It had been a while since he had been allowed to dawn such attire, and even as such, it was still a representation of the church- or more pointedly, the order of St. Agratha. But the white and blue colors fit him wonderfully, bringing out the brilliant shade of his eyes. And it had been ages since his hair had been tended to in such a way. And he couldn't lie- he loved the feeling of his freshly combed locks. They felt like curls of silk. And he felt so clean.
And he adored his cologne. It had been ages since he could wear any. And he might have put just an ounce spray too much when he put it on. Even still, the event was one of grandeur, and to show his face here helped provide not only a good face for the church, but his order as well-
And his parents, who could not attend, wished him well. But as the night went on, Kentamin felt himself begin to sweat beneath his clothes. His collar was too tight, his boots, too hot, and he had to step away from the ballroom to get some fresh air. Thankful for the crisp, evening air on the veranda, he paused beside the stone ledge that looked over the gardens, and peered over at a few flowering, vining plants that were crawling up the side. They were small, delicate white flowers, and when a sudden gust of wind swept through, it carried a few of the delicate flowers away, up and up into the air until they all but disappeared into the oncoming twinkling of stars. It was then his eyes caught sight of a woman in blue. She had delicate blonde hair, and fair skin-
and from where he was leaning, she looked absolutely stunning and he had no idea he was staring.
Constance Carwick, the 'lady in blue' in question, had not yet noticed Kentamin or his gaze. Constance was busy feeling anxious. Wondering if Dwight would come back. Wondering what she would tell him, how she might be able to persuade him to leave. She was not, very intentionally, thinking about what she still had to do tonight.
But someone else had noticed Kentamin and his gaze.
The plump ( and 'plump' was quite the generous word for her) old woman clucked delightedly to herself. Nothing like young love! Well, she thought, looking twice at the young man in question. Maybe not love, not for a priest! But surely even a priest couldn't be faulted for the affections of his youth! There was no real harm in that. So she elbowed the lady next to her, of similar age but opposite appearance: she was tallish and thin and frail as a rail. A moments of whispering transpired between them before, quite pleased with themselves, they bobbed over to poor, unsuspecting Kentamin.
"All alone tonight, young lord?" the plump lady asked, barely able to contain her self-satisfied smile.
"How sad!" the thin woman agreed, "to be a handsome young man like yourself without even a partner for a dance!"
"Very sad!" the plump lady agreed. They were narrowing in on him now. Encircling him. There'd be no escape for poor Kentamin Dhelsbar! "Oh but look!" the plump lady exclaimed as if she were only just now noticing, "there is poor Lady Bryony! Also all alone, too!"
"Oh, now that's sad," thin lady said with a shake of her bird-like head, "with all the tragedy that's befallen her family, too. What a sad, sad thing for her to be left all alone. Who knows what glum thoughts she must be left with."
"Oh, I know!" said plump woman in a voice painfully staged. If they had any interest in Kentamin talking, they certainly didn't show it! "You should make her acquaintance! Surely a handsome young priest like yourself, and from a good family, surely that's just the company poor young Bryony needs!"
"Oh, what I a good idea!" thin lady agreed quickly. "I'll go get here!"
And just like that, she was off. In case Kentamin had any ideas of taking off himself, plump lady gripped vice-like onto his arm and busily told him over and over just how handsome he was! And it wasn't a moment before, like a rare flower or a prize mare or something else meant to be silent and looked over, Constance Carwick was presented to Kentamin, looking a bit startled herself at the forceful manner she'd been brought there.
And who was she being presented to! Constance's green eyes - which, with the dress and in the lighting, might pass for her cousin's blue - widened just a little when she saw Kentamin. A strange combination of anger and amusement coursed through her. Of course, they should meet like this! But Constance wasn't going to give herself away in front of the old meddling women. And maybe the templar wouldn't recognize the clean, made-up and finely-dressed young lady before him as the dirty rebel in the cave. It seemed like a stretch, but he'd proven pretty stupid so far.
So when the thin lady introduced her as Lady Bryony, Constance bobbed a curtsy and, casting her eyes shyly to the ground, said a dutiful, "M'lord."
Despite his attempts to escape their social entrapment, and to keep down his blush, Kentamin soon found himself before the lady, and though he was staring at her before, now he was down right stunned. She was even more beautiful close up, but even in his stupor, his mind still recognized the name.
"Byrony?" And his mind immediately went to the other....
Constance. And a spark of recognition, and confusion, sparked within his gaze. Byrony? Had she always looked so much like her cousin? Realizing he was staring, he returned her curtsy with a bow.
"Lady Byrony. I don't think we've ever had the pleasure... I am Lord Kentamin Dhelsbar, templar and knight of the church."
Constance saw the recognition in Kentamin’s eyes, but she couldn’t tell if he actually recognized her. Anyway, if he was going to keep pretending she was her cousin, she certainly wasn’t going to stop pretending!
