Chapter Three (Pt.2)

The patrol, having seen to their horses, made their way out of the stables. Chatting loudly, they headed for the barracks. Except for Conor.

“You coming?” said Karel. “Or do you have somewhere better to be?” he finished with a twinkle in his eyes.

Conor regarded him with a deadpan stare. “Just because I have a wife waiting for me–”

“To scrub your back, among other things,” said Karel as a couple of their comrades joined in with ribald laughter.

He made as if to throw his helmet at them, but a smile was already crinkling his sky-blue eyes, made even more startling against his sun-darkened skin. “Get lost.” Running his hand through his dark-gold hair, he made his way out of the courtyard. Usually, he would accompany his fellow warriors to the baths and tidy himself before making his way to his father’s house. But having spent more time away than at home the last couple of months, he didn’t want to waste another minute.

With a bounce in his step, Conor hummed tunelessly as he sauntered up the avenue leading to the house of his childhood. The houses here were not as grand as those of the merchants’ but still pleasant to look at with their neat gardens and small trees bowing over the doorways. He had a cheery greeting for each person he passed, his smile widening when he passed women whose gazes met his and lingered. But as he approached his father’s house, his thoughts were focussed on one woman alone: his wife of nearly a year.

Conor called out a greeting as he stepped in the door.

A small-built woman came scurrying out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a cloth. “Oh, young master. You are home.”

“Hello, Talia.” The silver-haired woman had been his father’s housekeeper since before Conor’s birth. “Where is everybody?”

“My lord is out, and so is Mistress Jana.” She referred to Conor’s older sister.

“Jana? Out?” He rubbed at his slightly untidy beard, which he always left to grow whenever he was away.

Talia’s smile widened. “Her betrothed has taken her out.”

Conor returned her smile as he began to remove his cloak. “And Veha?”

She didn’t reply as her smile faded and she wrung the cloth.

“Talia?”

“Mistress Veha... she has been at her father’s house for a few days now.”

“Is something wrong? Is her father ill? Her mother?”

“Not that I know of, master. She visits there often when you are away. But this time, she has yet to return.”

Conor’s brow furrowed as he refastened his cloak.

“Shall I run a bath for you, master?” asked Talia softly.

He shook his head as he left. 

*          *          *          *

Conor frowned at the servant as she remained fidgeting in the doorway, blocking his entry. “Veha is here, isn’t she?”

“Yes, sir, she is but–”

“Am I not to be welcomed in?”

“Forgive me, sir.” She dropped a hurried curtsy before moving out of his way. “I will fetch my lady, sir.”

Hearing Veha’s voice, he stepped past the woman. “I can find her myself.”

“But, sir...”

Ignoring the agitated woman, Conor strode towards the sound of his wife’s voice. Stepping into the receiving room, he noticed the door that led to the garden stood open, despite the chill in the air. Framed in the doorway, he watched Veha stepping lightly to imaginary music, as he knew she loved to do for he had accompanied her many times. Only this time she was on the arm of another: Sover, his former fellow-recruit.

Conor’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her beauty. She was dressed in a gown of cherry-pink and ivory, cut to accentuate her striking figure. Her honey-coloured hair, moving silkily against her, hung loose. Her eyes, green as leaves in twilight – he could summon to his mind the exact shade even when they were apart – were fixed on her partner.

Sover swung her around, and she stepped into the curve of his arm, leaning against him. Their movements slowed as they gazed at one another, his head bending towards her.

Pressing his hand against his chest, Conor said, “Hello, Veha.”

She fell away from her partner with a small cry, her hands moving swiftly to her face, but she failed to hide her blushes. Sover did not move; he stood with his body rigid as he stared at Conor.

“Conor...” She made a production of smoothing the front of her gown. “I-I was not expecting you.”

“No, it appears you weren’t.”

She fell silent, her movements stilled.

“Sover, haven’t seen you for a while.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“I can see that.”

Sover frowned, moving closer to Veha, but Conor remained where he was; he still didn’t trust his limbs to support him if he moved.

“Is this why you decided against pursuing a career as a warrior? To become a merchant instead, like your father?”

Sover took a step forward. “It’s not like that–”

“Don’t think me that stupid.” Conor clenched his fists. “How long?”

Neither answered him as both averted their gazes.

“I said, how long.”

“Not quite four months,” said Veha with a sob.

He stared silently at them.

She took a faltering step towards him. “Conor... I-I’m... I didn’t mean–”

“You make a good-looking couple,” His voice was devoid of emotion. “Your parents will be pleased.” Her family had made no attempt to hide their disapproval of him; they believed Veha had married beneath her.

She stared at him, eyes wide, mouth agape.

“You’re welcome to her, faithless friend.”

“No. Conor, please–” Veha stumbled towards him but Sover grabbed her arm.

“Send someone to my father’s house to fetch your things.” He turned and marched away, hunching his shoulders against her sobs that beat against him like physical blows.

Halfway home, he came to a halt. Not home... I can’t go home ... He turned away, dragging his feet before slowly coming to a stop. Not the barracks... don’t want to see anyone, have to explain... don’t want their pity...

Squeezing his eyes shut, he pressed his fist against his chest, against the pain that was crushing his heart... like it was crushing the life out of him. “Something... need something to numb this pain...” With a growl, he shook his head but the tears still fell.

Quickening his pace, he made his way towards the bazar. Instead of entering the colourful marketplace, he veered right towards the taverns. He slowed when he saw warriors he recognised entering the more respectable establishments; turning down the side lane and around the corner, he entered a different world.

Even though it was barely mid-afternoon, the place was already shrouded in gloom. The buildings leant close in a protective huddle, narrowing the lane. The air was heavy, pungent with smoke and foulness. Puddles on the muddy ground weren’t the result of any rain but were almost all man-made.  Conor continued on his way, cloak held tightly around him, ignoring the inviting calls of the few painted women who dared the cold.

He stopped by the squat, grimy building near the end. Barely any light penetrated the interior, and the scant number of lamps did nothing to dispel the shadows, which suited its clientele. As the door creaked shut behind him, silence descended. Conor hesitated, but only to allow his eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. His nose wrinkled slightly at the sour, bitter stench that pervaded the place. Fixing his eyes on the bar, he made his way to it, ignoring the stares that followed him.

The painfully thin man behind the stained, sticky counter sidled up to him. “Ale?” His voice was surprisingly deep. “Or something stronger?”

“Ale. For now.” When the dirty mug was placed before him, Conor downed the drink in one go, not seeming to care as it spilt out the sides of the mug and dribbled down his cloak. Squeezing his eyes shut as he swallowed, he set the mug down. “Again.”