Water droplets struck Markos's face. He gasped like a man drowning and gulped down air. Above him, he saw the pale image of the elf leaning over him, sweat and tears spilling down to strike his blistering skin. Her eyes were closed and her breathing heavy. The scent of tuberoses intermingled with copper, damp earth and sweat in the cool fall air. He felt her hands cradling his head as it sat on top of her lap.
He reached up to touch her face. If there were flaws, he didn't see them— covered in dirt, streaked with tears, drawn with effort and pale with exertion, he took her in. Her beauty struck him so deeply that it hurt his heart to see her pained, just as it had hurt her to see the bird. The clear blue of her eyes struck him like a clear spring day as Sintija opened them again. She smiled, all her worry melting away, and he smiled back on reflex, not quite knowing why.
"Sintija."
"Who's Sintija, m'lord?" The dream of the elf woke to the reality of a concerned, although striking, red head looking down at him. His surroundings came into focus, dirt walls became sturdy wood in a warm bedroom with a stone fireplace. It was dimly lit by the illumination of an oil lamp and the glow of the fire. The "lap" was nothing but a soft pillow on top of a feather mattress cradling his head. He blinked as he focused on the woman whose cheek he caressed.
It took him a moment, but he could not forget this face. He had known her for most of his life. "Josphina? Why are you here? What happened to…" A soft gloved finger pressed against his lips.
"Shush, now. Easy there. You were covered in blood when we found you, but the doctor could find no wounds on you. Your breastplate was bent but the smith has already repaired it for you. Do you remember what happened? No one seems to know who attacked you." After a moment, Josphina pulled away and settled on the edge of his bed.
He looked past her at the rest of the inn room, he saw his armor set against a chair on the wall. His weapons sat on the small table beside it. 'Where did Sintija go? Was it all just a dream?' He felt moisture gather at the corners of his eyes and he wasn't sure why.
"There was an elf and a mage they… ambushed me… I fell into a pit and…"
'She kissed me.' He sat up and brought his hand up to his face to wipe the tears away. 'Why does it feel like I've lost something?'
"How did you get me out of the pit?" His face felt hot, was it a fever?
Josphina stared at him, weakly smiling. "There was no pit. You were alone on the floor of the stable. Your hound was whining beside you. It was difficult to separate him from you so they could treat you."
"How long was I out?"
"Until now."
"Josphina!"
"Just this morning," she admitted, and flashed him a mocking smile. "I've been by your bedside, nursing you back to health. Now, do you care to tell me what happened, or shall I just report to the Ordinary that you took an extended nap in a haystack?"
Markos sat up in bed and immediately regretted it. He felt weary and drained. 'The whole evening?' He thought to himself. 'And long enough for Josphina to find me.' But that didn't make sense. No messenger could reach that far, that fast. He looked up at Josphina with new eyes. "You're a Whisperer. You've been following me. For how long?"
"For the past three years." Josphina pinched his cheek before he could slap her hand away. She seemed more bemused than anything. "Didn't I tell you that I would be by your side forever, my knight?"
"We were 9… that was 13 years ago. This is stupid, I can still catch…." Markos flipped the covers aside to get out of bed, but when he went to sit up, Josphina put her hand on his chest.
"No, darling, listen to me for a while first. The apostate is gone. I did a little bit of investigating, and he is too far away."
"It's been a day. I still have…"
She shushed him with a finger against his lips again. Markos was getting tired of it, but his whole body ached, and so he lay back down. "Shh, no. Too far away, even for brave, heroic crusaders. Besides, I'm here to deliver you new orders. Your good friend the Ordinary has recalled you to Westfallion."
----
Markos couldn't leave the inn for several days. Though he had no physical injuries, he could barely rise, and the first few days was spent sluggish in bed.
He thought about a lot of things, mostly he thought of Sintija and the dream of the bird. Glimpses of her came and went, passing across his vision. In time he could walk, and manage the stairs, so he did. The inn food was simple fare but being able to eat without help had improved his mood.
"You've changed."
He looked up from the table at Josphina, who sat across from him. Markos straightened. "What?"
"You're much different than I remember. What did they do to you in that church, anyway?"
Josphina leaned forward on the table and Markos did not look down. He held her eyes instead. He might have changed, but her eyes hadn't changed - or maybe they had.
"They trained me to kill apostates."
"Did they take all the joy out of you, too?"
Markos stared at her. He thought he looked intimidating. He must not have, because she smiled at him with cloying, beautiful mischief. Deciding not to respond, he went back to his soup. The summons to Westfallion worried him. The followers of St. Fleur would always investigate when a templar failed, and there would be a hearing, but that didn't require pulling him from the field. Markos had grown used to his wandering life. He had become used to his horse, and to his dog, and to his autonomy. The last thing he wanted to do would be to go and listen to those old priests telling him how to do a job they might never have done themselves. Didn't she understand the truth of it from watching from afar?
He thought of his time with Caelyn and Iliana versus when he was forced to leave their sides. How could he explain it to her if she didn't understand it herself? Eventually he said, "Seems they did."