So instead she looked down and corrected bashfully, “It’s - ah - Bryony, actually. Like the flower. And we probably haven’t met before. I’m, well,” she forced a blush, “not usually invited to such grand parties. But now… well, someone from the family had to come.”
Even as she said them, sweetly and innocently, if sadly, Olive had to keep back a wave of nausea. They were all dead.
She glanced shyly up at him again - was Bryony still shy? she wondered… it had been so many years since she’d seen her cousin - and her eyes widened in awe. “A templar?” she repeated, clearly impressed. Or, sounding impressed, anyway. In reality, the very word made acid bubble in her stomach. “That must be a… a very important and dangerous path to follow. Especially now. You must be very brave, m’lord.”
The more flattered Kentamin was, she was sure, the less critical of an eye he’d cast on her. And the safer she’d be. All the same, it was hard to say the words without laughing. Or scowling.
The young templar remain rigid, his posture astute, as he continued to study the lady before him. He couldn't brush off what he recognized, but it was best not to be foolish and jump to any conclusions. So with a brisk nod, he affirmed, "Yes, it is not without it's trials, I assure you. But I dedicated my life to Angsar's will, and to the land he has fought for. And in his honor, so shall I."
"Oh, aren't you modest!"
The rotund old woman was only too happy to cut the silence building between the two young people. After all, it was a ball! Attractive young people shouldn't be standing around alone in silence! Of course, the young man was a priest, but, well... it was a ball, after all!
"She's right," the skinny old lady chipped in, smiling encouragingly at the two, "you should take some credit for yourself, my lord! Not every man can rise to such a high, exalted rank."
Olive had to surprise a snort of laughter. High and exalted, indeed! But instead she did her best to smile shyly at Kentamin and the two older women. She was about to excuse herself to go find Rodderick or Dwight or anyone else, but just then music wafted out into the garden from the quartet inside.
"Oh, there we go!" the first, portly woman said delightedly, clapping her hands together. "You young people must, just must!, give us a dance!"
Kentamin had all but put the women's comments on hold, or rather ignore, as those blue eyes of his continued to study the lady before him. It just gnawed at him the resemblance, but this couldn't be Constance Carwick...
Could it?
But when the music started and the women all cooed like a flock of gulls being fed bread, he only bowed deeply to the woman before him then offered her out his hand.
"If the lady wouldn't mind a dance, neither would I."
"Oh, I-" Olive looked at her feet, blushing.
She did not want to dance with Kentamin. It was, in fact, perhaps the last thing she wanted to do. It would be a lie to say that she felt as acidicly towards him as she had before their containment in the cave. There were even some lingering feelings of guilt in how that ended. And she'd gone out of her way a little to not encounter him since then. She had seen him, once, during an attack. But she just fled afterwards with the others. No special attempts to kill the Templar.
But that didn't mean she wanted to get any closer to him! Especially since she still wasn't sure he bought that she was Bryony.
She stalled in hopes that someone would appear, but when it was clear no one was, she protested, "But... we're not in the ball room. Are you sure it would be proper?"
"Oh, darling!" the fat woman said, gafawing. "It's a ball! You can't worry your head with things like that! You're young... enjoy it!"
The skinny woman smiled encouragingly, nodding in agreement with her meddling friend.
At such a reaction, Kentamin visibly blushed. But he tried not to let it ruffle his feathers.
"The invitation, to dance, my lady," he went on. "Was for us to dance in the ball room."
He wasn't so romantic as to invite the dance out here!
"Oh, well I-"
But before Olive could come up with a proper excuse, the fat woman gave her a 'friendly' push towards Kentamin.
"Well," she smiled, forcing another blush, "alright then."
The 'push' more or less forced the templar to take her hand, and with a well trained smile, Kentamin bowed his head.
"As you wish."
The walk to the ball room, although somewhat of a brief affair, was quiet- but heavy in the obvious tension between the pair, and the young man felt the skin around his collar grow wet. But the second they reached the ballroom door, and the music graced them with a crescendo, he bowed to the young lady and gestured to the dance floor.
"Shall we?"
Olive could not have felt much more uncomfortable as she took Kentamin's hand. The longer they spent together - and the closer they were! - the more likely that the Templar would recognize her. If he hadn't already. And what would happen when, or if, he did? Olive honestly didn't know whether or not he would reveal her, and if so, how he would reveal her. Maybe he was taking her to the dance floor now for that very purpose... to do it as publicly as possible? Then it'd be off with her head and what a show they would make of it.
At least she no longer had to worry about the pain it would cause her family. They were safe from that.
She tried to keep this off her face as he led her onto the ballroom floor. She just tried to look shy and a bit embarrassed (easy!), but pleased to be asked to dance (harder).
Once they were on the ballroom floor, Olive gave her best curtsy and hoped fervently that she still knew how to dance!
If there was a time to accuse her, or question her there of, now was not the time. He, though a templar, was still a gentleman, and was not the sort to make a scene in social situations. So it was perhaps etiquette that saved her, as he simply took her hand and began to dance.
