Lost Requiem

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Chapter 9: Saving Deliverance

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The day passed slowly, as if in this state of imprisonment the day had halted with my freedom. As if it, too, waited to be released. I glanced at the clouds which shadowed the sun that, in its vast glory, hung above us pathetically like the arc of the goddesses’ own watchful gaze; because, in their parade of self indulgence and pride of false self-sufficient sacrifice, raised not one hand nor parted one word of command. I loathed them for this. And, in my loathing, I began to loathe all else, and regretted to have believed in harsh promises of ever seeing my life again as something as my own.

I remembered Kirill, his words, his face, his lips. I tried to capture everything there was to recapture, every moment I had unexpectedly gained. But there was something missing in them, and maybe it was the false hope that had finally been shattered, the one he had given me and the one I had first promised myself to keep always. It hadn’t been the soldiers that had ruined this for me, hadn’t broken the pieces; they had simply stepped on them, ripped their feet and bloodied the ground with it.

It was him, the rider, the hero, the man beside me. He had shattered my dream, and I loathed him, too, for all the wrong reasons- ones I could no longer see myself in, for he was there, always there, always hurting my chances. (Behind him stood the man I had killed, the dagger in his hand.)

In the blue of the sky I saw Link’s eyes, captured in an ethereal ferocity that blurred my thoughts. For a moment I thought of him and only him. In it I saw the way he had spoken to his fellow soldiers, the way he had spoken to Mia, the way he searched and searched and found no escape, no form of liberation across the fields in which he continued to roam.

Nothing, until he had found me there. And, what was I? Would I be his key, or the one that hid it from him, disparaging him again and again? Too late, was it, for he had been caught as well, and he was the one forever at my mercy…?

The silence of the market drummed in my ears, in rhythm with my pounding heart and the hearts of the hundreds of men, women, and children that watched us as we passed. They cleared a path for us, silently stepping away, shuffling, and it in itself was a drowning noise pounding in the air. A grim path to the gallows.

The princess did not want to see me when we had reached the castle, but Link was taken away quickly. His shackles became pieces of rusting metal at his feet, and he was pushed inside the throne room with more than half of the soldiers that had led us here. The other three led me down into the castle, deeper and deeper into the creature’s lair. I let them lead me here, so easily. One step and another. The muck and the grime stuck to the soles of my boots, as if sucking me into the earth itself.

And how easily had I allowed them to shackle me to the very wall that many had already died beside. How erect and proud they had stood, their spines arched in agonizing pain, their hands broadened to the sculpting and shape of their iron markings.

I lay against my wall; shoulders drooped, hands hanging uselessly above my head. Listening to the pitter patter of old rain and the scurrying of little furry feet… An hour passed, maybe three, or five…

My neck and arms and legs were sore by the time the dungeon door swung open, the jingle of keys echoing down the dark corridor that was the dungeon itself. Light spilled into the room, lighting the dewy stone archways and the muddy floor. I winced from the halo that became the visitor’s head.

His voice was soft, gentle, however, and it stirred something else inside me. And then I realized how familiar this voice had become. And so tempting.

But I didn’t move, didn’t raise my head. I felt, somewhere inside me, betrayed. That he would leave me here to suffer, while he went alone to the princess. I couldn’t tell him, however, that it didn’t matter how much I’d suffered. I had felt no different here than I had before. For, both ways I’d been trapped, and I was still trapped.

He undid the shackles, and as the last one fell, I nearly fell as well. Before he could take hold of me, I pushed him away and hobbled to my feet. As he watched me, I thought of something to say, but there was nothing I could say. It was he that should speak first, and not I.

Silently, he led me up the long, winding staircase. Its grime continued to stick to my boots as we reached the stone corridor lit with nothing but the torch the soldier ahead of us held. He led us again, up higher and higher into the castle, but I felt as though I were the only one that was following, and even Link knew where we were going.

And, finally, when the lack of food and water began to weigh on me, we had reached a door. Simple, small, in a deserted hall that consisted of only Link and I. The soldier had given Link a look that could only mean refusal to obey any longer. Maybe the farther up one went, the easier it became to avoid order. For, even the floor was no longer even, nor the ceiling above, and the stone walls were chipped, and the door before us seemed weathered and beaten.

Link pushed it open, turning the brass doorknob that stood in one piece and shined the very slightest.

The room beyond the door was simple. It was as large as half the room in the inn, with a cot fit for one shoved into one corner, a simple wooden dresser in the other with a ceramic basin sitting on top, and a cracked mirror to the side. Across from the door from which we’d come was a small window in which the evening sky gleamed. It was much too small for a curtain to be placed over it.

Link suddenly cleared his throat. “You have been promised a place to sleep for the night.”

Turning to him, I asked. “What is happening?” Then, hesitating, I added, “What have I done?”

He looked away, toward the window. “Nothing, Mia. Simply rest. Someone should be here to…”

“Answer me, Link.” But my demands did not seem to bother him, and he made his way toward the door. Before he could part, I jumped in his way, shutting the door, and leaned against it.

He groaned in annoyance. “Mia, please.”

“Do you understand what I am saying?” I remarked. “I have been chained to a musty old wall for nearly the entirety of a day, and yet you offer no explanation? What is happening?”

For a moment I feared he would see through my deception, but no, he needn’t to have seen anything. My questions were mere questions. And when he shook his head, I saw the smile forming on his lips. It was bitter.

