The White Rose

7. Where to Run?

Nura sits by the fire with her knees curled to her chest, gazing into the orange hues with drooping eyes. But she can't sleep, not with such uncertainty breathing down her neck.

Rephas idles by the window, peering out to the soldiers that patrol the place. They've set up a camp, their fire chasing away some of the shadows. It doesn't chase away Nura's fear.

The Ice Elf left at some point between Nura stepping outside and the soldiers' arrival. Rephas doesn't explain to her who he is or make her understand the words he spoke. A part of her doesn't want him to. She just wants the night to be over. She just wants to go back to their simplicity.

The thud against the door makes jump. Her shoulders rise to her ears and she closes her eyes, listening as Rephas opens the door.

"Sorry to wake you," comes the gruff voice of the soldier.

"We weren't sleeping," Rephas replies.

Nura gets to her feet then, brushing her hands on her skirt. "Would you like some tea?" she asks, her voice husky with lack of sleep.

"I don't wish to impose, I was just checking to see if you're alright."

"We're fine," Rephas almost growls, but Nura is already moving to the stove to feed it wood and put the kettle on to boil.

"It's no problem. I could do with some tea anyway. Come in, have a seat."

The soldier thanks her and inches his way past Rephas who has his dark gaze settled on the man like a sack of stones.

Nura focuses on making the tea, stifling a yawn with the back of her hand.

"I'm Knight-Captain Tiran," he says as he warms his hands by the fire, his metal plates replaced with a leather doublet, the crest of Tiore with its wolf head and red and purple embroidered on his left breast.

"You served with my father?" Nura asks, remembering his mention of the man. Sometimes it still hurts to think about him, but nine years is enough time for a fiery pain to become a tugging ache.

"No, my father did. They died together in Bielfrit."

"I'm sorry," Nura murmurs, watching the water boil over the flame with pinched brows. So many of their soldiers were lost in that battle and for nothing. Some say the Dark King didn't even want the city, that the true prize was Kepfew. Which is why he didn't send the brunt of his forces to reinforce Bielfrit.

But Nura can't think about that, can't find someone to blame. She spent too long hating the Dark King for the war. There's enough hate in the world already.

"What brings you two so far from the Hold?" Tiran asks, glancing between Nura and Rephas who leans beside the door, his arms crossed over his chest. "These are dangerous lands."

"These dangerous lands are the only lands available to poor folk," Nura replies, a hint of bitterness in her tone.

"Poor?" Tiran questions, disbelief in his voice as he frowns at her.

Nura pours the tea with her lips pressed together, taking her time to come up with an answer. She doesn't need to, Rephas pushes away from the wall and takes a seat in one of the scrappy chairs by the fire.

"We were never paid for our service in the army," Rephas says.

Nura stayed in the Hold for six years after the war, doing what she could. She met Rephas in that time and they married. Many people were like them, waiting for money that wasn't coming from a bankrupt nation, leaving when they realised they weren't getting recognised for their service. And out in the dangerous lands they don't need to pay the taxes that keep rising.