Driven By Instinct

13 - Duality

Dinner was a lifeless affair.

The inn was serving rabbit stew for four copper a bowl and vegetable stew for two. Just before Constantine and Vica had left him behind upon entering the dining area on the first floor, Oren - Vica had asked the bootboy his name on the way down - calmly advised avoiding all meats from their kitchens. He didn't explain, and Constantine had given him a long, discerning look. Oren had stared back for several seconds and then informed him that they had arrived with a helpful point at the large, open, and very obvious dining hall in front of them.

When they were seated, Constantine asked the server for two bowls of their vegetable stew. He and Vica ate in silence. Oren was waiting for them when they left, and he separated himself from several other waifish youths huddled in a corner to guide them back to their room. Any clothes needing washing could be dropped into the basket by their bed, he explained when they were inside. The communal baths were a short walk across the street. The market, also close by. A stable if they were interested in acquiring horses, weavers, blacksmiths. A cartographer had recently moved into town as well and opened shop. He concluded his detached, practiced spiel by informing them there was an acrobat troupe performing in the market square at seven.

"Are they any good?" Constantine asked.

Oren looked him up and down. "No."

"That's all. We'll be out shortly."

Vica watched as the elf turned and left the room without so much as a nod at Constantine's dismissal. The door latched shut behind him but remained unlocked.

"Vica, come here."

Her eyes darted to the opposite side of the room where Constantine sat at the foot of the bed. She hesitated only fractionally, nearly imperceptibly; after all this time, she was nearly in the habit of obeying him almost naturally. The less reason she gave him to be irritated the better.

That didn't mean she breathed easy this close to him.

"Turn."

She felt fingers lift and part some of her black tresses, gingerly prod the pink patches and scabs on the back of her head that had yet to heal. Vica clenched her jaw when Constantine's thumb ran over something particularly painful.

"Don't let it get infected. No healers." She felt his hands leaving her hair, and a second later the husk mattress rustled under the shifting of his weight. It didn't seem like he was done talking; she didn't turn back around to face him, but she did remain where she stood. "If anyone tries to speak to you, I'll do the talking. Understand?"

"Yes."

"And Vica." She didn't resist when Constantine turned her with a hand on her shoulder until he was looking into her face. "Keep your head down while we're out," he said. When she nodded mutely, he took her chin into his forefinger and thumb. "I'm serious. Don't be a hero."

Vica stared back, uncomprehending - a hero? What did he mean? Was he intending to do something to the people here in town? Was he telling her to keep quiet if he did? Something stirred inside her underneath the battered conviction to avoid any more disputes with Constantine. It was one thing if he was only abusing his strength against her, but if he had similar intentions toward others, was she supposed to just watch? How could he expect that from her? From anyone?

And then she remembered the bruises his fingers had left on her narrow hips two weeks ago. They had healed by now, but she remembered the pain just the same. 

"You're going to see a lot worse than displaced elf boys slaving in filth for food and shelter," Constantine told her. "Not everyone can be saved. And you can't save anyone." 

She didn't know what to say to that, but it seemed he didn't expect an answer.

He motioned at the door. "Go get your elf. You need clothes for the winter."

-------

Vica had never handled coin before. Even in her home village, everyone had bartered for what they needed or simply helped whoever needed it. In her travels, she'd been repaid with kindnesses, warm meals, and beds for her services, and she had accepted it all gratefully. It was the company of kind souls she sought more than anything else; after all, she was accustomed to procuring her own food and crafting her own shelter while moving in the wilderness.

Kindnesses didn't seem to amount to anything here in Winding Oaks. The coin was lord and master. No coin, no nothing - not even food or the warmth of a shawl. How did people live like this? she wondered, and then jumped when she felt something brush against her leg through her cloak. She turned to see an old man sitting on the ground, half-risen from where he must have been leaning against the wall. She gaped when she saw he had no hands; he had used the stumps of his wrists to paw at her. "Please," he croaked, his voice as chipped as the old bricks of the building behind him. "Food -"

She stumbled with the hard yank around her arm from the opposite side, nearly tripping and hitting the ground. "Keep up," she heard Constantine say as he dragged her forward until she found her footing again. Vica glanced back, but couldn't see the beggar anymore through the other market-goers crowding behind her. She faced forward again only to catch Oren's eyes.

"The militia cuts off a hand for thievery," he said coolly. "He got caught twice."

She swallowed and looked away.

Darkness began falling around them in short order, but not before they finally reached their destination. Constantine rifled through the winter wear on display from stall to stall and tossed his selections to Oren to carry. Vica had quietly taken them from the elf in turn. He didn't object. Following Constantine's lead, they carried on from vendor to vendor, and soon the roadway lit up with flickering torch lights. With nighttime, however, the street only grew more congested, and Vica found herself being jostled with every step. The acrobats were setting up, Oren explained. The market would remain packed until midnight tonight.

Vica had just heaved and pushed through a gaggle of youngsters who had nearly run her over when she collided with Constantine nose-to-chest at full force - and ended up on the ground. She hadn't known that he had stopped and turned around, and for what reason Vica couldn't guess. Would he order her to stick closer? He would have to go slower then. She'd tried to keep up, even forgoing apologies to the unwitting men and woman she had accidentally elbowed while passing them.

"I said, what do you want?"

Vica hadn't risen to her feet yet, still crouched on the ground and gathering up the heavy clothes that had flown out of her hands when she fell. She hurriedly began gathering them up, hand darting between the stampede of feet that threatened to stomp on the clothing. "What?" she asked, still distracted but giving Constantine at least a part of her attention now.

"What else do you want from here, Vica." He seemed unconcerned by what had just happened, but she hadn't expected his help anyway. Oren appeared at her side instead, his slender fingers snatching up the last article, a tunic, just before someone's boot found it.

"Nothing," she answered quickly. Now that the disorientation from the collision was wearing off and she no longer felt harried in her frantic retrieval of the dropped clothing, she began to process the strangeness of the assassin asking such a question. She didn't think it a good idea to comment on it, nonetheless. She turned to tugged lightly on the tunic in Oren's hand, and he released it to her without objection. "Thank you."

The boy didn't reply, opting to swiftly stand and reach down to help Vica to her feet as well. She smiled, took his hand, began rising - and then froze, still half-crouched, staring at something she had seen behind the elf.

"Vica?" Constantine narrowed his eyes. He could feel her magic stirring, but it wasn't fear he detected. It was something else, but what, he didn't know. The expression she wore, too, seemed more shocked or perhaps confused than anything else. "Vica -"

He felt it the instant her shock turned to horror, and his hand shot down to catch her by the wrist before she could spring away. He hit Oren's arm instead - he narrowed his eyes, that had seemed almost intentional - and cursed when the clothes Vica had just gathered fell at his boots. He immediately stepped over them and pursued Vica through the crowd, pushing away the people who only seemed to get in his way over and over again while they parted for the woman.

"Vica!" he shouted. She wasn't far, only a few paces ahead of him, but even now he could only catch glimpses of her dark hair flying behind her. He slammed past the last person in his way, ignoring their pained cry, and reached for her -

And saw Vica curled into herself on the ground, legs folded under her in a kneel and with her forehead in the dirt.