The dust from the horse’s canter was nearly settled. Traven followed the trail from the stable to the side door, kicking the dirt off his boots before entering. He was greeted by warmth and the inviting aroma of fresh-baked bread. He set down his parcel and sat on a bench in the entryway, untied his bootlaces, then pulled them off and set them aside with the other shoes. The cold wood floor eased the tension in his feet as he stood again, picking up his bag.

Traven moved the cloth curtain aside and stepped into the living area, replacing the curtain behind him. Urged on by the grumblings of his stomach, he walked into the kitchen before removing his cloak. His mother was adding spices from assorted jars into a large cast-iron pot. He dropped the bag on the counter top next to his mother and noticed the rolls cooling in a basket nearby, instinctively reaching for one.

“Not until dinner, Traven,” his mother chided, her gaze never leaving the jars of spices.

“I rode for two hours to get fresh fruit and I can’t even have a roll?”

Traven’s mother turned to her right and opened the bag. She grabbed two pieces of fruit, peaches, and inspected them. “Just the one roll.”

He snatched up a roll and tore into its crisp crust, not taking a moment to butter it before shoving a piece into his mouth. He chewed and smiled with satisfaction. “These’re real’ good, m’m.”

“Enjoy it without speaking through it.” She unpacked the fruit from the leather bag and neatly arranged it into a wooden bowl. “Mina will approve of these. She wants to make a pie with them.”

Traven’s eyes closed. He smiled while chewing, saying nothing in reply.

His mother opened the dry storage cabinet and rummaged through a few sacks, pulling out root vegetables. Her thin fingers deftly began peeling potatoes with a small knife. Traven continued to eat his roll while watching her work on the meal. “I wonder where that girl ran off to. She said she was gathering flowers for the table.”

“I’ll check on her in a bit,” he offered between bites. Thin chunks of potato hit the bottom of the metal pot, soon followed by clunky carrots and the singular thud of diced garlic and onion. A small bowl of chunked, cooked meat went in next. His mother grabbed the pot by the handle and walked it over to the nearby hearth, placing it directly on top of the flat cooking stone laid above the flames. She uncorked a jug of wine and poured a small amount into the pot. A bowl of another fluid was added, then she stirred the mixture to combine the ingredients.

“This should be ready by the time your father returns,” she noted. She stoked the fire and added another log before readjusting the position of the pot.

The sound of galloping hooves could be faintly heard. They were rapidly approaching.

“Perhaps not. That must be him now. I hope he managed to bring back venison. You should greet him and help bear the load since you’re nearly full-dressed for the job.”

Traven nodded and returned to the dressing bench, putting his boots on with some haste. It was mere minutes before the horses arrived. He tightened the laces and went outside, walking toward the front of the house to welcome his father home.

Five horses. His father left in a group of three. Two of the riders bore banners.

He opened the door and called to his mother, “It’s not him. I’m going to find Mina.”

“Who is it, then?”

“You know the ones.”

“Make haste, Traven.”

He closed the door and ran behind the house toward the stables. He took to the field behind them, looking for any signs of Mina around the tall bushes and finding none. “Where could she have gone?”

Traven glanced around. Spotting the tall grass near the riverbank, he sped straight into the thick of it, moving bunches of blades aside with his arms to weave a path through to the water’s edge.

“Mina!” he called. “It’s me! Are you here?”

The sound of water sloshing around rocks was the only reply.

Heading back into the tall grass, Traven continued calling out for her. He weaved his way through the grass as quickly as he could, his hopes quickly leaving him. He stopped and looked around for another possible place to find her, locating the treeline downstream. It would be a gamble to run off into the woods, but he couldn’t risk having the men find Mina first. He knew the stories all too well, and he remembered exactly what happened to those who defended the girls.

He decided to stay close to the water. Perhaps the lower area would provide the cover he needed. He crouched slightly and lunged toward the treeline, but something caught him around the neck and knocked him flat on his back. The wind was knocked out of him. His eyes fluttered open, expecting to see the man who caught him.

“Mina!”

Mina stared down at him and covered his mouth with her hands, intently listening to the sounds around them. She turned her head to the left and stared into the tall grass.

“You were followed. Shit.”

Mina immediately pulled at her bodice lacings, undoing the bow and loosening them up. She quickly roughed her dark blonde hair and straddled Traven.

“What the hell are you –”

“Shut up.” Mina put her chest against his, her hair falling around his head. She looked up at the grass as it parted, revealing an armed man with his hand on the grip of his sword, ready to draw. Mina quickly sat up, covering her loosened bodice with her hands. Traven tilted his head back and looked at the man, beads of sweat rolling toward his hairline, heart beating hard and fast.

