"Before the invasion," Gunnar started, running a hand up and down my bare back. In the low light of the bedside lamp, I watched shadows paint his hard face. "I didn't think war would be like this."
I laughed, because I knew what he meant. People always think of war as something other than what it is, don't they? They glorify it and find all kinds of ways to justify their violence. Sometimes, I feel like they actually crave it, crave the hideousness of it all, perhaps through some misguided sense of self-righteousness and heroism.
But then the war comes, and it isn't heroic or impressive. It isn't all honorable deaths and worthy causes. It is wastefulness at its best. People dying for no reason.
"In the end," he said, as though following my train of thought perfectly. "You can't even tell who or what you're fighting for. It all becomes a blur."
"I know," I said. "There's no right or wrong. There's only dead or alive."
"You're wise that way, Olya," he continued, bending his head closer to briefly press his lips in my white hair. "You're like an old soul. That's what I like most about you. You're not on any side of any war. The only side you're on is your own."
"I wouldn't think that would be very likeable."
"It is to me."
I took his hand, kissed the knuckles. "What did you see in me, that first time we met?"
"A girl made of lighting."
I laughed, even though he was being serious. "No, really. What did you think of me at first?"
"I thought you were insane," he admitted.
"That doesn't sound very likeable, either," I pointed out.
"Maybe you're not very likeable."
"But you love me?"
"Yes."
"Good," I said, and I kissed him once. "Aren't you curious what I thought of you?"
"I already know."
"Oh? And what is it you know?"
He didn't answer straight away. He just looked at me, suddenly very serious, but then after a minute had passed, he said, "I don't believe you thought of me at all. Not really, anyway. I was an obstacle or a tool, and nothing else. I resented you for it at first, but then I realized that... I didn't mind. Whether you care for me or not doesn't change the way I feel."
I'm sure the words would have sounded strange coming from anyone else, but this was Gunnar. As much as he was built to be a machine of war, a lethal and overpowering instrument of violence, he was also sacrificial and self-effacing. A man of god.
"But I do care about you," I told him.
He laughed humorlessly. "I can't for the life of me understand why. We're so different. You're a force of your own, and I'm a coward."
I looked at him funny. "What a strange thing to say, after you've risked everything to be here."
It sounded romantic, saying it aloud like that. He'd risked everything for us to be together.
"The one brave thing I've done," he allowed. "But I've always been a follower, and I will live and die a follower, while you will always carve your own path."
"What's so impressive about that?"
He looked at me like I was crazy. "Everything."
I shook my head. "You confuse me with your gods. Maybe that's why you've chosen me over them."
"Yes," he said, smiling now.
"What a funny soldier you are," I teased. "My soldier."
"Yes, yours," he promised, then he turned to switch off the light.
...
I woke up slowly. Blinked away the sleep. It was light out, bright as day, and I didn't yet know that something was wrong—didn't yet know that my life would never be the same after today.
I was on my side, facing the wall and the window. Squinting, I could see a slice of sky from the gap in the curtains.
Then I turned, and there was Gunnar. He'd fallen asleep. I felt happy to see him. Glad he was here. I didn't yet realize what was wrong.
Until a second later, I did. And it all came together in a rush.
He wasn't supposed to be here. He was supposed to be gone, so we wouldn't get found out. I was just about to say something—to wake him up, maybe it wasn't too late—but then I caught sight of something else. A flash of red, the fluttering of delicate lace. Zelle.
I sprung up in the bed. She had white lace draped tightly over her face as a veil, so that only her eyes were visible, and her stare burned on my skin.
Gunnar stirred beside me, on the edge of consciousness. I put my hand on his back, willing him to wake up.
Zelle continued to say nothing, but she didn't have to. I knew exactly what she was thinking. I knew her well, this darling girl. Gunnar hadn't been wrong about her, his warnings had been well deserved, and I'd known that all along.
I anticipated her disapproval, maybe even her hatred. But I hadn't anticipated what she said next.
"They're downstairs."
"Who?"
Gunnar stirred again at the sound of our voices.
"The soldiers," she said.
"What soldiers?" The village didn't have soldiers. We were too far out. In these times of war, we were the neglected ones.
She sighed like I was stupid. I probably was, for so many reasons.
"I sent for them," she said. "They're here for you."
I laughed in disbelief, too startled to appreciate the gravity of the situation. "You didn't."
"Don't make this difficult, Olya." She sounded strange and detached.
