Chương 2: 01-2: Legacy, Hemp Rope, and Blood

By morning, rain had stopped. Air still clung with cold dampness, laced with sharp resinous bite of hemlock. It stung going into my lungs. Hemlock Town. True to its name, the settlement seemed held aloft by massive hemlock trees. Ancient trunks rose like living pillars—five or six men needed just to wrap arms around one. They speared up into fog so high you could crane back and still not see tops. Streets crowded with army supply wagons and logging crews.

Wagon after wagon of raw logs, bound tight with iron chains, creaked their way along the muddy road out of town. They said all this timber was destined for the front—to shore up forts, build siege engines, or just burn to keep soldiers alive. War was a beast that never got its fill. And this town was clearly caught between its jaws. I led Bruce toward the gate, only to be stopped by the guards. I handed over my iron tag, the one stamped with the Rosa family crest.

Compared to a true coat of arms, it looked more like a cheap, deliberate label made to say one thing: Look. This guy has Rosa blood, but that's all the value he has left. The guard eyed the tag, then took in my battered leather armor, then sized up Bruce, who looked about ready to be mistaken for a fence post. He snorted. The meaning was clear: so this is what House Rosa is putting out these days. Still, he let me through. Even a noble's dog is still more of a dog than any commoner....

I should've been used to those looks by now. But my chest still tightened, just for a moment. The town was noisier than I'd imagined. The sound of axes, horses screaming, wagon wheels slogging through mud, and the babble of a crowd—all of it blurred together. But it didn't take long to notice—nobody was watching the lumber or the soldiers. They were all staring at the raised platform in the center of town. A gallows. Rough hemlock planks, freshly nailed together, still reeking of bark and resin.

The rawness made it seem even more brutal, more direct, more suffocating. My heart lurched. Because I recognized the person standing on the trapdoor. Her. The same girl who'd nearly given me a stroke last night. Her hands were tied behind her back, the rope biting so tight it twisted her shoulders into an ugly angle. Tangled hair covered half her face, but that expression— Even facing a noose, her eyes still shone with that mocking, stubborn defiance. There wasn't a second person in the world like her.

Without thinking, I grabbed a soldier who was watching the show.

"What's going on over there?"

"You mean the little thief?" He spat on the ground, his voice thick with contempt.

"She lifted the cavalry captain's purse. Captain wants to set an example for the new recruits—kill a chicken to scare the monkeys, you know? Slum rat's life is the cheapest lesson there is."

"How much did she steal?" I only noticed how tight my voice was when I heard it. He shrugged.

"One silver coin." My head rang. One silver coin. Last night. The coin I threw at her. So she didn't steal anything. Because I gave her that coin, she got marked, called a thief, and dragged up to die as a warning. It was my fault. The moment that hit me, my stomach felt like I'd taken a punch. Before I knew it, I was pushing through the crowd straight toward the gallows.

"Hey! Who are you?"

"Stop right there!"

"Don't block the show!" People shouted, but I couldn't care less. By the time I stepped onto the platform, the cavalry captain had spotted me. He was built like a bear that had learned to stand. Meat and muscle in thick slabs, a neck that all but fused with his shoulders, jowls trembling with each movement. He had the noose in one hand, looking exactly like a butcher about to string up fresh meat. He glared down at me, frowning.

"What do you want, brat? If you're tired of living, stick your own neck in and stop wasting my time."

"You've made a mistake." I heard the strain in my voice, but forced myself to meet his eyes.

"She didn't steal that coin. I gave it to her." The crowd went oddly quiet for a second. Then the captain's face split in a grin, like I'd just told the best joke of his life.

"Bullshit!" Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. He bellowed, yanking a heavy-backed cleaver from his belt so the tip stopped just shy of my nose. The stink of rust and old grease hit me in the face; I could still see grime caked along the blade.

