Authors: Antoine Rouaud
The days that followed, and then the months and years, only reinforced this bond. Laerte did not fit in at the academy. He was not like the other cadets and many of them disguised their jealousy as scorn. They envied him, they hated him . . . but they also feared him. He was the only cadet who had actually seen combat. And done so in the company of one of the Empire’s greatest knights, no less.
When he was sixteen, Dun-Cadal and Laerte returned from the Vershan, on the heels of a hard-fought victory at the foot of the mountain range. This was the third time he’d returned to Emeris and he’d had no further opportunity to confront the Emperor. The war had dulled his ardour for vengeance. Although he had not forgotten his mission, other desires had taken precedence.
Esyld had found refuge in the great city, taken on as a servant by some of the nobles who lived in the Imperial palace. He was eager to see her again, but on the way to the servants’ quarters he halted in a large inner courtyard in the centre of which a familiar structure had been erected.
The voices thundered like drum rolls. Cadets from the academy, completely devoted to defending the Emperor and blinded by their education, were massed around the scaffold. Among them, soldiers, male and female courtiers and their servants witnessed the scene with less enthusiasm. There a sharp thump, followed by a terrible snapping of bones. Three men, their bodies slashed, hung from the ropes and swung slowly in the air, their faces frozen in a sudden grimace. Laerte could not bear to look at their blank gazes and lowered his eyes.
‘They came from the Saltmarsh,’ said a hoarse voice behind him.
‘There’s no need for proof when people fear a plot. Rumours alone were enough to convict them.’
Laerte glanced briefly over his shoulder. The familiar face helped to alleviate the disgust he felt seeing such a spectacle and a flat smile tugged at his lips. It had been months since he had last seen the man and finding him here, visibly in fine form, was comforting. Rogant had changed. Like Laerte he had grown and was now a good foot taller than his friend.
‘It seems I never return at the right moment,’ Laerte said.
‘It seems they never hang the right people, Frog. You’re the one who should be swinging at the end of a rope,’ Rogant said, joking.
‘And who would defend you then?’
The Nâaga didn’t appear to appreciate that gibe, revealing his shining white teeth in an aggressive smile.
‘That only happened once,’ he grumbled, crossing his arms.
His bulging torso was concealed by a leather surcoat. Strange-looking tattoos slithered down his face to his shoulders, following the contours of his neck. He wore loose linen trousers over polished leather boots and a dagger hung from his belt. Yes, things had certainly changed during Laerte’s absence.
‘You’re armed now,’ Laerte observed, passing before his friend to descend a small stairway leading inside the palace.
Rogant followed him through the narrow hallways.
‘I thought slaves were denied the right to defend themselves?’
‘I now serve Duke de Page as his bodyguard,’ Rogant said. ‘Let’s just say he detected the makings of a warrior in me.’
‘He must have a sense of humour.’
‘Coming from an apprentice knight who goes by the name of Frog, that lacks any real sting.’
The day was drawing to a close when they entered the servants’ quarters. Here, in the middle of a narrow hallway, Laerte halted. Shadow and light battled one another in even-handed combat, the torchlight flickering across his features. Giving a brief glance to the right and left the two friends assured themselves that no one had followed them. Then they fell into one another’s arms, laughing.
‘It’s so good to see you’ve returned alive!’ Rogant confessed, giving the boy a slap on the back.
‘I have some things left to do before I give up the ghost.’
‘The Vershan?’
‘Wearying,’ replied Laerte, drawing back from the Nâaga. ‘And you? How are you?’
‘I’m still not free . . . but being in de Page’s service almost amounts to the same thing. It’s best if that remains between us. Times are complicated. Anyone who says a word against the Emperor is suspect.’
‘And what if your master knew about our meetings?’
From Rogant’s amused expression Laerte guessed that the Duke de Page’s name had been added to the ever-growing list of nobles who had secretly joined the opposition and were offering the rebels logistical support. But Laerte . . . how was he helping his cause? It was difficult to reconcile fighting the rebels, to maintain appearances, with his sympathies for the rebellion itself. Yet he carried on without questioning his own choices. All that mattered to him was the day when he would be ready to stand against the Emperor.
