Neve was overcome by a feeling of déja vu as Emilie draped her cloak over shoulders. Just a few weeks ago, Neve was in the Capital, condemned by her former fiancé and the Royal Family. Now, she was dressed in leather armour in preparation for her journey to Hell's Gate. How much her life had changed.
"Please stay safe, my dear," Emilie whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind Neve's ear. It was rare for her to speak so informally, but it felt more familial than impolite.
Neve smiled and placed her hand over Emilie's, where it hovered by the side of her face. "I will try, Emilie. Make sure my siblings behave while I'm away."
"Of course, My Lady," Emilie replied, blinking as her eyes grew watery.
"Then, I shall be on my way," Neve said, squaring her shoulders.
Her hand brushed over the hilt of the founder's sword, where it was sheathed against her hip. Neve had grown accustomed to the weight of the mighty blade–it almost comforted her at this point.
With a deep breath, Neve pushed through the front doors. Immediately, she was assaulted by a sharp gust of wind. The sky was overcast, as it usually was, and Neve realized the journey ahead would be a difficult one.
She made her way down the steps leading to the road, where a crowd of people stood waiting for her. A few servants, who were preparing Neve's packhorses, flittered about. Blanche and Wren watched her through puffy and red eyes, which were a result of a night spent crying by Neve's bedside.
Surprisingly, Duke Fallon was present. Her father and Vale stood to the side, talking in hushed tones, but quieted once they noticed Neve approaching.
Neve passed by her younger siblings, squeezing their hands gently as she proceeded. They had already said their tearful goodbyes the previous night.
She stopped in front of the Duke and her brother, bowing her head politely.
"Father," she greeted him stiffly.
"Neve," the Duke replied. "I hear you improved during your training with Sir Fabeck."
Neve blinked, momentarily forgetting that Oliver was part of the Fabeck family. The knight was always so informal, it was difficult to believe that he was from a high-ranking noble family.
"Yes, he was an excellent tutor," Neve confirmed. "Though, I suppose nothing can compare to the real thing."
Vale winced. "Hopefully, you won't be getting any real experience," he interjected. "I'm still working on it. I'll be heading back to the Capital once we send you off."
"Well, I'll try to keep myself alive in the meantime," Neve joked, though her voice lacked humour.
Neve's eye wandered to her magnificent warhorse, Yule, whose reins were being handled by a vaguely familiar teenaged boy.
"I am also in communication with my faction," Duke Fallon added, drawing Neve's attention again. "We will be in correspondence with you once you reach Hell's Gate."
The Duke hesitated for a moment, before awkwardly placing his hand on Neve's shoulder.
"Rest assured, we will find a resolution. I won't allow my children to become pawns of the Royal Family," he concluded.
Neve floundered, glancing at Vale helplessly. He shrugged, looking just as bewildered.
Duke Fallon quickly removed his hand and cleared his throat. "You should depart soon. The distance between Ironhold and Hell's Gate will take at least three days to cross."
Neve nodded, reaching for her horse. The boy holding his reins kept Yule steady as Neve mounted him. She did so with relative ease, having ridden with Yule daily for the past week. Steadying herself on the saddle, Neve looked down at her family who were watching her intently.
"Well…" Neve began uncertainly. "I suppose I'll be off, then."
Suddenly, a painfully familiar voice disrupted the solemn atmosphere. "Is my pupil leaving without bidding farewell to her master?"
The Duke's expression soured immediately.
Neve's head whipped around, locating the unfortunate owner of the voice. It was Sir Oliver, riding his own horse–a towering stallion, as black as night.
"Sir Oliver?" Neve questioned, cocking her head to the side.
"Always with the dramatics," Vale muttered under his breath.
"Surely, you're not leaving without me?" the knight teased as he rode up to Neve.
Neve looked at him wordlessly, questions running through her head. She narrowed her gaze at the teenaged boy who had handled her horse. Of course he had looked familiar–he was Oliver's squire!
She turned her scathing glare to Oliver. "You don't mean to say–"
"Surprise!" Oliver interrupted jovially. "Your excellent tutor is accompanying you to Hell's Gate."
Neve felt her mouth open and close a few times, unable to find the words to express her disbelief. She was unsure whether to feel relieved or insulted. She turned to Vale with an accusatory expression instead.
"Explain."
"My family owes a lot to House Rosentine," Oliver answered instead. "I'm repaying the favour by joining you at Hell's Gate."
"You can't–you can't just do that," Neve spluttered incredulously. There were rules, and protocols, and pointless administrivia involved with warfare.
Oliver raised an eyebrow. "You know who my father is, don't you?"
"Marquis Fabeck," Neve replied automatically. Then she paused, racking her brain for any information she had overlooked. "His fief…"
"Is on the border of Bluhera," Oliver said, completing Neve's sentence. "Hell's Gate is within my family's territory, so I am permitted to join you there."
"How convenient," Neve eventually remarked. She turned to her family. "I guess you can rest easier now."
"Indeed," the Duke responded. He turned to Oliver. "Again, your assistance is much appreciated, Sir Fabeck."
"It is my honour, Your Grace."
Neve looked at her pair of packhorses, which she now realized were fully equipped with both her and Sir Oliver's belongings. Their leads were attached to a third horse, whom the knight's squire had mounted.
Suddenly, Neve was part of a party of three headed to Hell's Gate. Though she would never admit it aloud, the company was reassuring.
"We really must depart," Neve said, glancing at Oliver who nodded in assent. She addressed her family for the final time. "I will return. Until then, I trust you will manage yourselves with discretion."
"Of course," Vale replied, his expression unreadable.
Neve looked at her younger siblings, who were barely managing to contain their tears, and smiled. Then, she turned to her father, who fixed her with a level gaze.
"Go forth with valour and pride, warrior," Duke Fallon said, his gravelly voice sending the hush throughout the crowd.
Neve's eyes widened. Her father had just spoken the Rosentine's farewell, which was reserved for accomplished members of House Rosentine. Usually only Dukes and decorated knights received this honour.
She tightened her grip on her horse's reins. "I will bring honour to the Rosentine name," Neve replied, as was protocol.
Then, Neve pressed her calves into her horse's side, spurring Yule forward. She led her small group down the long road that would take them to the highway to Hell's Gate. Slowly, she increased Yule's pace to a trot, listening to the steady sound of the other horse's hooves against the cobblestone.
Neve dared not look behind her as they departed. The sight of her family and her home, growing smaller and smaller in the distance would be too difficult to bear. She left any feelings of uncertainty behind her in the wind. She had her family–and her own life–to protect.