"You want to stand up for this little thief? Fine. I'll hang you right next to her and see who kicks longer!" Honestly, my knees nearly gave out. Not a figure of speech. They actually almost gave. The scariest thing I'd seen in my life was my eldest brother smiling and calling me "dear brother." But compared to this brute—who might really split my head open without a second thought—my brother felt gentle. Just then, a calm, cold voice cut in from behind.

"Captain, if you please—a moment." A tall, gaunt man climbed onto the platform. He wore a spotless, well-kept robe that clashed with the rough soldiers. Pale skin, hollow cheeks, and worst of all, eyes like a snake waiting in shadow for someone to slip up. He glanced at me, then at the bound girl, and finally spoke, slow and measured.

"If someone has stepped forward to claim the coin was a gift and not stolen property, it would be unwise to proceed with an execution before the facts are clear. If a mistake were made, I imagine it would be... difficult to explain to our superiors." His gaze sharpened, settling on me.

"So then, sir—who are you?" My stomach dropped. Trouble. The last thing I wanted was to use my name here. But if I didn't, this rabid captain might really hang us both just to prove a point. In a place like this, a title is disgusting—but it's the only shield you have. I drew a breath. My voice came out dry and rough.

"Cedric." I hesitated, then forced out the rest.

"Cedric Rosa." The magistrate's eyes shifted immediately.

"Rosa...?" His voice grew careful, probing.

"Margrave Akros Rosa—what is he to you?" I hated this. Hated how the room changed when that name was spoken. Hated that I despised it, but had to cling to it to survive. But I answered anyway.

"He's my father, Your Honor." To drive it home, I drew my battered sword and shoved the crossguard, crest and all, right up for him to see. The sword was a wreck. Old, chipped, barely sharp. But the roaring lion on the guard was real. Not something my brother would have gifted me, just the brand stamped on every piece of Rosa property. Whether I liked it or not, it stuck. The magistrate's eyes flicked from the sword to my face, back and forth. His expression darkened.

He pulled the still-fuming captain aside and whispered something in his ear. The two men huddled at the edge of the platform, throwing suspicious, wary glances my way. I knew what they were thinking. Is this ragged brat really Rosa blood? Unfortunately, yes. I really was. While they were distracted, I darted to her side and used my sword to cut the rope binding her wrists. The hemp snapped. She rolled her wrists, sighing in relief like she'd just gotten up from a nap.

"Well, well. Saved by you again, huh?" She grinned at me, the same infuriating expression from last night—absolutely unchanged.... Does this woman treat a trip to the gallows like a picnic? I kept my voice low, nearly grinding out the words.

"Let me be clear. No matter what happens this time, you're not getting another silver coin from me. Not half of one."

"Ehh—so stingy." She actually looked genuinely disappointed. I almost wanted to tie her up again. The magistrate returned, his face set in a professional smile that made my skin crawl.

"It appears this was all a misunderstanding," he said, slow and smooth, as if the near-hanging were a trivial bookkeeping error.

"Though I must say, I'm curious—why would someone of Lord Rosa's standing take such interest in a slum girl?" A chill ran down my spine. I couldn't tell the truth. If he found out I'd rushed up here because of a guilty conscience over a coin, I'd look like an idiot. Worse, people here don't understand such things—they only see weakness. And they always use that. So I did the only thing I could. I lied, and hated myself for it.

"... Nothing much." I put on my best bored, snobbish look.

"Man's allowed to chase a bit of fun now and then, right? She's with me. I'll deal with her myself." The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to crawl into a hole. Awful. Absolutely awful. What kind of third-rate sleazeball noble even says things like that? But the crowd below seemed to get it instantly, shooting me knowing, sleazy looks. Even the magistrate gave a meaningful smile—"Ah, so that's the kind of man you are"—and left it at that.... Amazing.

Here, being mistaken for scum is actually safer than being taken for a good person. I grabbed her wrist and headed off the platform. She followed along, a little too well—quiet, perfectly obedient, like she really was some noble brat's new plaything. The looks we got grew weirder with every step. The moment we finally broke away from the crowd and slipped into the shadows of the hemlock trees, I let go of her wrist like I'd been burned. No good. We couldn't stay here.

