To Marry a Dragon

12. Chivalry in the Back Alley

"Theophil," the paladin introduced himself with a smile, then yelled to his fellows that he would catch up in a moment. While he filled his hands with the same healing light as easily as Ferrante, that's where the resemblance between her healer and her beloved ended. Theophil face was open and boyish, with earnest hazel eyes and close-cropped reddish beard. A younger son of a noble family, a pleasant man without prospects to inherit, the kind she had seen loitering at court all her life looking for luck. Good for him for finding a better purpose in life...

"Are you new to our Chapter, Dame?" Theophil asked cheerfully. "You wear our colours, but I haven't seen you around, in the chapel or the refectory."

By the stockiness of his torso, Elvira assumed that he frequented the refectory at least as much as he did the chapel. But that didn't make him less sharp for verifying her identity under the cover of the banter.

"I am Elvira, Sir," she supplied, "and I stepped off the ship near midnight. I am on a temporary leave from the Monterrey Chapter. A delicate family matter to attend to."

"In Gallicia, isn't it?" the man smiled.

She nodded; in these parts, her accent was too familiar to deny the obvious.

"Aye, understandable, with all the changes there..."

Elvira wished he would elaborate instead of trailing off, but this wasn't the time to sit down and trade news. Plus, seeing that she professed to be traveling home, it was best not to reveal her ignorance. She just nodded again. She would inquire after she married Sigvart.

The honor, however, obliged her to speak up. "My sword is yours to aid in restoring the order in the city, Sir Theophil."

And, as much as she loathed it, she fell back on something from her forsworn life as a princess. She hooded her eyes and tilted her head just enough to hint at her exhaustion. It was a hard facade to put on. The war drums already started up in her heart. Her hands and feet itched to climb that roof and chase after Sigvart.

Theophil picked up on the clues like an honorable man of his station should. "We can't ask more of you than you have already done, Dame. You've walked into the middle of a fray after a long sea-crossing. Besides, it's quieting down now. We'd nearly chased the Deadfisher to his layer. And that other scoundrel Raul is lying low. Light only knows what burr got under his tail to start this."

"And the fires?"

"One of my knights has the elemental affinity with water. She contained the flames and is presently putting out the hot spots. The city is secured, Dame."

Elvira sighed in relief, the image of those who lost their homes running for their lives with what they could save fresh in her mind. Guilt tasted sour in the back of her throat again, but Sigvart was on the run. Maybe she could arrest this Raul the Earless when she caught up to her wily fiancé.

"Don't you worry, Dame," Theophile reiterated. Not privy to her thoughts, he must have interpreted her frown based on the half-truths she had told him. Another boyish, ridiculously hopeful smile brightened his face. "If you have no lodgings arranged beforehand, the Order's quarters are at the Holy Light Lane. It's—"

"Thank you, I know where it is," Elvira said. "I held you up too much already." She wished she had Sigvart's audacity to announce to the world that her heart was devoted to Ferrante alone, but Sigvart said it in a better context. Perhaps, he only professed to uphold their engagement to women who threw themselves at him. In the interest of safety, no doubt.

It took an eternity for Theophil to mount, even though he wasn't clumsy. It was just that he didn't vault into the saddle the way Ferrante would have. Then he threw another glance over his shoulder before pointing his horse into an alley and galloping after his unit. That would have been just what Ferrante would have done, and her heart squeezed at the memory of many such glances.