Though the dancing seemed rigid at first, for both he and her, eventually, the music won over his instincts and he was gracefully moving her across the floor. And due to the fact it was evident how clumsy the dance had begun, he could not help but note, "It seems we are a bit rusty."
Though it was hard to tell if his statement were in jest.
"You'll have to forgive me, m'lord," Olive apologized in response to Kentamin's quip.
The truth was she was rather struggling to keep up with the dancing. Partially because it had been years and years since Olive had properly danced - after all, Marked Mages don't often get invited to balls! - but mostly because the degree to which she did not want to be this close to the Templar. Her skin was crawling and it was hard not to repulse away from him.
"We've been in morning," she said, keeping her eyes downcast, "so I haven't had much chance to practice, since my brothers..."
Her voice caught, stopped by emotion. That, at least, was genuine.
It didn't seem he needed to pry. The more she talked, the more he gauged, but still- he could not wholly accept this might be Constance. So instead, he simply replied,
"We have lost a lot of good men to this war. I can only pray the fighting will end soon so that no more lives may be lost."
Olive sensed a possible 'out' as the conversation turned grim. It would certainly be unseemly to keep dancing with an upset lady. And it would be equally unseemly for a man she did not know to comfort her. She would be turned over, surely, to the ladies of the ball to tend to.
So Olive let the tears she'd suppressed at the thought of Avery and Cass to well up in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks.
"Oh, I'm very sorry," she apologized quickly, her voice thick with emotion, and she raised one gloved hand to wipe away the wetness from her eyes, "I'm not very good company, I'm afraid."
"My lady," he said, almost breathless, but his concern genuine, though a tad forced. "If you are unwell to dance, perhaps I shall escort you off the dance floor, however..." And here, at this angle, at just the way the lighting hit-
He felt he knew for certain now more than ever-
This was Constance Carwick.
"Stay with me." And he gave her hands a squeeze. "It is said, only dancing can cure a wounded heart. Those who have passed before you would desire you never to shed a tear. Though you are a lady and can not fight for your country, keep those tears within and let them know this is how you choose to live. After all, a lady's place is on the dance floor, not in this wicked war."
And towards the end of such phrasing, his voice seemed a bit rough, and he was looking at her with a bit more sharpness in his eyes.
This had to be Constance. It just had to! What was she doing here!?
He had to figure this out...
Angsar, help him!
Angsar take his soul!
Leave it to Kentamin Dhelsbar to not have the decency to let a poor, crying girl escape a dance. And what he said! It took all of Olive's self control not to pull away and belt him for the "a lady's place is on the dance floor." She had to mask her anger with a muffled sob. She sniffed loudly, wiping away tears again.
The tears, though, were genuine. And inside, Olive was a tumult of confused emotion. Disbelief and ache learning the fate of her family. Anger at herself - and Dwight! - after their brief encounter. Disgust with Kentamin. And a thick guilt at using her genuine emotion to work an angle.
But she'd just have to swallow that. She wasn't here, after all, for a reunion.
Surely that comment had been directed at her, though. Not at Bryony, but at Constance. If he was certain, or certain enough, it wouldn't do now to escape. She'd have to keep a leash on him until... Well, she could knock him out or something. Maybe she could use his own discomfort, though, to keep him as muddled as she was.
"You're right, of course, m'lord," she agreed with a brave nod. "I'll stay with you." And after she said that, Olive closed the space between them, resting her body against Kentamin's, her head buried in his chest as she continued to move with the music. She knew that a woman' occupying his space like this would unsettle him - much less a woman he, ahem, knew, if he knew it was her - but how could he refuse innocent comfort to an upset young lady?
She couldn't have guessed the discomfort that coursed through him as she leaned into him, her tears staining his garb. And he did everything in his power to keep his lips from curling back, because- despite all that occurred, he hadn't forgotten the intimacy they shared in that cave.
But that, he tried to tell himself, was best left to rot with the dead. So, naturally, he stiffened, a lot of gazes going there way, which made him frown.
But he thought back to what she just said, and again he prickled and whispered to her, as he held her, close.
"You didn't do that when you left me in the cave."
And the words came out in the softest of growls.
A dizzy feeling rushed through Olive's head. Her anger and disgust collapsed into something different. Just for a moment.
So. That was that.
And what was she really feeling? Heavy in her stomach. Guilt? Regret? Suddenly, despite the setting - all the people around them, the glamour and glitter of Melora's ball, and the very real danger present - for a moment Olive felt like they were back in that cave. She felt her guard drop a little, somehow. She didn't pull away from him. If anything, her weight might have shifted just slightly more onto him. Now that she wasn't Bryony anymore, she suddenly was Constance in his arms.
"I tried to," she answered, honestly, under her breath, her voice still a little thick with emotion. She sounded sad, and tired. "I tried to bring you with us." Now she finally raised her eyes to his, and they were achingly earnest. She wasn't acting. "You know I didn't want to leave you there."