That magistrate wasn't the type to let things slide. He'd probably have a letter riding for Rosa territory before sunset, checking whether this suddenly appearing "son of Rosa" was genuine. Once my actual situation came to light, the problems would multiply endlessly. I had to leave. Now. Immediately. I'd barely turned toward Bruce when her voice drifted from behind me.

"Little lordling." I nearly jumped out of my skin. Spinning around, I found her still following me, looking like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Why are you still here?"

"Where else would I be?" She blinked, crossed her arms, and tilted her head at me.

"I'm homeless, I almost got hanged, and you just announced to a crowd full of people that I'm your woman. Aren't you going to take responsibility?"

"That was only—" Only to save you! The words almost burst out—but remembering those sleazy looks from the crowd, I swallowed them back down. She watched me choke on my own unfinished sentence, and the corner of her mouth curled up. But this time, the mischievous edge was softer, replaced by something I hadn't seen from her before. Sincerity.

"Little lordling, you short a traveling companion?" she asked simply.

"My name's Jessi. You've saved me twice now." She reached up and pushed the tangled hair off her forehead with a careless flick. Her face was still smudged with grime, but her eyes were startlingly, stubbornly clear.

"I'm not great at paying back money," she said.

"But a life debt? That one I actually settle." I stared at her, genuinely at a loss for words. The rational choice—the obvious choice—was to get on Bruce and ride away without looking back. This girl was trouble incarnate. Dangerous, light-fingered, chaos-prone, with a tongue sharp enough to draw blood. Taking her along was, by any measure, a catastrophically bad idea. But what flashed through my mind instead was last night's fire.

Her face across the flames, those eyes burning with something wild and impossible to look away from. And just now on the gallows—wind-pale but refusing to bow her head even with death hanging above her.... I must be genuinely unwell. Seriously, terminally unwell. I ran my hand along Bruce's coarse mane and let out a low breath.

"Just don't get me killed," I said.

"And my name is Cedric. Stop calling me little lordling."

"Got it, little lordling." She answered without missing a beat.

"... You're doing that on purpose."

"Yep." She grinned shamelessly, not even bothering to pretend otherwise. A vein throbbed at my temple. I was about to snap back when her eyes suddenly lit up, like she'd just remembered her favorite toy.

"Oh right, right—what was it you said up on the platform? You were out chasing a bit of fun?" The next second, she burst into delighted laughter.

"HAHAHAHA—You? Last night you turned red as a boiled shrimp just from me lifting my skirt an inch, and you're telling people you're hunting for thrills? I bet you've never even held a girl's hand!"

"You—!" My entire face went up in flames.

"I knew I shouldn't have saved you!"

"Relax, little lordling." She stepped forward, deliberately leaning close to my ear. Her voice dropped to that low, teasing register that sent shivers straight down my spine.

"I'll take very good care of that precious innocence of yours." I choked on my own breath. Does this girl have any idea what she's saying?!

"Say one more word and I swear I'll tie you up with this rope!" I roared back, equal parts furious and mortified, my hand flying to the hemp rope hanging from the saddle. Her gaze dropped straight to my hand. Her smile spread slow and dangerous. That look gave me an immediate, visceral sense of impending doom.

"Oh?" She drew the syllable out, savoring it.

"So that's what little lordling is into?"

"You—shut up!"

"Aww, are you embarrassed?"

"Get lost!" Jessi's laughter exploded through the hemlock forest, startling a cluster of birds into flight with a burst of wings. I stood there, face burning, both hands clenched around the rope that had originally been meant for my own neck—and for the first time, I genuinely thought: This thing might actually be more useful for strangling someone else. Though if that someone was Jessi, she'd probably drive me to my grave before I managed it.... And what was worse.

I watched her standing there in the tree-shadow, grinning like a feral cat that had stolen something shiny— And somewhere deep in my chest, I already knew. From the moment I drove my sword into that man and turned to see her eyes— This exile of mine had stopped being a road I walked alone. **