Home/I confined you, but I have no ill will/ch 64

64.

Ibelin prepared thoroughly for the journey into the barren land—comfortable clothes, rations, medicine, weapons. Kite's preparation was similar. Other knights offered to join, but he refused—a larger party might be spotted by Vallak's forces.

"Kahn's tribe is this way."

A returning Intelligence agent provided generous information, so they wouldn't get lost.

"Can you read a compass?"

"Yes!"

"Is there anything you can't do?"

"Embroidery."

She confessed shyly.

"Good—ready to go?"

"Yes."

"One more thing before we leave."

She tilted her head.

"My portrait—don't forget you promised to paint it."

"Why bring that up now?"

"In case someone runs away afterward—I wouldn't want to miss it."

"I'll paint it."

She shook her head, exasperated.

They left the fortress city and stepped into barbarian territory. The soil was as poor as rumored.

"No wonder farming is impossible."

"This is actually better—with fertilizer, potatoes and sweet potatoes grow. It gets worse further in."

"Because of the Deadlands?"

"That's what everyone believes."

"Can't we remove it?"

"There are still mysteries there beyond our control."

She imagined the unseen Deadlands as they walked. There were no problems—Kite was familiar with the North, and Ibelin kept up remarkably well.

"Thanks to climbing the back mountain?"

She nodded.

"Yes—it was steep and rough, with bears, so only hunters were allowed. Healers sometimes got hurt."

"And you caught that bear?"

"I was young—I didn't know bears were supposed to be scary."

She replied shyly. Still, seeing one should have made her think—she was bold.

They walked and talked. At night, they dug a pit to sleep in; digging multiple pits was too tiring, so they shared one.

Of course, Ibelin initially objected.

"How can I sleep with a man!"

"So we should spend more energy digging another? We need to conserve strength."

Calmly, he persuaded her—and succeeded in pulling her close. Some might call it underhanded, but he couldn't think of another way.

Ibelin was too dense to notice how his attitude had changed. He'd become more honest and gentle with her, doing things lovers do—but she took it all as pretense.

Unfortunately.

They lay side by side in the sleeping bag.

"It's big."

She said awkwardly.

"Did you plan this?"

He'd packed only one sleeping bag.

"No—I left the other by mistake."

"Of all things to forget."

As if. He smiled fondly at her grumbling—every move was endearing.

"By the way, Ibelin."

"Yes?"

"Do you have a type?"

"What type?"

"For a future spouse—what kind of person?"

Her face flushed red; even in the dark, he could tell.

"Black hair—short. And brown eyes."

"Short hair is rare among nobles."

Knights sometimes cut theirs, but long hair was considered noble.

"That's a unique preference."

"I'd prefer a civil official—safer."

He mulled over her words—and realized everything was the opposite of him. Of all things, her type was that? Listening made his chest tight.

She'd been avoiding him, acting strange—and now this hurt.

"You're cruel."

A sigh escaped. Startled, she looked at him.

"W-what?"

"Any chance of changing your type?"

"My type?"

"Yes—like a military man. A trained knight would protect family best. And why not blond? It sparkles beautifully in the sun. Nobles should have long hair."

She looked troubled.

"Your type isn't ordinary."

"That's why I like it."

"You really do?"

"Yes."

Her answer was firm.

"Good."

He nodded. To win her love, the road ahead seemed long. At least he'd need to change her type—or surpass it with overwhelming feeling.

"This won't be easy."

She misinterpreted.

"It certainly isn't."

"Right."

Love is difficult.

---

She'd improvised well. Ibelin wriggled, trying not to touch him.

They were battlefield comrades—sharing a bed meant nothing. But her heart wouldn't listen. When he pulled her close because she'd be cold, it nearly leaped into her throat. Why did she keep thinking this?

It's because of the prophecy!

Or maybe just a dream. But since seeing that future, she hadn't been at peace—even after arriving at the fortress. No matter how she meditated, it kept coming back.

She was seeing Kite differently. She shouldn't—they could never be together. And he didn't even like her—how embarrassing to pine alone. So sleep wouldn't come.

Exhaustion finally let her drift off near dawn—but it wasn't restful.

---

Ibelin woke to sunlight, morning already. The other side of the sleeping bag was empty. Had she overslept? She crawled out and looked up—frozen.

"Lord Kite?"

"What?"

"Your hair—where did it go!"

His beautiful golden hair, once falling to his waist, was now cropped to his nape. It didn't diminish his looks, but she was shocked—a noble of such high blood cutting his hair!

Why?

His large hand swept over his bare nape.

"It was in the way, so I cut it."

You shouldn't have! She had much to say but couldn't.

Dazed, she folded the sleeping bag and filled the pit. Then she dipped bread into the stew Kite had made.

Back   Next