She was trying to seem severe, but with very little success. She was too delicate a person. I laughed even harder, and I felt Gunnar give a jerk at my side, finally waking up.
"You're the only one making things difficult, Zelle."
At the mention of her name, Gunnar went rigid beside me, immediately guessing what had happened.
"I'm not the one who broke the rules."
"I recall you broke a few," I reminded her.
A darkness flashed over her features. "Anything I ever did was harmless."
I turned away, suddenly unable to endure the sight of her, and glanced at Gunnar. He lifted himself slowly, a resigned look on his face.
"The authorities are here for us," I told him softly.
He nodded, showing no sign of shock or betrayal. He'd known this was a possibility all along. It was the risk he'd been willing to take.
I, too, had considered the possibility, but somehow I really hadn't thought Zelle would be the one to do it. I hadn't thought she would betray me quite like this. I thought she might hate me, but without turning me in. Or, at the very least, if she did turn me over, I thought that she'd look conflicted about it.
However, the girl standing before me was unwaveringly determined.
"You're going to hell, Olya," she told me, brown eyes darkening and voice laced with venom.
Then she walked right out, her feet padding across the floor with determination.
Gunnar and I gazed at each other in silence. We rose from the bed and dressed ourselves quickly—I didn't bother covering my face, as an act of defiance, possibly my last—but then Gunnar stopped me when we reached the bedroom door.
He leaned down and took my face in his hands, kissed me intently on the mouth.
We'd been separated before. There'd even been a time when we'd truly thought we would never see each other again. But this was different. This was a kiss goodbye before the execution.
I was crying when he let me go. We walked together, side-by-side, hand held in hand. Slowly we went down the stairs. Zelle was standing right there. She watched, blank and unflinching, as they put the thick cuffs on my wrists.
Then I was ushered out the door. The two same cars that had brought me here on my first day were waiting outside, and Gunnar was lead to one, while I was lead to the other.
I didn't bother asking any questions, since a male soldier wouldn't reply. My thoughts flickered briefly to my mother, wondering if the outcome would have been different had she been here, but then I decided it probably wouldn't have been.
I hadn't expected a betrayal like this from Zelle, but I would expect it from my mother. She probably would have given me up just the same.
I was still crying as I watched the house from the window. It shrunk more and more into the distance as we drove away, until it disappeared completely behind the trees, and then I shifted in my seat to face forward—to face whatever awaited me now.
I turned Gunnar's words over in my head, trying to draw strength from them. You're a force of your own, he'd told me. But that didn't mean I was immune to fear.
I just hoped that if they killed him, they killed me, too. And I hoped it would be quick. That seemed better, somehow.
...
They took me to a house in the village. They put me in an empty room, and stabbed me with a blood-sampler, a thing that looks like a pen and sucks the stuff right out of you. It wasn't hard to guess what they needed my blood for. They were going to send it in for testing, to see if I was actually a Daughter of the King—to see if I was guilty of lying.
To find out if I was disposable or not.
They never took off the cuffs.
The window had been boarded up from the outside, and I heard a latch close on the other side of door after they'd left. Then I sat on the floor of my improvised jail cell and drove myself crazy imagining that Gunnar was being shot down at this very moment. Even though I wasn't the hopeful type, I hoped his position with the king would spare him.
I didn't fight or try to run. Not even when the door opened hours later, and someone slid in a tray with food.
So, I thought. They weren't going to try to starve me. Yet.
I pulled the tray towards me and ate slowly, chewing for a long time before swallowing, since I couldn't be sure I'd be given regular meals. I wanted to make what I had last.
It's not that I didn't feel threatened. I wasn't stupid. I didn't believe I was immune to the law, even if my mother was the queen now. But a stillness had settled inside me, and instead of panic or rage, I felt a sort of unnatural nothingness. Maybe it's because whatever happened next was out of my hands, so there was no point in fighting. Best to hold onto my energy and wait.
Patience was still my greatest weapon now.
When the door creaked open again, it was one of the guards returning to collect my tray, and I gazed up at him from my spot on the floor.
"Thank you," I said.
They startled and gaped at me in horror and bewilderment, then quickly snatched the tray and practically ran out, slamming the door shut behind them.
I spent the rest of the day pacing the room until it got darker and darker. I'd never actually slept on a bare floor before, but there was a first time for everything.
When the sun set and my tiny jail cell become bathed in blackness, I curled up in a corner and waited for sleep to come find me.
It never did.