The man sneered at Mina. He looked at Traven and winked. “Lucky boy, eh.” He turned his head and called out, “Nothing to bother with over here. Get a move on.”

The two watched as the man disappeared into the grass, waiting for the sound of his footsteps to fade. Mina rolled off of Traven onto her back and covered her eyes with her hands. “I can’t believe that worked.”

Traven sat up on his elbows, breathing hard from the tension of what just happened. “You kidding me? That was brilliant.” Mina lightly laughed. He stared at Mina until his breathing normalized, then spotted a bunch of wildflowers nearby. “You picked those for Mother?”

Mina moved her left hand and glanced at the ground, looking at the flowers. “Yeah. Think she’ll like them?”

“She always loves your flowers. I’m sure they’ll be fine.” Traven sat up and rubbed the dirt off the elbows of his sleeves. “Should we head home or wait it out?”

“I’d rather wait,” Mina remarked. She sat up and began smoothing out her hair. “Rhea was working on dinner, I take it?”

“It just started cooking when they arrived. There are some rolls too. Good ones.”

“I’m glad you like them. I only spent the morning making them while you were out.”

“Out getting your special peaches,” Traven added. “You could have gotten them yourself.”

“You know very well that I couldn’t have. Sending you was better than sending us both.” Mina pulled her feet close to her, to the left side of where she sat. “Besides, who would have made the rolls had I gone?”

“Point,” Traven nodded. “I’m going to have at least five of them with dinner.”

“You should save some for after dinner.”

“Really? You’re feeling up to it after what just happened?”

Mina tipped her head downward, “Nothing else could be better motivation.”

Traven uprighted himself and listened to sounds on the breeze, still hearing the carried voices of the troupe. He couldn’t make out what they were saying. There was no shouting or other indication that anything went awry with their visit. He was content to begin shredding some blades of grass, something he hadn’t done since he was younger: an idle motion performed while chatting with Mina by the river’s edge.

He wondered how long it was since they were able to speak like that without feeling prying eyes on them. Mina was sixteen. It had been three years since they were both free. Although it was expected for Mina to be accompanied by someone when away from home and public areas, some wondered if there was more to her common pairing with Traven on outings. Suddenly acutely aware of what the other townspeople may have heard from the man who found them, Traven filled the silence. “I need to fly Horace after dinner. We could start after he sacks a few quail.”

“Sounds good.” Mina stood up with a start, flowers in hand, and began walking back toward their home.

“Hey!” Traven called, grabbing for her empty hand and missing. He crouched and followed her. “The men are still –”

The sound of horses opening into a gallop interrupted him. He turned and saw the dust trail lead out of the town.

Saying nothing more, he stood normally and caught up to Mina. They entered the side door and removed their boots before entering the living area. Mina grabbed a clay vase from the table in front of the hearth and entered the kitchen to fill it with water for the flowers. Rhea greeted her and commented on the flowers. Mina returned with the arranged vase to place back on the table end furthest from the fire.

Traven eased himself into the plush chair nearest the fire and closed his eyes, weary from the day’s ride and recent stress. He rubbed the back of his neck to ease tension, messing up his dark hair. “‘Ey Mina, grab me some water.”

“I was just in the kitchen.”

“I don’t want to move.”

Mina shook her head and returned to the kitchen. She filled two mugs with water and took the seat next to Traven when she came back. She clanked his mug against the table. “Only because you came to check on me. You know I never stray too far.”

Traven opened his eyes just in time to catch the end of her sneer before she took a drink. He grabbed his mug of water and tossed it all back, then set the empty mug on the table. He searched Mina’s eyes for some indication of what she could be thinking, but only saw her aqua eyes turned gold from the flickering fire. He spoke just above the hiss of a sizzling log on the fire, “I’m glad I found you first, though.”

Mina looked at him, her eyes cold. “He wouldn’t have found me if you hadn’t come looking. And even if he had…”

The side door closed and heavy steps shuffled in the small room. A thud struck the wall. The bench creaked under heavy weight. With a grunt behind it, the curtain flew open and revealed a well-built man: Belros. He was not unusually tall, but his posture gave him the illusion of great stature. He gestured toward Traven and Mina before retreating to the kitchen for a large mug of water. Protests came from the kitchen when he apparently scooped up Rhea from her cooking work in greeting. Muffled swats could be heard along with a shrill suggestion that he clean himself up before dinner.

