Chapter 202 - 200: In The Shadows.

Chapter 202: Chapter 200: In The Shadows.

​In the quiet, he hears the bowstring long before he sees it. And then, a moment later, the sound of an arrow thudding home.

​He’s here again.

​Binny wonders if he’s here every night. He could find out. All he’d have to do was ask; servants do come this way, after all –they’re the only ones who do. So if he was here, they would see him.

​(He won’t ask, though.)

​The courtyard draws closer and he slows; turns his footsteps silent as the shape of Vogrid Vector comes into view, draped in moonlight.

It hasn’t been more than a few breaths since the sound of an arrow hitting its mark, but he’s already stringing another into his bow, readying it for flight. It’s cold out, but he’s not wearing gloves.

​The string draws taut. It hums. The arrow makes its mark. Long pale fingers reach for another arrow.

Each repetition is an echo of the one before; green eyes settled firmly on the target and never wavering.

It’s impossible to tell how long he’s been there already; his pale skin in the moonlight gives him the look of some kind of ghost caught in a time loop, destined to play out the same memories time and time again.

But he seems undaunted by the prospect of this as his eternity.

​Despite knowing he shouldn’t, Binny settles into the balcony where the shadows are deepest, and watches.

​This part of the castle is always so quiet; always so still.

Even though it’s open to the sky, it’s untouched by the wind.

It’s so different from the mayhem of the training grounds. Vector had always preferred it that way. He’d never objected to the company though.

​(Binny wonders what he would do if he joined him, like old times; whether he would send him away, or let him stay.)

​...Better not to think about it.

​So instead he distracts himself by following along with the motions he’s still got committed to memory; letting his gaze linger on the focus in his green gaze, and his impeccable form, wrapped in furs to fend off the cold night air. It’s not fair; the soldiers had spent the nights following the tournament singing the praises of Rogard, and Khobi, and even Loac, but not Vector.

Never Vector. Never mind that he’d won an event of his own and was every bit as incredible with a sword as the rest of them when it was required of him.

​It strikes him as strange that for a man of such talent and of a family so well connected, there have still been no whispers of an impending match.

Vector has always had a bit of a reputation for not being particularly easy to get along with, but that’s never stopped wealthy families before.

Even after the tournament, there’s been no word; even with so many visiting foreign families looking for a way to gain favour and power off the backs of their unwed daughters.

​And Binny has been listening for it.

​It won’t be long, surely. Especially if they see him like this. Because in this light, with this backdrop, and with his expression so stern, Vogrid Vector is arguably quite handsome.

​(It’s petty, and selfish, but Binny finds solace in the fact that no one comes this way. That no one else will see.)

He wonders how long he’s been here tonight, and if he comes here every night, and for how long; if he still reads by candlelight even though it hurts his eyes, and if he has anyone to play chess with.

He wonders when he ate, and who it was with. He doesn’t eat with the soldiers.

Neither does Loac. Rogard didn’t, until recently.

​(Binny would never dare.)

​There are a lot of things he doesn’t know about him anymore.

​More than anything, he wonders if Vector ever visits this place during the spring, when the blossoms are in bloom –or in summer, when everything is green.

​He could ask. The other servants would know.

​But he won’t ask, because it would hurt knowing either way, and they don’t tell him even though they know what he is –or once was –to Binny, because they know that, too.

​Ah, it’s no good.

​Shaking his head to clear it, Binny peels away from his vantage point and lets the night carry him where it will.

He’s got work to do, and if he doesn’t want the other servants to resent his time spent skiving off with the soldiers, he can’t fall behind.

​Behind him, the steady rhythm finally falters. The bowstring tightens, then hums, and the arrowhead sinks into the target as it always does, and in the quiet of the empty night, the hand hovering over the quiver of arrows hesitates.

​But Binny is already gone.

...

It’s late, and Loac is already asleep by the time Khobi makes it back to his room.

He’s far too tired himself and not considerate enough to make any sort of attempt at being quiet but Loac –sprawled out on the blankets like he’d fallen and slept where he’d landed –doesn’t so much as stir, even when the door bangs shut behind him.

Khobi would scoff, but he too, is fast asleep the moment his head hits his pillow.

​Once again, he’s gone before Khobi wakes up, but this time he has a feeling he knows where he’ll be.

​And he’s right.

​That next morning, Khobi is late to training as he always is, and Loac is there on the steps, waiting for him.

​It’s the same the next day, too.

​The day after, Drogger declares –to the relief of all who hear it –that dawn training is suspended until winter is over.

The soldiers have other duties to fulfill, after all, and will be in demand across the kingdom until the snows melt and the peace of spring comes again.

The terrain of their borders guards well against open war, but it’s from within where they’ll be needed.