Chapter 55 Chapter 54: The Grim and Permanent Reality
Time stretched and warped in my stone dish. I could hear them now, their voices filtering up from directly below me. Sylvan voices, sharp and guttural, getting closer. Please, I prayed to any god that might be listening in this forsaken place, let me not have left a trail of blood, a scrap of fabric, any sign that I am up here. Trapped with no way out, I was a mouse in a cup, waiting for the hawk to look in.
The individual words crystallized into sentences. "She can't have got far," one grunted. And another, laced with a vile, familiar sneer: "The whore is probably being fucked in a bush somewhere." I recognized the voice, it was one of the weasel-faced aides, Sina or Argo, the one who had whispered the threat earlier. But did it matter who, as long, as they passed beneath me and moved on?
Mercifully, those voices faded, their footsteps receding into the rustle of leaves. For a few heartbeats, there was only the sound of my own terror. Then, new voices reached me. It took a moment for my brain to switch gears, but I realized they were speaking Common.
"...where is she?" one asked, tone clipped and professional.
Then, closer now, a voice I knew. "We won't find her. She will find us. I must admit, she is an asset. Crafty..."
Was that... Saul?
And then a voice boomed out, echoing through the garden paths. "Nanda... Nanda Stone! Come out, it's safe now!"
That was undeniably Lord Vincent's voice. So, it was Saul. They were here. My protectors. But a kernel of hardened suspicion, forged in the last hour of blood and betrayal, made me hesitate. Was it a trick? A lure?
I carefully, ever so slowly, crawled to the lip of the dish and peaked over. The scene below was one of organized chaos. Several groups of soldiers in different uniforms were combing the area. But right underneath me, standing in the shadow of the statues, were Lord Vincent and Saul. And Saul now carried a heavy machine gun slung across his chest, his stance that of a man who had just cleared a battlefield.
Did I trust them? I didn't know about Lord Vincent, with his performative bluster and lying hands. But Saul... I thought of him screaming at me to run in Ovan, buying me time at his own peril. I thought I trusted Saul.
"Don't shoot!" I called out, my voice hoarse from panting and fear. "Up here!"
I slowly stood up, my body aching, my skirt stiff with drying blood. The moment I saw the look on Lord Vincent's face, all my doubts about him vanished. It wasn't political relief; it was raw, human, unfeigned. The colour had drained from his face, and his eyes were wide with a fear that had now broken into a wave of pure, staggering relief. I knew in that instant I could trust him now, and forever.
Saul just smiled, a rare, genuine crack in his granite features, and let out a short, breathy laugh. "Come down, Nanda," he said, his voice steady and sure. "It's over. You did well."
The climb down was harder than the climb up, my muscles turning to jelly as the adrenaline receded. I let go from the last two meters, landing awkwardly but safely in Lord Vincent's outstretched arms. He staggered slightly but held me fast, his grip firm and real. He pulled me into a deep, long embrace, and I could feel the frantic beating of his heart against my chest. He buried his face in my hair, and I could have sworn I felt the hot track of a tear against my temple as he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, directly into my ear, "Thank you for staying alive."
BANG, BANG, BANG.
The sudden, deafening burst from Saul's machine gun made me jump nearly out of my skin, a violent flinch that pressed me deeper into Lord Vincent's chest. "We got her! She's alive!" Saul bellowed, his voice cutting through the garden like a clarion call.
The effect was instantaneous. Soldiers from all directions merged on our position, forming a protective ring around us, their weapons facing outward. The security bubble was immediate, but the threat wasn't just outside.
Zeb, Sina, and Argo broke through the ring, their faces a mixture of staged concern and poorly concealed fury. Zeb spoke first, his voice a silken, venomous lie. "We are very happy to see you alive." The words were flat, devoid of any genuine emotion. "We are going to need to ask you a few questions," he declared, taking a deliberate step towards me.
He never got a second.
Saul's machine gun came up in a flash, the barrel now pointing directly at Zeb's chest. At the same time, Lord Vincent's voice erupted in a protective roar. "You will do no such thing! This is your mess, your security failure! You deal with it. Nanda is here as a diplomat, and she answers only to me and to Polli-Nation!" I saw the pure, unadulterated hate flash in Zeb's eyes, a predator denied its prey. But whatever he was tempted to do, the unwavering black eye of Saul's gun trained on him lessened his appetite for a confrontation.
Almost without my conscious thought, the knife I had carried was now clenched tightly in my hand, my body coiling taut, ready for a fight even within this circle of supposed safety.
"Then at least hand over that weapon," Zeb said carefully, his eyes flicking to the blood-stained blade.
"No," I spat out, the word a guttural threat, a promise of more violence if he tried. "It's mine."
"You heard her," Saul said, his voice low and dangerous. "Now leave us be and escort us home. Now."
The walk back to the vehicles was an eternity of pain and exhaustion. My bare feet, cut and bloody, were raw against the cold, unforgiving stone. We were almost alone, the three of us, Vincent, Saul, and me, moving in a pocket of silence in the middle of an armed corridor of soldiers.
We walked in silence at first, a heavy, shared quiet. I think they were letting me preserve what little energy I had left, allowing me to simply put one foot in front of the other.
"Chup-chup," I finally managed to ask, the name a sharp stab of guilt.
"He's badly injured," Saul answered, his tone factual but not without a thread of respect. "But he might make it. He fought hard."
"I think he saved my life."
"No," Saul countered, his gaze scanning the path ahead. "I have seen the tracks and the bodies you left behind. He might have helped, but it was you who saved your life." He looked at me then, a long, measuring glance, as if seeing me for the first time. "Unarmed, you took out four targets in enemy country, while under pursuit of I don't know how many. That wasn't luck."
"I am armed now," I said, my fingers tightening on the knife's grip.
"Yes," he replied, a grim understanding in his eyes. "I know. With or without the knife, Nanda, you will always be armed. Remember this day."
Whether through sheer exhaustion, shock, or something else, the rest is a blur. I don't remember the final steps to the portys, or the tense, silent ride back to the compound. I only came back to myself standing in the waterdrop, watching the water at my feet turn from crimson to a pale, sickening pink as the blood and mud of the garden swirled down the drain. The steaming water needled my skin, massaging me awake, not to comfort, but to the grim and permanent reality of what I had done, and what I had become.