Belros came out of the kitchen with a bitten roll in one hand and mug in the other. He leaned against the wall nearest the kitchen, just out of Rhea’s smelling distance. “So we won’t be having any venison this week. One of the men managed a smallish buck. Five-point. We tracked them for hours and only saw the one. Something must have had them spooked.”

“We’re low on beef. I can stretch it for another day or two,” Rhea offered.

“I’m taking Horace tonight to see what he can get,” Traven explained. “It’s been a couple of days since I let him feed properly, so we’ll be out late.”

“Fowl would be nice, Traven.” Rhea came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a rag. “I could herb them and spend the afternoon roasting them if you manage to get a few. The stew will be done soon. You should all go clean up.” She swatted Belros with the rag, “Especially you. It’s a wonder your horse didn’t throw you.”

Belros stared at Rhea as he opened his mouth wide and slowly put the rest of the roll into his mouth. He chewed it with intense patience, eyes teasing her while his face remained placid.

Rhea took a step back and covered her nose with the rag.

He swallowed the mouthful of bread and shook his head, “Okay. I’ll go wash up.” He took his mug of water with him back into their room, closing the door behind him. Mina stood and returned to the kitchen to scrub her hands.

Traven resolved to change into light clothing, retreating to his room with heavy footsteps. Horace stirred in his cage, turning his head to peer at Traven before starting to preen his feathers. The events of the day took a physical toll. He removed his leathers and undershirt, tossing them into a basket in the corner. He opened his armoire and grabbed a linen undershirt and navy tunic. After putting them both on, he changed out of his pants into dark brown linen breeches that ended around his calves. He removed his socks and threw them and the pants into the corner basket before grabbing a fresh pair of socks from the armoire’s clean supply. He poured a bit of water into the washbasin on his side table and scrubbed the day’s muck from his face and neck. He rolled a ball of soap between his hands and used the rag to clean his fingernails, then rinsed his hands off in the basin before dumping the water out his window. Feeling clean enough to get through dinner, he returned to the living room and met his mother in the kitchen to receive a bowl of stew and another roll. They all ate together around the large table in the living room, being entertained by Belros’ stories from the day’s hunting trip throughout the meal.

Mina helped Rhea tidy the kitchen and all went to bed. Traven, seeing no sense in soiling a fresh set of clothing, put his travel gear back on. It seemed more rank than it was when he took it off, noting that he would need to clean the leathers soon. He opened the chest at the end of his bed and pulled out a long parcel. When he unwrapped it on the bed, his sword and scabbard glistened in the candlelight. A heavy feeling came over him as he belted the sword at his side. He deeply wished that, like his father, he could wear his sword anytime he wanted. Life at home did not warrant carrying a weapon despite his training and diligent practice.

He immediately thought himself foolish for inviting danger into his life and thanked the gods for the relatively effective laws in place. Only a few men-at-arms in Ginleux had to be ready for battle in a moment’s notice — his father chief among them. Even so, they rotated days off of watch to allow for business, family, and hunting.

Life seemed so simple when everyone was at peace. The king could call for them at any time, but no threat existed to warrant concern about it. The inspectors who made their rounds did well to keep everyone in line and eliminate any inferred threats, preventing uprising by providing regular reports to their captains. Fires were always snuffed out before they could spread. Most never even noticed the smoke.

He thought of his own fire, the one burning in the room next to him. Traven fastened the loops on the casing of his stiletto dagger to his belt and tucked the sheath against his body to prevent it from moving around. He always kept the dagger on him, something dismissible as a hunting tool. He wore it on the back of his belt so he could easily find and draw it. Even with two blades he felt ill-equipped; he wanted to invest in more weapons and armor but could not buy them without raising suspicion. It was already hard enough to get a second dagger on his last trip to the city without his father noticing, a dagger he placed in the service of Mina. He envied his father’s armory; he could seldom ever glimpse it with Rhea always working in the house. He wondered if the sword of Ginleux would ever be given to him or if it would pass to another family after his father’s service ended.

Traven sat on the edge of his bed and listened to the sounds of night outside his window. It was a mild night with a slight breeze to dampen the sound of footsteps. The sky was clear and the moon half-full, bright enough to guide but also reveal. They would need to check the fires before heading out. He stretched out his arms and shoulders, bowing deeply over his knees to ease the tension in his back. He stood and raised his knees to his chest one at a time, holding each in place for a while before switching legs. Satisfied, he tapped twice on a stone in his wall with his metal-plated glove. It was several minutes before he heard a double-tap reply.