Rogant knew this. Although Laerte had never revealed his true identity to the Nâaga, they agreed on numerous points. Hadn’t the Emperor authorized the enslavement of Rogant’s people? Without telling him the reasons for it, Laerte had shared the secret of his vendetta against Reyes. And Rogant was determined to help him.
‘You’re much more at risk than he is, Frog. You come from the Saltmarsh . . . and from the day you arrived here, you defended a slave. Believe me, de Page could be useful to you one day. In any case, I’m watching out for you.’
‘I’m the one who protects you,’ Laerte smiled.
‘Little knight,’ retorted Rogant, thrusting his chest out.
He tilted his head towards Laerte with a mocking air. No one dared to bother him now that he’d reached his adult size.
‘It’s only a warning,’ Rogant admitted in a more serious tone. ‘I wouldn’t want anything to happen to you.’
Laerte nodded.
‘Go quickly and see her . . .’ his friend murmured. ‘She’s been waiting for your return for two days now.’
Although Rogant had seen them meet in secret several times, Laerte was certain that the Nâaga did not know much about her. The boy had never spoken to him about his life before arriving in Emeris. And still less about Esyld. But Rogante must have guessed that she counted more for Laerte than anything in this world. He therefore had no qualms about cutting short their conversation. His friend
knew him well. Laerte was indeed anxious to see her again after his prolonged absence.
His heart racing, he followed the hallways that still separated him from his beloved.
How overjoyed he had been when, two years previously, he had glimpsed her familiar silhouette in one of the palace gardens. She had just joined her father in Emeris and was working as a servant at the Imperial court.
She was his vessel in a raging sea, the only person capable of keeping him afloat. He had told her everything . . . even what he intended to do, when he was ready.
When he opened the door to the little room, ducking his head slightly to pass through the arched door frame, he didn’t even bother to check if anyone had followed him. He had waited too long.
She was there, her hands joined before her, her hair delicately arranged with blue ribbons. The pale light of day, which entered in a single beam through a skylight, wreathed her face in a diaphanous veil. In the corner was a plain bed with a rickety table beside it. Esyld was the light guiding his path. He did not say a word, quietly closing the door behind him. And when she turned towards him, her lips formed a relieved smile.
‘At last,’ she said simply.
‘The journey was longer than planned . . .’
He approached her hesitantly. His hands were damp. She had grown even more beautiful since the last time they met. Her features were more refined. She was a woman now. He did not dare to touch her. It was she who pressed herself against him, resting her head against his shoulder. The scent of her curled hair intoxicated him.
‘My proud little lord,’ she said. ‘You took so long returning since the news of your victory at the foot of the Vershan reached us.’
‘I came as quickly as I could . . . It’s only been two hours since we arrived. As soon as Dun-Cadal took his leave, I came to see you.’
‘Won’t he come looking for you?’ Esyld worried.
‘He’s in Mildrel’s arms right now,’ smiled Laerte.
‘And you’re in mine . . .’
His smile faded as his gaze plunged into hers. Very slowly, he bent his head and their lips brushed in a restrained kiss.
‘You must not stay long,’ she warned him in a murmur. ‘You should report to the academy before someone notices your absence.’
She slowly drew away from him, avoiding his eyes. Surprised, Laerte remained silent for an instant. Was she not happy to see him again, to be waxing hot and cold in this fashion?
‘They’re hanging people now . . .’
‘I’m Dun-Cadal’s apprentice. The old blowhard will protect me, don’t worry,’ he tried to reassure her.
‘Don’t you understand?’ she asked angrily.
She turned her back on him, her fists balled at her hips, and she sighed bitterly.
‘My father and I agreed not to tell Meurnau anything about you. To pretend you did not survive . . . but you should have returned to the Saltmarsh. It’s far too dangerous here.’
They had discussed this more than once but Laerte had always been adamant. He recalled his last visits to Aëd’s Watch. All those people talking about him as if he were an entirely different person. Ever since then, his confidence in Meurnau had died.
‘Meurnau has made me a symbol, I’m no use to him
alive
. He’s leading his rebellion,’ Laerte said. ‘So on the contrary, I’m much safer here. Whatever else might be said about him, Dun-Cadal looks after me well. I’ve learned a lot with him.’
