Ser Knight,” she murmured, resting her elbow atop the table and her chin atop her knuckles as she studied him.. "How did you end up so off track?.. I know of no maps that chart these hills.." her head tilted.

 

[Sir Alaric]

Her fingers curled around the back of his chair and he felt a coldness seeping from them and across his skin. Alaric froze, the food in his mouth tasting like ash. Slowly, he swallowed. She settled in the seat near him, acting lackadaisical. Again his head filled with feline metaphors.

"I am on a quest," he replied, words cautious as he eyed her. The light of the candles reflected oddly off her skin and hair. Now that he had had some sleep he could think more clearly, but he did not favor these thoughts.

He took up the knife, the edge glinting, then sawed into the meat in front of him. He speared the roast, but did not place it in his mouth. He stared at it for a moment, then looked up at her.

"Hunting a monster."

The knight's lips tensed and his umber eyes looked to the goblet of wine before him.

"A blood drinker."

Evadne

 

[Evadne]

Evadne’s lips curved, not quite a smile, not quite a sneer, but something sharp enough to cut all the same. A slender brow lifted as she regarded him, amusement flickering like candlelight in her pale eyes.

“Blood drinker?..” she echoed softly. Her brow knit faintly, the performance effortless. “Curious..”

She leaned forward, elbows resting lightly upon the table, chin poised on the back of one hand.

His pulse stuttered, she heard it, clear as a bell. She could almost feel the blood thrumming through his veins, a rhythm as hypnotic as it was dangerous. His scent, warm and clean, filled her every breath, and for the first time in decades, restraint felt like a chain that burned her wrists, a silver collar at her throat.

“You are brave, to hunt them alone. They say such monsters hide among us. Wearing faces not unlike our own. That they can charm or curse or steal away the soul of a man with a single kiss.."

Her eyes lifted, met his, caught and held them. "But I have not heard of any such attacks in this area.. Have you heard otherwise?.."

 

[Sir Alaric]

"Yes," he replied slowly. "Not here, exactly. But this region, yes. People missing. Bodies drained of blood entire."

The woman leaned forward on the table and Alaric could not but linger on her face, so finely fashioned as if a marble statue given life. Her words rang in his mind: among us, wearing faces, charming away the souls of a men with a single kiss. Indeed.

He felt as though she gave him pieces to a torn letter and now as he fit them together, he misliked what the assembled letters said.

He swallowed. Fingers curled tight around the hilt of his breakfast knife. Hah. A hilt, such as it was... the very thought made Alaric grind his teeth and think himself a fool for leaving his sword upstairs. His breathing came uneven.

The rest of his kit was with his saddle - with Thunder.

"Thank you for this meal," he pushed it away, appetite lost. "I should be on my way."

He made to rise from his chair.

Evadne

 

[Evadne]

Evadne’s brow furrowed at his words, her jaw tightening as she absorbed the mention of drained corpses. Foolish creatures. Reckless, gluttonous things that could never learn restraint. They would bring ruin to them all. A century of silence, and now knights came sniffing through the woods, to her door like hounds on the scent, when she hadn't so much as stepped outside.

“That is… disturbing,” she murmured, the words thin as parchment. Her gaze slid from his face to his hand, to the way his knuckles whitened around the small knife.

She did not rise when he did, only sat very still as the room grew taut with unspoken tension. Her eyes flicked briefly to the meal, still steaming, scarcely touched. The waste of it twisted something bitter in her stomach.

“Have I offended you,” she asked softly, “that you are so eager to take leave of me?”

Her voice trembled just so, enough to sound wounded, though there was nothing fragile in the stillness of her frame. “If I have… I apologise. I meant only to be hospitable. It has been so long since I entertained company, I may be a little…” she let out a breath, a small, self-deprecating smile curving her lips, “…out of practice.”

Her eyes lifted again to his, pale and glimmering faintly in the candlelight. “At least take food for your journey, Ser Alaric.. I would not like to see you go hungry.” she said, her expression and voice both sombre as she dropped her gaze and wrapped her arms around herself..

 

[Sir Alaric]

The way her eyes reflected the candlelight… beautiful and yet unnatural, like will o’ wisps at night. Alaric met those eyes, though his gaze shifted to her arms as she wrapped them about herself. His stare lost some of its sternness.

Perhaps…

Perhaps he was imagining things. Overthinking due to little rest and the stress of the quest. She had been kind to him, had she not? Was this any way to repay her graciousness? No. No it did not feel honorable. Yes, some sense of danger still hung about, lurking in the shadows. But to think this frail woman could be that danger seemed foolish.

“I- no. No you have not. I beg pardon of you, I think these many days on the road have chafed away at my manners. You have been a most kindly host.”

Looking around, he saw a coat rack with an old cloak hanging from it at the corner of the room, where the dining room adjoined the rest of the house. He let go of the knife and moved over to pick up the cloak. Dust and cobwebs clung to its surface. Alaric frowned as he beat them away, then approached the lady again.

“Please, you must take this or you’ll catch cold.”

He came up behind her and draped the cloak around her shoulders. His fingers brushed her arm and it felt cold as ice. Goose bumps prickled along his arms.

“Are…. Are you quite already Madame?”

The contact made him second guess and he took a step backward, the wall and window looming up behind, covered by a thick curtain.

Evadne