This story is a continuation of The Tale of the Fawn
The face of his thumb was numb with the obsessive rubbing of the pendant. It was becoming a habitual thing, an incessant fondling, especially when thoughts drifted away to places far from where he was. He could still see her face, so young and innocent, frolicking through the shrub-maze back home. They had spent an eternity of their childhood rampaging through the decorative gardens in youthful adventure, often to the ire of their father. They didn't care. It was fun. But that was long ago.
Cerulean spheres dropped to the thin golden coupling, and again he stroked it with the same numb digit that had done so a thousand times over the previous hour. She wore a matching one, or at least she did the last time he saw her, and he hoped and prayed to a thousand different gods that the caress he gave to the trinket could be felt across the distance between them, and in it she could find sanctuary and solace. "Aoline." He whispered into the obsidian night that blanketed their vessel. "I'm coming."
"Your highness?"
He had not heard the approach of his First knight, Lachlan Macquarie, though showed no sign of surprise. The honing of instincts, both on the battle field and in the senate hall, had deadened any semblance of disconcert. "I'm not the king, Lethe." Leoline corrected, using the epithet Lachlan had earned long ago. He was so quick to kill his enemy that you couldn't call him "Lethal". It took too long. So they called him "Lethe" instead.
"Only if you go by what is, and not what should be."
Leoline continued to watch over the side of their ship, The Beryl Crow. It was the oldest in the de Montesquieu fleet and of all the ships that comprised the royal armada, it was the one that had survived the most skirmishes, battles, and wars. It was because of this ability to endure that Leoline had chosen it to be their vessel; hopeful that its durability would varnish the ship's crew and passengers along the way. Movement from the edge of his peripheral alerted him to Lachlan's approach, to which he did not turn, but kept his gaze upon the calm, midnight water.
"We'll find her, you know?" Lachlan finally broke the silence when it was obvious Leoline had no intention to speak, following his gaze out into the ocean's oblivion. "We'll find her and bring her home."
The twinge of lips is fought off at Lachlan's assurance. If only it were that easy. "I know." Was his only response.
"Maleigh is worried about you, Leo. She is scared."
"She should be." Leoline spoke softly before turning his gaze to meet the eyes of Lachlan. "I could not risk leaving her there. For all we know this is a trap of the Covenant to lure us away from our lands. Between the murders of nobles and the assassinations of bureaucrats, I would not dare leave my wife to face such macabre alone."
Lachlan took a step back, hands coming up in mock surrender - a perfect fit for the sardonic grin that splayed his handsome visage. "Don't impale the messenger, your highness. I'm just retelling what I've been told." A sly wink delivered. "Besides, that's why I brought all my kids along."
Leoline fought off the insurgence of a laugh, though could not detour the small camber at the corner of his mouth. "Capricious and crass - stalwart qualities that are so rarely connected."
Lachlan lowered into a deep bow resembling that of a stage performer. "At your service, my liege."
For that he could give a short chuckle. "I shall go and see to my wife. Watch the water." Leoline turned on his heel and started away, boots thumping across the damp deck.
"Yes sir." Lachlan replied, and then after a moment asked. "What am I looking for?"
Leoline opened the door that led below deck to where the quarters were located, though stopped before fully crossing the threshold to look back at the First knight. "For our destination. For the place where Aribet is." He steeled his visage, all indication of a mirth and joy dismissed with the reemergence of dour features. "For Rhy'din."
The face of his thumb was numb with the obsessive rubbing of the pendant. It was becoming a habitual thing, an incessant fondling, especially when thoughts drifted away to places far from where he was. He could still see her face, so young and innocent, frolicking through the shrub-maze back home. They had spent an eternity of their childhood rampaging through the decorative gardens in youthful adventure, often to the ire of their father. They didn't care. It was fun. But that was long ago.
Cerulean spheres dropped to the thin golden coupling, and again he stroked it with the same numb digit that had done so a thousand times over the previous hour. She wore a matching one, or at least she did the last time he saw her, and he hoped and prayed to a thousand different gods that the caress he gave to the trinket could be felt across the distance between them, and in it she could find sanctuary and solace. "Aoline." He whispered into the obsidian night that blanketed their vessel. "I'm coming."
"Your highness?"
He had not heard the approach of his First knight, Lachlan Macquarie, though showed no sign of surprise. The honing of instincts, both on the battle field and in the senate hall, had deadened any semblance of disconcert. "I'm not the king, Lethe." Leoline corrected, using the epithet Lachlan had earned long ago. He was so quick to kill his enemy that you couldn't call him "Lethal". It took too long. So they called him "Lethe" instead.
"Only if you go by what is, and not what should be."
Leoline continued to watch over the side of their ship, The Beryl Crow. It was the oldest in the de Montesquieu fleet and of all the ships that comprised the royal armada, it was the one that had survived the most skirmishes, battles, and wars. It was because of this ability to endure that Leoline had chosen it to be their vessel; hopeful that its durability would varnish the ship's crew and passengers along the way. Movement from the edge of his peripheral alerted him to Lachlan's approach, to which he did not turn, but kept his gaze upon the calm, midnight water.
"We'll find her, you know?" Lachlan finally broke the silence when it was obvious Leoline had no intention to speak, following his gaze out into the ocean's oblivion. "We'll find her and bring her home."
The twinge of lips is fought off at Lachlan's assurance. If only it were that easy. "I know." Was his only response.
"Maleigh is worried about you, Leo. She is scared."
"She should be." Leoline spoke softly before turning his gaze to meet the eyes of Lachlan. "I could not risk leaving her there. For all we know this is a trap of the Covenant to lure us away from our lands. Between the murders of nobles and the assassinations of bureaucrats, I would not dare leave my wife to face such macabre alone."
Lachlan took a step back, hands coming up in mock surrender - a perfect fit for the sardonic grin that splayed his handsome visage. "Don't impale the messenger, your highness. I'm just retelling what I've been told." A sly wink delivered. "Besides, that's why I brought all my kids along."
Leoline fought off the insurgence of a laugh, though could not detour the small camber at the corner of his mouth. "Capricious and crass - stalwart qualities that are so rarely connected."
Lachlan lowered into a deep bow resembling that of a stage performer. "At your service, my liege."
For that he could give a short chuckle. "I shall go and see to my wife. Watch the water." Leoline turned on his heel and started away, boots thumping across the damp deck.
"Yes sir." Lachlan replied, and then after a moment asked. "What am I looking for?"
Leoline opened the door that led below deck to where the quarters were located, though stopped before fully crossing the threshold to look back at the First knight. "For our destination. For the place where Aribet is." He steeled his visage, all indication of a mirth and joy dismissed with the reemergence of dour features. "For Rhy'din."