Chapter 23: 23. When We Fall

 

 

- ARELLIA -

 

I bury my face into Dillon's back and squeeze my arms tightly around his waist as we ride away from the only place I have ever known. His palms are calloused and rough. He holds my hands tightly against his abdomen, afraid that perhaps I will fall off. His fingers are entwined with mine. Despite the sweat, I cannot bring myself to let go.

I have never ridden a horse before but I never imagined it to be as rough as this. But, I am thankful for the pain in my bottom and thighs as without it, my mind wanders back to Vasilis and the warden. To the horrific image of the warden's arms sizzling. The pungent stench of burning flesh. To the sound of Vasilis' blade as it pierced flesh and bone and Yhana's body falling into the mud. To Ermund's screams. How many more deaths must I endure?

I squeeze my eyes shut and try to distract myself by studying the surroundings; the flora out here beyond the castle is completely unfamiliar to me. Light grey clouds blanket the sky, blocking the intense heat. But, the humidity remains. The grass in the royal gardens was bright green and vivid, but out here they are yellow and pale, dry and lifeless under the sun. The landscape is mostly sand and rocks. If there was grass, it grew in patches along the sides of rocks in short spiky blades.

The horse slows from a sprint into a gallop. We have been riding for an hour or so, slowing down when Dillon feels that the horse may be tiring. I am not sure how he is able to tell. I cannot bring myself to look back as I am scared of what I will see. My brother's army? The palace? The faces of those I have left behind?

As we make pace down a dirt road, I notice finally that the mare has slowed considerably. Shock and adrenaline wear off and the pain in my arm comes back which such a force that I cannot contain my tears. I squeeze Dillon's hand and notice that his grip has loosened, his body sways slightly to the left.

"D-Dillon?" I mutter but he does not reply. My heart speeds. But, before I am able to call his name again, Dillon's weight shifts and he falls to the side. I try to hold him in place, but he is too large and heavy.

I yelp and panic as he falls to the ground stirring up dust. The mare whinnies and raises its front legs and suddenly, I feel myself sliding backwards, unable to grasp the reins. I scream when I am suddenly thrown off the horse. I land painfully on my back and elbows. Dust and sand are kicked over me as the horse gallops a short distance away, clearly spooked.

With a groan, I crawl over to him. Dillon is pale and drenched in sweat. I shake him lightly, praying that he opens his eyes, but he trembles as though he is cold. I feel a pang of guilt shoot through me. Not many are willing to fight for someone they hardly know, yet Dillon has followed me. I am not a fool to think that he has no ulterior motives for doing so. I understand he did so to save himself from execution. But, who can save him now? I do not know how to treat wounds. I am also injured. I touch the shallow cut at my neck and pick at the dried blood. Guilt lies heavy on my conscience as I stare at him. 

I feel a sob building within me. I feel helpless. Even out here, I must rely on another. I grab the dirt in my hands and weep as frustration rises. I do not even know how to ride a horse. If Dillon perishes here, what can I do? Where can I go? I know nothing of this world, nothing beyond what was written in old crumbling scrolls and dusty books.

"Please, Dillon, wake up!" I place a hand on his forehead and neck. His skin is sticky and hot. His chest rises and falls softly, reminding me of Enka as she lay injured in that wretched chamber. Where I left her alone to die and rot. I bury my face in my hands and sob.

"S-save your tears," Dillon mutters and I snap my gaze to him, surprised. "You will need all the moisture in your body for our travel. Don't waste them on me."

A long-winded groan escapes his lips as Dillon turns over and pushes himself up on his hands and elbows. He is shaking and weak. I wrap my arms around his chest and heave him up, gritting my teeth at his weight.

"Who says my tears are for you, mercenar-" I am cut off as Dillon collapses on top of me with a grunt. His sharp jaw rests on my shoulder. He moans softly in pain. I am not sure what to do, so I haul his body as close as I can to the horse. But, I am weak, my legs are in searing pain from the exercise. My breaths are hard and uneven. My knees shake and I fall to the ground after a couple of steps, defeated. I am drenched in sweat. Any strength I had are now lost, along with any hope of survival.

"Wake up! Dillon!" I shake him again, desperate. Dillon blinks as though even this small act is painful.

"We need to keep moving and find water," He croaks softly. "First, take off my boots." I hesitate at the odd request and stare down at him.

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"The longer you sit there, the quicker they get here. Please," He coughs. "I'm in a lot of pain."

I had forgotten while fleeing from the dungeons that Dillon was a victim of torture; the image of him wrapping cloth around his feet came rushing back. I have not seen the wounds myself as he tended to them out of my sight.

I crawl down to his feet and start fiddling with the lace. The knot is small and complicated. My hands shake and the wound in my arm throbs. I have never untied laces before. Filled to the brim with frustration at my own vexatious incompetency, I grunt.

"Arellia, any day now," Dillon calls and I hear a shuffling of garments. From my peripheral vision, I see him sitting up, leaning on his elbows, pain etched across his sharp features. I grit my teeth.

Shut up, mercenary. The words come to mind and almost to my lips, unbidden. But, I hold my tongue. Considering my upbringing, I should be better at concealing my emotions. But freedom– without the fear that father, my handmaids and Vasilis are watching my every move– had severely diminished my self-control.

After a few attempts at undoing the knot, the laces fall free and I pull the boot from his feet. Dillon groans loudly, teeth gritted. The cloth wrapped around his feet is soaked in blood and in blotches, I see the yellowy stain of pus and discharge from the wound. The stench is enough to make me lightheaded. I fumble at the laces on the other boot and soon, it slides off him.

"We have to move," Dillon tells me. I stare at him, incredulous. How can he move when his feet are mangled? How would he walk? There is no way to get on a horse with his feet so injured. I cannot lift him as he is twice my size.

"Don't look at me like that, come," He reaches out a trembling hand. I stand, pick up his boots and take his outstretched hand. With my remaining strength, I hoist him up. He wraps an arm around my shoulder and slowly, we walk to the horse.

Dillon limps beside me, his uneven breaths are loud in my ears but he does not groan or make a sound. When we reach the horse, Dillon strokes its side gently to calm it down.

"Good girl," He whispers. He lets me go and grabs the reins. "You get on first, princess."

"I-I don't know how to ride a horse!"

"You won't need to. I'll hold the reins but if I fall off like last time, I won't take you down with me," He coughs and waves a hand, urging me to climb. I suppress my retort and pull myself on top of the horse. But, my legs do not reach so Dillon lifts my thighs. I kick my leg over and straddle the mare. I look at him apologetically, but he pays me no heed as he pulls himself up behind me with deceptive ease.

"Fuck!" He grunts softly and lets out a long breath. Dillon wraps his arms under mine and grabs the reins.

"Are you hurt?" I ask him softly.

"No need to worry, princess. I won't die that easily," Dillon squeezes the horse's side with his thighs. I feel the movement on my legs and clench my jaw. The closeness makes me uncomfortable and awkward. If Dillon feels the same, he does not show it. My stomach churns as I feel his hands graze the top of my thighs. But, before I can think about it further, the horse starts to trot.

"Bear it a little longer," His voice is gentle in my ears. But, it does not take away my discomfort. Every time he touches me, I feel my skin crawl. I want to push him off. I want to scream. But, the only thing I do is cry quietly into my hand. I feel a light breeze on my back as he leans away from me, creating space. But, it does not help as I feel worse than before.

As we ride through fields and rocky landscape, I sob quietly, ashamed of my conflicting emotions.

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