“You are….” He trailed off, and when he noticed my puzzled expression, he began again. “You are a murderer, Mia.” His eyes showed no grief, no difficulty in believing this. “And yet you care to act so naïve? You must be very pleased with yourself to have gotten so far, and in thinking you could have fooled me.”

I had…for a while. I wanted to say.

“I don’t know what you are speaking of,” I whispered fiercely. “I have not killed anyone.”

But his patience had dwindled, and suddenly he was furious. “I was there, Mia! I saw you! Now, how do you believe I would have allowed you to get away so quickly?” I could not find a response, and as he continued, I felt my heart beating faster and faster, like a rabbit caught in a snare. “I watched as you disappeared into the Valley, and I followed you…” My eyes widened, and my mouth felt dry. I felt delirious, angry at him, at myself.

He had followed me.

“I waited for you to step out from the fortress.” He said, and with every few words he stepped closer to me… “Until one night, I found you again, galloping away so fast, as if there was a ghost chasing you out… Perhaps that poor man’s ghost…” Until he was a mere few inches away, his hands pressed against the door, trapping me in front of him.

When I found my voice, it was hoarse, weary. “Do not feel sympathy for that pig of a man. He was scum. You know just as well as I that I was doing everyone a favor, something all of you had wished to do but could not.”

He growled, “Murder is inexcusable, no matter who it was you had killed, Mia.”

“Then,” I snapped venomously, “I suppose killing me is inexcusable as well. But if the murderer is the princess…”

“This is not the same, and you are very aware of that.” He interjected, whispering into my ear.

I pushed him away, sickened by the thought that he would, after all, rather have that sick man alive and I dead. “Stay away from me, you fool… If you know what is best for you.”

“Do you think I am afraid of you?” He mocked, stepping away.

“You should be,” I remarked, but I knew he would not believe me anymore, of anything I said. And I didn’t want to believe myself, either, because I could no longer be near him when I wanted so strongly to run my hands through his hair, to feel his skin and his lips. His anger seeped through my own veins, now, and I knew that despite how much he hated me now, I could not hate him, could not judge him for what he thought was worthy, or right and wrong.

“Mia,” I finally heard him say. “There will be a trial tomorrow, to determine your innocence.”

I stepped toward him. “You already know I will be guilty.”

“You are allowed to defend…”

“I am guilty!” I exclaimed, “Even I know this! Will you let me die, Link? Even though I have lied to you about everything?” And then, slowly, I reached for my dagger, the one pressed against my thigh, the one hidden because of the skirt I wore. He watched as I unsheathed it. It drew a thin line of red against my skin. It trailed around my knee, warm, comforting, as if still reminding me that, yes, I was still alive. Breathing.

I tossed the sword onto the cot. And I knew he recognized the hilt. It was identical to the one he kept with him, the one that had remained in the chest of the man I’d killed.

Yes, I was very guilty.

“Mia…”

“My name is Alina, Link.” I murmured softly. “Call me Alina.”

I thought of dragging the blade through his heart, of ending it here. But I realized, what would it matter, now? There would be nothing but misery. No, I could not live with myself. I wanted him, I knew.

I wanted him so much.

“Link…” And I stopped caring of what would happen next, and pressed my lips to his, because it wouldn’t matter any longer. Of what I did now, or what I had done then. Because I’d die either way. If I was guilty or innocent, or if I escaped, or if I killed him or didn’t. I’d die because I’d killed another man, and I’d kill myself because of it.

I held him close, reveling in the heat of his body, the feel of him against me, and ran my hand through his hair, the other resting at the base of his neck. He hesitated at first, pushed me away, shock in his eyes.

I brushed my thumb over his lip. “Will you stop me?”

He thought for a moment, unmoving, but still hovering over me, eyes now pensive.

I waited.

And then, slowly, he uttered. “No, Alina.”

And he pressed his lips to mine, placing his hands to the sides of my neck. I responded, and he only rougher, almost demanding. His arm then wrapped around my waist, using his other hand to explore, to let his fingers travel up my spine, to my neck. I couldn’t escape him now, as he pushed me against the wall.

It was cold.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, and now he could use both his hands, and I could undo the collar of his tunic.

We parted for an instant to catch our breaths. His eyes were wide, the blue of his irises enrapturing, like the ocean churning.

I kissed him again, opening my lips this time, before, again, we let go. He tossed his tunic to the floor, and I played my hands against his bare chest. I could almost feel his heart beating, could hear my own pounding in my ears. Flushed, I undid my own collar, undoing the buttons. He watched, and our breaths suddenly seemed so in sync. Our hearts, so close, I pressed myself against him again, and kissed the skin at his neck, at his collar bone. He led me to the cot, tossing the dagger to the floor. It skidded, but was quiet.

He fell above me, golden locks hovering over my forehead. Slowly, he traced patterns on my shoulders with his kisses, running down to my collar bone to my ear. I lifted my head, listening to him, as he lifted my skirt, stroked my leg, waited.

“Alina.” He whispered. I opened my eyes. The world seemed to spin, but he was there, so vividly.

“Yes?” I murmured, kissing his jaw. His lips. His eyes.

He returned it. Lingered at the base of my neck, nipped. “Are you asking to be saved?”

I dug my nails into his back, felt my heart beating against my ribcage, his heart against my chest. I looked up at him, silently contemplating. But I felt as I already knew the answer.

Quietly, I uttered. “No.” And kissed him and beckoned him and held him.

And I knew, as we fell. So utterly, so complacently, that this would forever be our downfall.

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