"I remember you used to wander around in the woods, back when we were children," said Josphina. "Out as far as the Lodge. You would visit and play in the yard with my brothers. Used to be, you would play with me, too."
She had her cheek on her hand. Markos didn't look up further than her elbow.
"That was a long time ago," he said. "Back when we were children. Back before-"
"It meant something?" Josphina dipped her head to catch his eyes, and reluctantly, Markos looked away.
"Yes. Before it meant something. We were children. I can't imagine why you'd hold on to it." Markos spoke more sharply than he had meant to, feeling the tightening in his throat from resentment he could not quite place the cause of. It was not as though Josphina were unattractive. They had been childhood friends. Why was he so angry with her? He allowed himself to look at her and found her frowning at him. Instantly, he felt sorry, but she interrupted before he could say anything.
"I still like you," Josphina explained, "And I've missed you. It's terrible to watch you come and go, like some sort of ghost in the evening, from so far away, but I did, through the miles. I thought perhaps you would have had some faith in us." She drew a small circle in the air with her finger. "You spend an awful lot of time in places of ill repute, for a chivalrous Templar."
Markos huffed. It was known of her business. No wonder Caelyn had tried to keep him from the watchful eyes of the Holy Sword for so long.
Josphina took his mug of small beer and sniffed at it. She drank and winked at him. Her eyes were a beautiful green, and when she held his gaze just a little too long, she laughed as she had used to laugh when they were children.
He felt had had to say something, or lose some sort of contest, not the least of which involved his pride. "I hadn't known."
"You didn't pay attention," Josphina corrected him. "Not in all that time. You went around the halls as grim as a monk, always frowning, always growling at everyone, buried in your studies. Surrounded by beauty and taking in none of it whatsoever. And then when you went out, well, I suppose you found something in the alcohol." Josphina motioned to herself, completely unabashed. "So here I am, coming to save you. Your Whisperer and your shadow, and not even a kiss for a thank you. Isn't the knight supposed to rescue the damsel? We make a terrible story."
Markos felt his face flush, all the heat rising. Anger and embarrassment and confusion waged a war for his expression. "This is not a story, this is nonsense."
He couldn't speak, couldn't say anything else. He stared at the girl. What was her game? What was she getting at? And, goddamn it, why did she look so smug about it, whatever it was?
"I agree," she observed, driving in a nail. "This is nonsense. All nonsense." She sat up straighter, a mockery of professionalism. "I want to hear about the elf."
It was all Markos could do not to sputter. The nerve. The gall. He stood up and fought the swimming rush of vertigo that reminded him, without a doubt, that he should probably have just stayed back in bed today instead of trying to wander around acting whole. His legs complained. His shoulders hurt. His neck had a permanent crick in it. Whatever had brought him back from death, or near-death, had drained him out like a sieve, and this line of questioning tapped the rest of it dry.
"Well, I damn well don't want to tell you."
She rose with him. "But you have to."
"Then pick it from my mind," he growled at her, making for the door with his food half-eaten and his drink stolen, and the sudden rush of anger burning away the complaints his body lodged. He would have to pay that off later, and likely with interest, but just now he wanted to be anywhere but this inn, and anywhere but with the beautiful, self-assured, cheshire Josphina.
He felt her hand on his shoulder, and instantly on guard, he turned to shake it off. Her expression stopped him. The smile was gone.
"I don't do that."
He didn't know what to say. She smacked his chest.
"You have any idea," Josphina said, softer, "What it's like to chase you, all the way over the kingdom and half the world, only to find you're not thinking of me at all? Every time there's an elf sighted; you go off."
"Do you have any inkling," she went on, "How hard it is to keep chasing after you, without anything, a touch - a letter - and how easy it would be for me to seal myself off from your pain, when every single person I work with including my own instructors tells me it isn't worth it to even pay attention anymore?"
Markos wanted to argue; there were things wrong with her assumptions. It wasn't his fault she'd attached herself or gone this far. But looking into her face just then, he couldn't muster the words. He hurt all over, his patience was already run dry, and wherever it was that he was about to go pulled at him. He'd lost time and was still losing it.
"Josphina," he tried. "I've got to go saddle my horse."
She gave him the most frustrated, indignant look he'd ever seen on her; she was still beautiful. She had cute dimples, full lips; dark hair like ink that had spilled out from the dream world, all shine and magnificence.
"Of course, you do." The next thing he found shoved at him was a sealed envelope. She shoved it right in his face, so that he had to recoil. It crinkled before he snatched it out of her hand.
"Report to the Temple," she stated, dripping ire. "You're being pulled off duty and recalled. Whatever important thing you're doing out here is apparently too important to let you keep gallivanting off on your own."
And then she was past him, sweeping her cloak from the peg near the door and throwing it over her shoulders.
When she'd gone, the inn keep, a middle-aged man that Markos hadn't paid much attention to, walked over to him and stared after her with him, even though by that time she had already been out the door and rounded the corner.
"Another drink, Sir?"