Alissa watched him for a moment with lips agape. His eyes met hers through the chaos, and he winked at her. She didn’t have time to fully understand how Eldric, who she had assumed was only a carriage driver, had killed three men in a few seconds.
She kept running, Freyah right behind her, until they reached the carriage. Out of breath, sweating, and panting, they climbed the front seats. Two minutes felt an eternity waiting for Eldric to return alive. Alissa never thought she would be eagerlyhoping for him to storm out that gate, but there she was, doing exactly that.
Before either of them could make the poor decision of going back for him, Eldric burst out of the tavern doors. Dark hair stuck to his forehead, the blood of other people stained his shirt, his hands, his face. Not a single scratch on his flawless skin. With Alissa’s dagger in one hand and a pack full of bottles in the other, he jumped on the back of the cart as Freyah urged the horse through the cobblestone streets. In the distance, a dozen creeps ran after them, seeking revenge and ownership of what they believed was theirs.
Looking behind her, Alissa pondered how the women of Porjea were no different from the people of Bryniard—trapped behind walls, at the mercy of forces beyond their control.
One hour after leaving Porjea in the getaway of their lives, Eldric broke the silence. “What part of ‘don’t look into their eyes’ didn’t you understand?” he asked furiously.
Alissa didn’t have a habit of apologizing; her pride wouldn’t let her do so most of the time. But in this case, it was impossible to keep herself blinded to the fault she carried for what happened in Porjea. If it weren’t for Eldric, they would likely have been kidnapped, abused, and turned into slaves in that terrible place.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Did you do it to get into my nerves?”
Eldric was mad. Alissa knew the men in Porjea weren’t exactly examples of good character and goodwill, but Eldric had to kill a dozen of them because of her mistake, and she would never forget that.
“I didn’t. I just…” Her eyes filled with tears, and her voice broke before she could say anything else.
It was never her intention for things to come to this, for their lives to be put at risk for an illusion. An illusion fueled by the inexplicable hope of seeing her father alive now that she was on the other side of the wall, where he died. The tears started rolling one after the other as she failed to contain the overflowing emotions.
Eldric, still high on adrenaline, didn’t notice the tears streaming down her cheeks. He continued yelling, pointing his finger at her frantically. “You just what, Kriegen, huh? You just want to have us all killed? Because you almost succeeded in it!”
His hands moved in exasperation, his rage intensifying, his jaw clenched with tension. Freyah pushed his shoulder hard enough for him to lose balance in the carriage. It wasn’t like her to turn to aggression, and that was what brought Eldric back to his senses. He glanced at Alissa as she wiped the tears from her face.
Although Alissa would prefer to pretend none of that had ever happened, she owed them an explanation. “I thought I had heard my father’s voice,” she said in a murmur while Freyah slid her fingers down her friend’s hair in sympathy for her grief.
Freyah shook her head at Eldric in disapproval.
He didn’t need them to say he was a terrible person because he had already convinced himself of that same thing. Eldric didn’t say a word for a while, uncertain if apologizing would be enough to make her feel better. They all sat in silence while he guided them back on track to Golheim.
“So, Eldric, how did you learn to fight like that?” Freyah tried to ease the mood that had darkened the atmosphere for hours.
“During the training for the Royal Guard,” he explained, gaining raised eyebrows in return.
“Are you a soldier?” Freyah asked, surprised.
“Yes, did you not notice that before?” The tier of his sword alone gave away his duty, but coming from Bryniard, Alissa and Freyah couldn’t have known.
“No, you weren’t wearing any armor like the guards of the wall were.”
“Only the division of soldiers you saw on the exterior of the walls wear that kind of armor with a red cloak hanging from their shoulders. Royal Guards like me don’t usually wear armor—they only carry a sword like mine.” He looked at them with the side of his eyes.
“So, you’re telling me, you could have escaped the ropes we tied you up with and surrendered us in the blink of an eye?” Alissa asked, her voice still soft, recovering from the events in Porjea.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you do it? Why did you willingly let us tie you up, take your sword, and make you drive us to the canyons?” It made no sense to her why he would have preferred to remain a prisoner when he had all the means to escape.
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”
Sensing he was hiding something from them, Alissa shot him a skeptical look, crossing her arms on her chest.
He sighed in resignation. “Fine! I noticed from the beginning you weren’t a threat to me, so I indulged you. I guess I was curious to see where this was going.”
“You are underestimating our strength, Van Myr. Do not think I would let you escape without a fight.”
“Oh, I know you wouldn’t. We haven’t known each other for long, but evenIcan see where this terrible temper of yours could lead. The thing is, even if you did fight me, you would lose, and it was never my intention to harm innocent women.”