Despite the look she gave him, he only retorted in disgust.
"I think I'll be the judge of that. I've seen,... no, felt enough of what you want."
And here he paused, still holding her, before asking in a hiss of a whisper, "Why are you here?"
And as he tried to fathom it, his grip suddenly became tighter.
"Who do you aim to kill?"
And suddenly, his eyes were darting around the room to the most important person there.
His disgust didn't faze her. What she'd said was true. He, she was sure, knew it was, too. Even if he didn't want to. Suddenly she felt a little mad at him. And his vehement rejection of what had happened between them. Not what he called sin, but the shaky peace that had somehow been agreed upon, the brief world they'd constructed without a war.
"No one," she answered, unflinching despite his rough hold on her. "I came to beg sanctuary from Avery. I... I didn't know until I got here..."
He gave a snort.
"And is this what you wish me to believe?"
Olive held his gaze, unflinching.
"What do you believe?"
"Everytime I am with you, there's trouble. Why would now be any different?"
"Maybe it's you," she answered.
Olive sighed, then rested her head on his chest again. Unsure now how much she was acting or telling the truth.
"I just want to stop running. I'm sick to death of trouble. What does it help?"
Kentamin was still sore with her, but he had no answers for that, except,
"You could turn yourself in... Stop this needless blood shed." It she was lucky, they'd only just hang her. But the thought made him grimace. Was that what he wanted? He didn't know, but she deserved it right? But what about that time in the cave?
He was a fool, a moment of weakness took over. He was only human. Ansgar would forgive him, right? Though he had been too embarrassed to confess, and despite being angry with her, he did want to avoid trouble. At least with her. Andwho knew what his own punishment would be.....
Olive's body tensed. They both knew what would happen if she turned herself in.
"Do you remember, in the cave, when you asked me if I carried any medicine?" she asked him quietly. And I said only oleander?" The deadly seeds. She was carrying them now, too. "I would rather take that. What they did... I could never turn myself into them. If it could really end any bloodshed... maybe. But we both know it wouldn't. But I still want to live."
A sigh broke his torn thoughts.
"Then at least let me escort you out of here. This ball... You shouldnt be here."
Guilt tugged at Olive's insides. Was Kentamin really going to peacefully escort her out of here under the belief that she was spent, tired, and only looking for peace? An idea she had sold him. It wouldn't bother her except that... if he was being honest... Olive had some sense of what a difficult offer it was for him to make.
And what was she going to do with it now?
Or, more specifically, what was she going to do with him? She couldn't, she knew, just sneak away and then sneak back in. ...Could she? What if he saw her again? She wouldn't pull this off twice. Or what if he wasn't sincere? He could just want to lead her away to turn her into the guards without making a scene. Olive wished, then, that she had convinced Silas and Roderick to bring Kentamin with them. So she could show him, explain to someone on this side of the war, explain why they had to act like this. Why she did. Because the crimes being committed, systematically, in this war far outweighed hurt feelings and small (it was small, right?) betrayals in trust.
But Olive knew it was still a betrayal.
"Okay," Olive agreed in a murmur. "I guess there's no reason for me to stay. I can't believe Avery..." her throat tightened, and she didn't finish the sentence. Somewhere in the back of her mind, she wondered if using her grief like this was less of a betrayal of Kentamin, and more of a betrayal of herself. Or, worse yet, her loved ones. "You won't just hand me over to a guard as soon as we're away from the ball, will you?"
"To tell you the truth, I don't know what to do with you. You're guilty of a lot or crimes." But he kept dancing with her, holding her, even though they might appear an awkward scene. Part of him wished if they just kept dancing, they couldbbe ignorant of all else. Foolish and childish, yes, and perhaps earlier on he'd want to believe it. But his time as a templar helped him grow, so even someone as vain and ignorant as he.... Could be affected by this war.
"Everyone is guilty of a lot of crimes now," Olive answered, her head still resting on Kentamin's chest. "I don't think I'm worse than most else. Better than some. I suppose you don't agree with any of that."
Olive leaned her weight against him. Her brain was trying to make her come up with a plan - how to ditch the Templar, how to hide or kill him, how to get back to the real task at hand - but she was finding it increasingly hard. Just then, Olive didn't really want to think beyond this moment.
"I just want it all to be over." She paused, then said, "I couldn't stop you now. If you wanted to turn me in. You could."
He gave a cold laugh.
"If you want to be technical, you already are turned in. I have full authority from the church to pass judgement."
But then he went quiet.
Would he act on that? And what did that even mean? He shouldn't let his faith waiver, but the feeling of her in his arms....
Clearly, he had been cursed.
That took Olive by surprise. And as soon as it did, she realized that it shouldn't have. Of course he did, but somehow she hadn't expected...
Olive picked up her head to look at Kentamin, her eyes clear and searching, as if looking for something inside of him.
"Will you?"
He let out a grunt, and just as the song ended, he took a powerful grip on her arm and began to drag her outside of the room. It wasn't completely unnoticed, and the match makers giggles as they watched the pair disappear onto the balcony.
