Vassal Sterling D'Este (top 10 books of all time .TXT) 📖

It was more that he didn’t deserve her, really. He had been the one that started this mess. Besides, Alphonse was wrong. He had run away with her, yes, but he had not fought for her. Not to mention, she seriously downplayed her own struggle. He looked down at her tear-damp face. Her cheekbones were sharper than he remembered above her bruised jaw.

“I know why we had to try,” he said finally. “But it’s clear that we will not be able to make it on our own. We need them. Or at least Delyth.”

His eyes cut over to Tristan’s tent. The other man had run too, for all his bravado. He had more self-preservation than devotion to Enyo.

Etienne pulled her into his shoulder and held her for a moment while she cried. He’d done it more than a few times since they’d become close at Moxous. It was almost familiar, something like family in this hell they’d found themselves in.

“It's been a… trying day, Alphonse. You have to sleep. To— to keep her at bay.”

❀

Shakily, she nodded, wiping at her eyes though it was pointless, more tears just kept falling.

“Good night Etienne,” she murmured, hugging him tight one last time before pulling away. She had no choice. She had to face that tent and… and the mess she had made.

Alphonse stood, and before she could rethink it, ducked into the tent.

Delyth was laying with her back to the tent flap, her newly mended wing tucked tightly about herself. The stiffness in the warrior’s shoulders told Alphonse that she wasn’t asleep.

“Del?” she asked, voice thick with emotion.

Alphonse stood and watched for another breath. When it seemed that Delyth was not going to reply, she carefully undressed as quietly as possible not to disturb the healing warrior priestess.

Then she crawledunder her blankets and shivered. It was almost as if Delyth’s disapproval and hatred for Alphonse made the tent colder. How was that possible?

Tristan’s words echoed in her mind, taunting and snide. I wonder what she thought she would get out of it? 

Alphonse clutched her hands together and wrung her fingers as she contemplated it. What had Delyth thought she would get from saving Alphonse from the fire? Her Goddess back, clearly. Because Enyo was the most important being in Delyth’s life. She had devoted herself to Enyo. To restoring Enyo.

And Alphonse had risked that. Had risked Enyo. Delyth would never forgive her.

Alphonse waited as long as she could, hoping Delyth would fall asleep before she started to cry in earnest, using her blankets to muffle the sound.

⥣          ⥣           ⥣

Waking up alone was not a new sensation, though it was an uncomfortable one. The tent was empty, Delyth’s sleeping pallet rolled neatly against the canvas wall. Who knew how long she’d been sleeping alone? Had Delyth left in the middle of the night, disgusted with Alphonse? Was she, even now, regretting that Enyo had been tied to the healer?

Sitting up, Alphonse looked around. Even Delyth’s bag was packed. The warrior was ready to leave. The space between Alphonse and Delyth’s sleeping place seemed to stretch impossibly, a few scant feet turning into miles. It might as well have been the ocean, Alphonse floating alone amidst the wreck she’d made.

She used to like solitary mornings.

It gave her time to lay out her clothes, pressing any wrinkles from her skirt or blouse. Time to braid her thick hair and wash her face. To pin her veil in place.

Now, as she stared down at the sheer veil, she felt bile rising up in her throat. The veil for Mother Agathi represented a clear, pure soul. Disinterested with vanity or flirtation, only focused on walking the righteous and true path. To help others, to bring kindness and consideration into every act, every word.

Enyo had tainted that, had made Alphonse brutal, cruel, violent, self-absorbed. She didn’t deserve to wear the veil. She didn’t reflect it’s representations anymore.

Hastily, she folded it up and placed it at the bottom of her pack, then rolled up her bedroll and stowed it.

Dressed and ready, the only thing that was left was facing the group. Alphonse ducked under the tent flaps and blinked in the morning light, squaring her shoulders. Outside, the sun had not yet risen above the mountain tops, though the sky had paled to a tumultuous grey. It was clear for once; all the world looked new and quiet in that hush of early morning.

Everything but the tents had been packed for travel, and Delyth was awake, perched nearby on a boulder, face craggy, and wings held tightly against her back. It seemed clear she would have nothing to do with Alphonse anymore.

And that was fair.

Alphonse had taken her Goddess away without a word.

✶

Etienne had never been good at understanding those around him, but as he stepped from his tent that morning, the tension in camp was apparent even to him. Alphonse was obviously dejected and Delyth cold and distant. He found himself missing earlier weeks, cheerful mornings and get-to-know-you-games.

With a sigh, Etienne made his way to Alphonse while Delyth busied herself with their tent. Nearby, Tristan put away his own things, humming as he worked as though he was completely unaware of the mood around him.

“How did you sleep?” he asked Alphonse, already expecting a poor answer.  There were dark rings under her eyes, her face pale. Still, he didn’t know what else to say. There didn’t seem to be a short and easy way to find out how she was coping with Enyo’s destruction and the return of their companions.

“It was a little chilly,” she said and paused, seemingly uncertain. “I remember… What I did yesterday.”

“What Enyo did,” Etienne said. “Enyo started the fire.”

Still, he searched Alphonse’s eyes discontentedly. Was this some sign of greater merger between Alphonse and Enyo? Would Alphonse lose herself?

He shuddered. That would be unbearable to watch, to lose his oldest friend in bits and pieces. It could