The Lady at the River's Edge

1 - The Quiet Ends

There was peace in the woods.

The castle town and the river both were cut off, beyond sight and sound, far enough to be forgotten for a time.

She heard wind rustling leaves, not wheels and hooves clattering upon stone. She heard birds calling to one another in search of the present moment, not the waters of the Duna rushing ever on and away.

She could walk, and think she was the only living soul in the world, and there was peace.

For a time.

She heard only his mount at first, yet somehow she knew precisely who had tracked her down. He had a way of appearing just when she needed him least.

"My lady," he called to her. "The count is looking for you."

She did not turn, instead choosing to enjoy a last breath of peace. "Odd, then," she said to the quiet of the woods, "that it is you who finds me, Sir Janos, and not him."

She heard his horse approach, then the whisper of his tunic as he dismounted. He came to stand beside her, facing as she faced, taking in the vista of trees. In the corner of her eyes, she saw his shrug. "I am more swift," he said. "Perhaps the only virtue I hold over your father."

Another of his irritating habits: treading the line between jest and truth, impertinence and respect. They both knew her father, for all the love he had for her, was not one to mount up and search the woods himself. She glanced over at the knight, but as usual found nothing definitive in his expression. His meager smile, bare on his clean-shaven face–did it mock her? Or her father? His eyes flickered over, now that she looked at him, mischievous with hidden intent like a jester's mask. Had she not lived so long in his company, she might have thought him dangerous, but she knew now that he hid only harmless foolery, a thousand secret japes held close within.

"Will you return with me, my lady?" He extended an arm for her to take.

She glanced down, frowning. A thick leather glove had been tucked hastily into his belt. "You were hawking," she said.

"I was, my lady, when your father called upon me." He met her glare unflinching.

"You know how I hate it."

"I do."

"Yet you continue."

He tilted his head, part bow, part nod. "The men would think less of me if I spurned the manly pastimes."

"A convenient excuse," she muttered, stepping past him, ignoring his still-extended arm. "It could not simply be that you enjoy the barbarism."

He wheeled smoothly as she passed, walking in stride with her. "You may not believe it of me, my lady, but it is true. I do not relish the hunt. Have you not heard the men mock me for so often returning empty-handed?"

"Ah, of course," she laughed. "Even your failures have noble reasons." She passed his steed, raising a hand to its dark forehead, stroking down to its muzzle. The animal stood still, watching her flatly, then snorted and shook out its mane as she removed her hand and carried on.

"Failure is often the nobler choice–but pride will keep us from seeing it." He took the reins in hand, swiveling the horse in her wake. "Will you not ride, my lady? The count is waiting."

"My father is a patient man, Sir Janos–one of the many virtues he holds over you. Besides," she said, glancing over her shoulder, "it was you he tasked with my swift retrieval. Consider it a chance for another noble failure."

He smiled his meager smile, that which told her nothing at all. "Yes, my lady."

She faced ahead once more, taking a relaxed pace back to the castle. With Janos behind her, when he and his horse were quiet, she could almost imagine that she was alone once more. In snippets, in breaths and blinks, peace returned.