"Oh, my Angsar's name, that seems to have gone better than we planned."
"And what did we plan, hrm?"
And the women chuckled.
Outside, the air was much cooler,a nd Kentamin released a breath, but not his grip on her arm.
"Will I what?" he snapped at her, so angry he felt he could slap her. What sort of question was that? Didn't she know he had no choice?
Olive did her best to look happy and embarrassed as Kentamin 'led' her out of from the ballroom into the garden, as a lovestruck young girl might. Though she kept her eyes mostly downcast, she scanned the room, trying to find Roderick... But to no avail.
When they finally stopped in the dim light of the garden, Olive twisted so she was facing him. With his grip still firm on her arm, the pivot left them very close together. Her body was tense, though, ready to try to save herself if she had to.
She was gambling now, and she knew it, but she simply answered,
"You know what."
Kentamin growled at her, his eyes burning with such a fury, that all he could answer to her was, "I will. I must. It is my duty."
Though the second he said it, it felt as if he'd plunged his own blade into his gut.
Olive's gaze didn't waver from Kentamin. She moved half a step closer to him, her large green eyes fixed on him. Searching. Waiting.
Her heart was pounding in her head, though. Now she had no idea what would come next.
Why wasn't she going to slap him? To put up a fight? A scene? He just told her he was to turn her in-
Her future was doomed. Yet all she did was look at him with those eyes, and he felt himself waver.
"By God, Constance," he said, suddenly jerking her close and shaking her. "Why did you have to come here? Why couldn't you have vanished with the rest?"
She left him behind. Didn't that mean their story was to come to an end?
Olive flinched when he shook her, but she didn't struggle or run. And her eyes never wavered from him.
"Maybe we're meant to keep tripping over each other," she offered, her voice low and not in jest. "Angsar has some lesson for us, and we haven't learned it yet."
Olive's heart was still beating loudly. She didn't find herself able to think more than one step ahead at a time. If even that far. And they were very close. She hated the templar. But she couldn't help but notice how close they were. Treacherous Templar.
...Or, wasn't he?
"Don't speak of Angsar!" He bristled. But what he really meant to say was, 'Don't speak of us.'
He had been done with her, washed his hands of this mage. But he never truly got her out of his head.
"If this is Angsar's will, then he has condemned you."
Olive raised her eyebrows at Kentamin, eyes wide. "You don't think He has lessons for us? And that sometimes they are wrapped up in unexpected ways?" What she didn't say, but what would be clear, was: You, a priest, don't believe that our god has the power to move us in ways we don't understand.
But she had to huff at his last remark, bristling. And her voice darkened. "I have been condemned, Kentamin," she growled back at him. "I was dragged away from my life, beaten, raped, starved. Watched those I care about be beaten, raped, and killed. My family is dead. My own home is closed to me. I have nowhere left to go. I do not think it was Angsar's will, but I have certainly already been condemned."
He held back accusing her. Even he knew better than that. But this sympathy made him uncomfortable, and he loathed himself for not forgetting that moment of weakness. He used to mock the idea a woman could over power a man, be his true weakness, his true ruler....
But what about relationships this complex? He felt his throat tighten as he tried to swallow down more vicious words that wanted to bubble out. Instead, he released a heated sigh through his nose and continued to look down at her, attempting indifference.
"You would question a templar? A man on the blessed path?" Though it was a question, he sought no answers and didn't leave her time to reply. His grip tightened. "I won't pretend I know your pain. And though it may seem like your life is hopeless....."and here, he hesitated, questioning again his thoughts as he peered down at her.
"You could condemn yourself to the church," he whispered. But not even be believed she'd be saved by that.
Whatever Olive might have had to say about Templar and how much she did (or, more pertinently, didn’t) trust them - it was cut short when Kentamin suggested she turn herself over to the Church.
Entrust herself to the Church. It was a joke. And Olive let out a strangled laugh of disbelief. She stared at him, mouth open, at a loss for words for several moments before she finally replied.
“Is that… a joke?” she finally found herself asking. “Because it’s in bad taste. The Church… You have no idea what’s going on, do you?”
Another silence followed as Olive stared at him, caught between words, vaguely shaking her head.
“I did entrust myself to the Church. Every day of my life. Even after I was sent to the camps, I made the crucial error of trusting the Church. Trusting a Templar. I have blood on my hands from that decision that I'll have to live with for the rest of my life, however short that may prove to be,” she said, bitterness was growing in her voice now. “Do you know what they do, outside of our borders? Where no one can see them? Because I do. I do. I trust Angsar, but I think it has been many years since the Church has been doing His will.”
He couldn't believe this twist of faith, this twist in his gut, as he found himself growling at her through his teeth.
"You can not hate the whole church for those corrupted by the war."
For even he knew, as much as he wanted to remain ignorant to it, that what happened to Olive, and to the others...
HAD happened. It was real.
