Stehlen wandered the tower’s halls unseen. She let herself into locked rooms and took whatever trinkets caught her attention, often discarding them in the next room she broke into. Finding a brightly coloured scarf in what looked to be a female guard’s room, she wrapped it about one bony wrist, tucking it up her sleeve and out of sight. The scarf smelled nice, like springtime flowers damp with dew.
Meandering alone in a long stretch of hall unmarked beyond its proliferation of cobwebs, she thought back to her reunion with Bedeckt in the Afterdeath. She remembered his awkward hesitation as he offered her the scarves he took from her dead body. Somehow he knew how important they were to her, even if he didn’t understand why.
Her fingers played at the ragged edges of the oldest scarves she wore hidden up her sleeve. They were mother’s and Stehlen carried them since leaving home.
You owe Bedeckt for that.
She blinked and a tear leaked from an eye.
It was almost enough to make her want to forgive the bastard for abandoning her.
She brushed the tear away on a filthy sleeve and bared yellow teeth at the empty hall.
But not quite.
Maybe she’d find some way of repaying him his one kindness before she killed him.
I’m not crying for that undeserving sack of cat turds.
More tears came and she hissed in anger as she swiped again with the sleeve. More tears. She couldn’t stop them. They flowed like a hot river of anguish and shame and anger. Unable to see, she stopped and leaned against the wall.
He doesn’t deserve my tears.
But she couldn’t stop. Her shoulder shook with spasms of loss and she punched the wall over and over until her fist felt broken and blood seeped around the sharp stones embedded in the tattered flesh of her knuckles.
Bedeckt always trusted her, even though he knew she was untrustworthy. She knew he knew she stole from him. Not once did he confront her or even comment on it. He accepted her for what she was in a way no one else did.
No one but Lebendig, she corrected.
She always knew where she stood with Bedeckt. She understood the limits of what he’d accept and what would push him to violence. Bedeckt was as predictable as the stones of this wall. Lebendig… Stehlen was less sure. Something blinded her to what the woman thought.
And you’ve never dared steal from her. Was because she loved the woman, or was it fear of rejection? What if she avoided stealing from the Swordswoman because she couldn’t trust how Lebendig would react.
If you truly loved and trusted her you would have stole from her? You’re not making any sticking sense.
Stehlen turned her back to the wall and slid down into a crouch. Elbows on her knees, she leaned her face into her hands, feeling the blood of savaged knuckles commingle with tears. She couldn’t stand the thought of Lebendig leaving. It was too much to take. Too much abandonment.
“Kill her before she leaves.”
Listen to yourself.
Stehlen tried to drag her fingers through her hair and gave up when they became entangled in the matted chaos. She’d kill the woman after she left. Anything else was madness. And then, after Stehlen killed Lebendig, the Swordswoman would once again be forced to serve in the Afterdeath. Was it Wichtig or Bedeckt who joked that he should spend more time killing people he liked so as to have friends in the Afterdeath?
Stehlen rose to her feet, eyes cold, face tight with drying tears and blood. A streamer of snot hung swinging from her nose and she wiped that too on her sleeve leaving a smear of brown and yellow. Squaring her shoulders, she set off down the passage, grateful no one stumbled across her during her moment of weakness and wishing someone had so she could kill them for it. Upon finding the kitchen, she stood unnoticed in the door, listening to the two guards she previously met discuss a stupid Geborene spy imprisoned in the tower’s dungeon.
“The idiot doesn’t even have a single scar,” said one. “How could he be a Swordsman?”
“He is missing those two teeth,” said the other.
The old man sighed. “I knocked those out, remember?”
The fat one shrugged.
“Anyway, once Schnitter gets through with him he’ll be nothing but scars.”
“Or he’ll be nothing,” said the fat man.
The two looked ill, like they’d eaten something rancid.
Stehlen grinned and turned away, leaving the men to their dinner. No doubt that was Wichtig they had in the basement. The thought of that perfect face being marred lit a glow of warmth in her chest. For once this cruel shite storm called life made sense. She thought about finding Wichtig, mocking his stupidity at being caught by a couple of morons.
No. Later. A few scars would give the vacuous windbag a little character. Anything that pretty needed to be damaged. Whatever happened to him was far too long coming.
Tomorrow she’d find the Swordsman.
Stehlen returned to her room, slowing as she approached the door. She hesitated, afraid of what she might find within. Had Lebendig already left? Would the room be cold and empty? Clenching her teeth, she pushed the door open and entered.
Lebendig sat perched on the corner of the single cot, sharpening her swords. She glanced up and nodded at Stehlen. There was something in her eyes. Was it happiness?