Dawn breaks pale and cold over Al-Mirkat, the horizon a thin blade of silver cutting the desert sky. You and the Baroness ride in silence, the hooves of your horses drumming out a rhythm that feels heavier with each passing mile. She keeps her veil drawn low, her gaze fixed ahead, as if the road itself could swallow her whole.
By midday the dust gives way to scattered pines and sharp stone ridges. The air tastes cleaner, almost sharp. It should feel like progress, yet the Baroness slows her horse. When you rein in beside her, she finally speaks.
“This is where I leave you.” Her voice is steady, but there’s something beneath it—fatigue, perhaps, or fear.
You stare at her. “Leave me? After all this? You swore Moravice was your concern as much as mine.”
Her eyes meet yours for the first time since dawn. “And it is. But my path cannot remain bound to yours. Not now. There are debts on my house that cannot be ignored, and enemies who would use me against you. If I ride further, I place both of us in chains.”
You feel the words like cold iron around your chest. “So you’ll vanish? Just like that?”
The Baroness draws a sealed letter from her saddlebag, pressing it into your hand. The wax bears her crest, the sigil of her family. “Take this. There are allies in Moravice who still remember the old loyalties. They will aid you, if you ask in my name.”
For a heartbeat, she hesitates—as if she might say more, might stay. But then she urges her horse down a side trail without looking back.
You remain, letter in hand, staring after her until the dust swallows her figure.
…..
One Comment