"But in times of war..." But he stopped himself short of finishing that thought, where as, had they never been so.... close, he'd have finished that thought with a whipping crack of his tongue. But she made him waver. And he hated her for it.
"I don't!" she retorted quickly, her temper flaring. "You think I don't still love the brothers and the sisters who counseled me through my youth? That I've forgotten all the men and women of the cloth who showed me compassion when lay people only saw my Mark and shunned me? Of course I haven't!"
Olive set her jaw, eyes blazing as she collected the next words. Her voice lowered, but seethed with anger. "But if you think that is who is controlling the Church now, you're blind. Willfully or no. Probably it never was. But regardless, whatever my personal feelings are, they wouldn't change the reality of what would happen to me if I gave myself to the Church now. And I would swear on the fresh grave of my mother that Angsar would have no hand in it."
He didn't like this questioning of his religion, this cracks in the surface of the facade to what was truth. He never once cared if there was a layer of molten lava beneath the stead fast rock of his religion. He was ignorant. Perhaps it was only he who was to blame, or his parents, or the neglect there of. He didn't have anything to compare to what she stated, any of her strife, her woes. Perhaps he was more jealous than confused, for his passions he hoped to lie in the church, but here it seemed all foundations were shaking.
He released a growl of his own as he looked at her.
"I know your fate well enough." And his eyes moved as if to read her. What could he say? Could he do? And before he could stop himself, he offered in a hiss, accompanied by a rougher grip on her arm.
"I'll take you to the stables. You can take my horse and get out of here. But once you do..." And he tried to keep a hard gaze on his eyes, but it was evident his resolve was breaking.
"Don't ever come back. Leave this war. Leave this place. Only more pain can await you here."
That was the right thing to do, was it not? To get her out of here? He saw that as the only way. Those Serendipians... they were much more lenient..
Why did the mages not move there? Why were they so... stubborn?
If he were a mage..
And it was only then he realized he ever tried to put himself in her shoes. And at that, his expression quickly changed.
What Olive should have said then was, ‘Yes, thank you, you’re right. I’ll go to the stables with you and leave forever.’ Then she could have followed Kentamin down to the stables, knocked him over the head with a cast iron tool, and gotten back to the business at hand. But somehow those weren’t the words she heard coming out of her mouth.
“I can’t do that. This is my home.” Something changed in Olive’s expression, too. It would be wrong to say that it softened, but some of the anger drained out of it. Replaced by a certain heaviness… despair? Olive wasn’t sure herself what she was feeling as she continued, “I can’t run away, I can’t put my own life before my country. I’m not just a Connlaothian, I’m a Carwick, I’m my father’s daughter. I've had so much privilege in my life... even since the war... how could I use that to just save myself? My family has always believed, first and foremost, that we are put in the service of our people. How could I take that and throw it away? How could I turn my back on everything my father taught me? Who would I be then? Not Constance Carwick.”
There was something imploring in her eyes. She needed to speak those words to someone. She needed to have someone understand them. It was selfish, she knew, because it was keeping her from her real mission. The one in service of all the words that just came out of her mouth. But in that moment, she couldn’t see that.
Did she have to respond in that way? Why couldn't she just accept it? Take the horse and be out of here? I mean, he was offering away his horse- which, if the order knew about it...
He was certain it could have him kicked out. And though this infuriated him, he could not be angry at such a response. Despite being enemies, he understood those noble words.
But why should he care? Or why should she? To him, he had already villianized all mages throughout the land. But somehow, in that moment, even that horrifying moment in the past seemed to be cast aside, over shadowed. And he wasn't sure how to reply.
"You could die here, Constance," he found himself growling between his teeth. "Do I have to drag you down to the stables myself?"
"I know that," Olive answered quietly.
It was the only thing she could think to say. And at the distance between them, Kentamin couldn't possibly miss the sincerity in her face.
His own anger faltered, and his emotions were showing through. He didn't know what to say to that though,a nd found his grip, yet again, growing stronger. He'd probably be hurting her from it, but he was even blind to that fact.
And all he could say was her name, through a frustrated growl as the tension around them mountained higher and seemed to challenge that of the Kilanthro's.
Olive didn't say anything. Her face tightened, though, as Kentamin's grip did. Her eyes never left his; open and imploring, but at the same time strong and determined. She lifted her hand, placing it on top of the hand gripping her. His skin was hot compared to hers in the cool night air.
Angsar save him. He was a fool. He was a sinner. But he couldn't control himself. He dropped his grip on her arm and moved to cup her face, and before he had enough sense to hate himself first, he kissed her, hard and passionately on the lips, his mind becoming dizzy and going back to the fires they had shared those cold nights before.
He was a fool. He was a sinner.
But he had fallen hard for this.... mage.
Olive returned the action immediately, shifting her weight forward and standing for a moment tip-toe to meet his kiss. Her arms reached up to wrap around his neck and she leaned her body against his. In that moment, she wasn't thinking.
