Vassal by Sterling D'Este (ebook reader computer TXT) 📕

Etienne blinked. Alphonse wasn’t wearing her veil. She hadn’t worn it before starting the fire either, and he had thought she was herself then.

“Where’s your veil, Alphonse?” The scholar’s voice was laced with something like dread.

“In my bag.” She lifted it in example, her amber eyes steady on his face. “I—I am not worthy of wearing it anymore. I don’t live up to what it represents. I’d be a liar to walk around with it on.” Alphonse dropped his gaze quickly, ashamed.

Etienne understood what Alphonse’s veil meant to her, that it was a symbol of both her faith and the purity of her character. If she wasn’t wearing it, then she felt that some part of her was tainted. She wasn’t a pure soul anymore.

And it was all because he had summoned a monster to live in her heart.

He opened his mouth to argue, to tell her that no matter Enyo’s darkness, her soul was still her own. She was still just as good and pure and kind.

Only, Tristan interrupted him before he could form the words, coming up behind Alphonse and dropping an arm carelessly around her shoulders. He made a show of cocking his head and inspecting her appearance.

“I think you look better without it, personally. Dusty old thing made you look like a nun.” He turned slightly to look behind him. “Don’t you think so, Delyth? Her hair is prettier without her veil.”

Tristan grinned wickedly at the priestess, but she simply glared at him. “We need to get moving.”

He shrugged and turned back around. “She agrees with me. I can feel it.”

༄

“Delyth?” Alphonse slithered out from Tristan’s arm, and Delyth tried to pretend that she had not been watching, busying herself with straightening the already neatly packed tent as the healer came towards her.

Delyth took a deep breath and turned to look at Alphonse. She looked so small, so worn out, like the weight of this couldn’t possibly be born by those shoulders. And Delyth wanted to help her. Still, after everything.

How could you trust someone and then leave them?

“Yes, Alphonse?” she said finally. It wasn’t particularly cold, but she didn’t show any emotion either.

The girl teared up almost immediately, staring at Delyth for a heavy moment, opening her mouth several times to speak. That hesitation, that moment with Alphonse’s eyes turned towards hers, felt a bit like something hopeful.

And then it was gone.

“How is your wing?” the healer asked.

Delyth adjusted the pack on her shoulder and turned back towards the road ahead. “It's fine,” she said. “Let’s get a move on.”

Looking dejected, Alphonse nodded and followed along in Delyth’s wake. Tristan and Etienne brought up the rear. Birds sang off in the distance, but no one spoke for a while. Delyth kept her eyes ahead, to the horizon, to the curves of the mountains, and was startled to find them familiar. They were just north of Glynfford, of home. She must have passed within a handful of miles of it during her desperate flight to find Alphonse.

The pang of homesickness Delyth felt for the place was visceral, for all that it had never been a perfect fit for her. It was at least familiar. If she was back home, she would have either been up at dawn to train or guard the valley with her patrolmate, Nerys.

She wouldn’t be so hurt, so raw from the distrust of a little Ingolan healer.

Alphonse paused as they came to the start of the fire damage. She turned to look at the blackened trunks, ash-covered ground. She stepped closer, hands hovering at her side, fingers reaching out…

Slowly, little green shoots popped up from the earth. Alphonse walked along the side of the road, keeping her hands level as she went. New growth trailed in her wake.

Delyth tensed. Enyo was back. And so quickly after the violence of the previous day. Tristan didn’t seem to share any of the dread filling her breast, instead trotting up to walk beside the Goddess. “Beautiful as always, Enyo,” he purred.

Eyes mixed with amber and flame drifted to Tristan before she smiled brilliantly up at him. She reached to stroke his cheek with clear affection before something rippled through her, and Enyo slapped Tristan hard. Hard enough to make his head rock back.

“Beste kran ja’alt. Beste ca’at wyt Crael u Enyo,” she whispered back before returning to her ‘gardening.’ So Tristan was out of favor. For running.

For a long moment, Tristan held that position, head flung back and teeth bared. His eyes were wide, his nostrils flared, but just as it seemed he would lash out in some fashion, he rubbed his sore cheek and gave Delyth a lopsided smile. “Feisty, isn’t she? Is she like that at night in your tent too?”

Delyth’s hand lowered from Calamity’s hilt once his overt display of anger receded, yet his comment was enough to make her jaw clench. Even more frustrating, Tristan seemed to enjoy it.

❀

Enyo trailed around the sides of the road as far as the destruction was evident, hands held aloft. New life arising at her summons.

When they had walked out of the blackened forest and once more into healthy growth, she seemed happy enough to amble along without complaint. It was unclear when Alphonse rejoined them, but by dinner time, she was shuffling around the firepit and cooking.

It was with some trepidation that she offered herbal tea to ease Tristan’s jaw. She knew Enyo could pack a wallop, and even if she didn’t like Tristan much, it was the least she could do…

Still, she wondered why Enyo had been so angry with him. Before, he was her favorite pet, but by that reprimand, Alphonse had to assume that was no longer true.

“Do you know what she said?” Alphonse asked Tristan quietly, her back turned to Etienne and Delyth, who were both in various stages of unpacking their tents.

“I don’t have the slightest clue. It sounded nasty, though, didn’t it?”

Feeling slightly crestfallen, Alphonse nodded in agreement. She had just thought, being devoted to Enyo,