‘Just a year ago, you hated him,’ noted Esyld with a small laugh.
She was mocking him. But could he deny that he’d had a change of heart concerning his mentor? Sometimes he defended him now.
‘That’s still the case. I’m only using him to become strong enough to kill the Emperor,’ he justified himself.
‘Kill the Emperor . . .’ she sighed. ‘Well then, do it, if you’ve learned so much from your beloved general.’
She glared at him as if he’d committed the most heinous of crimes. For her to be so angry with him, without his knowing the reason why, left him completely dumbfounded.
‘Esyld—’
‘Go on! Go and do whatever seems right to you!’
‘I’m not ready,’ he admitted. ‘But soon I promise you I will be and that will put an end to this unjust war and my family will be avenged and—’
‘So, you still haven’t grown up,’ she interrupted.
She turned away from him and went to the window, lifting her dress daintily with both hands in a dignified manner.
‘What’s got into you?’ asked Laerte, taken aback.
He had never seen in her in such a state before, so aggressive towards him.
‘What’s got into me?’ she said in an unbearably sharp and determined tone. ‘What’s
got into me
is that my father is risking his life here to ensure that Oratio of Uster’s ideas survive. Rallying the nobles to the cause of the rebellion so that Emeris falls. Every day brings him closer to swinging from the gallows. Who knows when he will be caught, Laerte? But you don’t think of any of that. All that matters to you is revenge.’
Her eyes were full of tears.
‘We’re taking enormous risks here! Each day, refugees from the Saltmarsh are being questioned. Each day, those nobles who have stayed away from the court are being summoned by the Emperor. Some of them have disappeared and it’s whispered that the Hand of the Emperor is responsible. That the Hand, his assassin, is immortal. That he has always served the Reyes dynasty and that he will continue to serve its Emperors by killing all those who plot against them. Tell me, Laerte. Tell me how my father will die. On the gallows? Or murdered like a dog, while you are out there fighting
against
the rebellion? The rebellion that praises the name of Laerte of Uster to the heavens! Sometimes I wonder whose side you’re on . . .’
‘It’s not easy for me, Esyld, I . . .’ he tried to defend himself.
Images of the battles he’d fought passed through his mind. At what moment had he realised
who
he was actually fighting? Was there a single instant, since Madog, when he’d admitted to himself that he was killing those who were fighting for his father’s dream . . . the dream that one day the people would take control of their own destiny?
‘No, of course it isn’t easy,’ she continued. ‘The day you attempt to kill the Emperor, as you’ve been dreaming about for so long, his
Hand
will fall upon you . . .’
This Hand who had already stopped him once . . . Out of pride, he’d never dared to tell Esyld of his failure. He wanted to preserve her good opinion of him, not have her see his weakness.
‘Perhaps at that moment you will remember who you truly are. Because for the time being, it is not Laerte I see before me but Frog.’
That was enough to break down his usual timidity. Without hesitating, he pressed her against him and pushed her hand into his pocket.
‘I am one and the other, Esyld. It doesn’t change anything. I have never forgotten where I come from or who I am.’
He pulled her hand out again; between her slender fingers she held a small wooden horse. The mere sight of it made tears to trickle from the corners of her eyes.
‘I have never forgotten it.’
She slowly put it back into his pocket as he brought his face close to hers. She stiffened.
‘I have never forgotten you . . .’ he murmured.
The kiss they exchanged was so intense he thought the world had disappeared around them. Only his body registered fully in his awareness, pressed against her, perfumed by her sweet scent. Little by little Esyld relaxed in his arms and it was she who seized the initiative from that point. Laerte had never dared to take things further despite his longing to. He had dreamt of it so often that every time he held her in his arms, his anxiety overwhelmed him to the point that he could only give her a kiss.
He discovered her that day, beautiful and naked. Together they lay entwined on her small servant’s bed in the dim light of the room, with no other sound than that of their breathing. And their hearts, the one next to the other, beating in the same rhythm. Tasting her skin, caressing the curves of her body with the pads of his fingers, he abandoned himself to her completely. The more tightly she held him, the more he curled up against her. He would have liked this moment to last an eternity.