But that moment couldn't last forever. Because she'd meant everything she said to Kentamin.
Only half-forming a plan, not more than one step ahead, Olive only broke away from the kiss after what felt like half an eternity. When she did, she was still close enough to Kentamin that her nose was nearly touching his.
"We can't do this here," she breathed. But she left the meaning of 'here' open. It could mean the ball... or it could mean right here in the open garden.
When their lips parted, he was breathing heavy. His eye lids were lowered and he looked at her with a curious sort of longing. What was this anyways? And why did it happen here.
"Elsewhere... we can... take this, elsewhere," he whispered through breaths.
That was, though part of her hated herself for it, what Olive wanted to hear. For a moment, she just stared at him. Then she nodded breathlessly, her arms still around Kentamin's neck.
Now what, Olive?
Even if her motives diverged from Kentamin's, the Templar wasn't the only one caught up in the moment and Olive was having a hard time keeping her head clear. Where could they go? Away from the house... far enough to lack both eyes and ears. Olive looked around, still standing there with her arms around Kentamin, trying to recall. She'd been here as a child on several occasions. Before she was Marked, when Melora still thought her an appropriate playmate for Aella.
Racking her memory, she brought forth the image of a small, stone edifice that they had pretended to run away to. It was an old gatehouse from when the estate had different boundaries than it did now. Olive saw no real reason to think it wouldn't still be there, tucked away by a little stream and small patch of woods.
"I know," she said suddenly, and released Kentamin from her arms to take his hand. She glanced around once for prying eyes, before taking the Templar's hand and leading him deeper into the gardens.
The further they went into the dark, the harder his heart pounded and the further he felt he was following his 'chosen path'. What was he doing? Nothing good could come from this, and after he thought they had gone sufficiently deep enough into the gardens, he stopped suddenly and gripped her hand firmly.
"Constance.. wait."
Olive froze as soon as Kentamin spoke. She'd already felt his pace slowing as she led him through the garden. They were so close now...
She turned, and for half a moment she considered kissing him again before he had the chance to say anything else. But he was so.... sensitive, she wasn't sure if it was the right idea.
So instead she took a step closer to him, gently touching his cheek. But she didn't say anything. She waited for him, her green eyes, wide in the dim night light, fixed on him.
Kentamin studied her face, really studied it.
"You know it's not too late to take my horse... to get out of here."
"I don't want to get out of here now," Olive answered slowly, purposefully, her eyes locked on Kentamin, "not that way." She paused, her eyes returning his probing gaze, smoothing her hand over his cheek. Then said softly, "But I won't force you to come with me."
"Come with you?" When he spoke, it sounded as if his voice existed in another world. But he sobered a moment and frowned. Did she wish to travel deeper into the gardens? Or did she mean she had another way 'out'.
"Constance.... if you came here to see someone... why don't you? But after that.... you really need to leave." And soon. How long would it take before someone else sniffed her out?
At his words, Constance's face fell and her pallor whitened. She didn't say anything for several moments, but there was a perceptible change in her mood. Her eyes fell to the distance for several moments. Because while the lies were lies... they didn't change the truth.
For a moment, she thought she was going to be sick.
Then she looked up at Kentamin again and said slowly, letting the meaning fall one word at a time, "Kentamin, I came her to see Avery."
The words felt dead in her mouth. Dead like Avery.
He felt a fool. She had even said that earlier- and yet here...
It was all confirmed. And she wasn't the only one who had an expression changed.
Not knowing what else to do, he found himself suddenly wrapping his arms around her, and just held her, because Angsar knew if that were to happen to him....
He'd need someone to be there for him too.
And the only words he could offer to her, for his ignorance, and on behalf of her bloodline, and the fallen duke, he whispered, "I'm sorry."
Olive let Kentamin take her into his arms. The truth was, it was what she needed. So she let him hold her for a minute. But the closeness also stirred other feelings inside of her. Were they genuine? Olive couldn't tell anymore, what was acting and what was real. But either way, she wanted Kentamin in that gatehouse.
She didn't leave his arms, but she shifted to look up at him. "I don't want to think about that right now," she said quietly. "I just want to be alive in this moment. Now."
His eyes searched hers. He felt as if he were at a loss. And damn himself to hell, how had he allowed himself to become such a fool?
"What do you want me to do?" For he felt as if he were out of options. What she wanted..
He probably could not give. But he had no idea she had... other plans.
Olive didn't respond for a long moment, but she put a hand to his cheek. Her green eyes probed his. Finally, she asked, "What do you want to do?"
He laughed softly, weakly.
"I don't know..." But it seemed his lips did, as he moved a hand forward, brushing her hair from her face as he leaned in and kissed her.
Olive returned Kentamin's kiss, gently, tenderly. She knew she wouldn't be able to force him to go anywhere. If, for no other reason, because he was much bigger than her. But more importantly to her then... she wasn't sure. Somehow it seemed less bad if he really wanted to go. Then less of the guilt of it all weighed on her shoulders. If she saw him again, she could at least say, 'You wanted to go there.'
With this in mind, Olive brought her hands up to the side of Kentamin's face, running her fingers into his hair, then smoothing them down to his jaw and cheeks. They were very close, and even if Olive had ulterior motives, she felt herself flush from the contact, felt her heart beating. When she spoke, it was a whisper. "Tell me."
Kentamin whispered, keeping his forehead close.
"For you to be away from here," he whispered. "For this all to be a dream."
Olive ran her fingers through his hair, eyes searching his. "I can leave you," she offered quietly, trying to formulate another scenario that was workable. "It is safer, for me, to leave the ball as planned, with a carriage and an escort. Taking your horse would be dangerous for both of us, you know that." After all, if he was found out, what would they do to him? And if she was found with his horse? "But I can leave you, avoid you. It's just a few more hours. Then you never have to see me again. It can have all been a dream."
Kentamin cringed. But he knew her plan was far better than his own.
"Then I guess... this is goodbye." And there was no uncertainty in his words, just a hint of regret- which he felt angered for. By Angsar's name- what was wrong with him?
It wasn't the outcome she was hoping for. But it should be good enough.
She kept her eyes intent on Kentamin, her green eyes huge. Slowly, Olive nodded. Then, lifting herself up, she kissed him on the cheek.
"Okay," she breathed, while still standing on her toes to kiss his cheek, "good bye."
Kentamin heard himself whimper. Why did her voice have to sound so sad? So lost? And those eyes? Before he could control himself, his hands cupped her cheeks and he kissed her back, full of fire, full of need.
"Can... can we have.. a proper... goodbye?" he asked through pants and kisses.
Olive immediately returned his kiss, putting just as much urgency into it as she felt from Kentamin. As she kissed him, she wondered what she was doing. She remembered the Templar she'd first met, who wanted nothing more than to kill her. And now he was willing to risk his own safety for her own, offering her his horse. Risking his position if anyone found out that he knew she was here, that het let her go, that he helped her go. And, with the need behind his kisses, behind his request, he was risking his faith.
And what was she going to do?
Olive nodded in response to his request, kissed him again quickly, then took his hand. It didn't take long to lead him to the old gate house. They had almost been there already. She led Kentamin inside, half-closing the door behind them. Once they were inside, she grabbed his face, forcefully but not ungently, and kissed him passionately.
He must have been a fool- a damned, blind, love struck fool- if that's what one could call it anyway, but the moment their lips connected it lit a fire inside him like no other- and once they were both tucked away, he released a moan and kissed her back and held her fierce.
"By Angsar's name... Constance, I should not have you, but how I want you," he nearly growled out his profession, kissing her again with much hate and need. What was wrong with him? Why could he not stop? It was like he was drunk- but he had only ever been so once in his life- and only briefly. This was sort of the same- intoxication of another kind perhaps, but he simply moaned and just let their lips and bodies do the talking.
It would all be over after this anyway.
It would all be over.
Olive didn't answer his words. What would she... what could she say? A small part of herself was sick with herself. What was she doing? What had sone already done to him, that he was risking all this for her, that he genuinely wanted her now?
But it wasn't her fault, she told herself as she pressed her body against him, kissing him hotly. It wasn't her fault that the Church made priests hate their bodies, taught that physical love was wrong; that wasn't her fault. And what happened in the cave... that wasn't anyone's fault. It just happened. Olive couldn't help if that had turned the snarling templar into... this.
She had to worry about other things.
Her hands traced down the side of his face, his neck, his shoulder and chest. She led him to the edge of an old, workbench on one side of the little hut. Olive positioned them so that she was against the bench surface, Kentamin pushing against her. She thought he'd like that better than the opposite option.
And hanging from the wall next to the work bench, within Olive's reach, was a collecting of rusting old cast-iron tools.
Once a fire was started, it was hard to put out. And her replies with her lips, her hands, her body made that fire grow. Somehow, they were on a bench, his body needingly pressing into hers as he moaned.
"By God's name... Constance ...." He whimpered, "How is it that I've come to need you so?"
Perhaps it was just teenage hormones, or even puppy love. But the templar was drawn to her like a moth to the flame, and somewhere between their kisses he wondered if this woman would be the end of him. But that thought made him kiss her all the more.
That was a question she wondered about, too. She guessed it had something to do with all the wartime tension between them, her taking his virginity, rolled up in too much time to think about it all in between their encounters. Whatever it was, she couldn't worry about it more.
But she still had a nagging feeling. And in between hot, passionate kisses, in between pushing her body against his, she found herself saying, "I don't know, Kentamin. But I'm sorry," she told him breathily, "about all of it."
She put a hand on the wall, presumably to brace herself against their passion. But in reality her hand clutched one of the iron tools on the wall. She broke a kiss to look at him, breathing, "I'm sorry about everything."
Then Constance brought the iron tool down hard on the back of Kentamin's head. The templar collapsed onto the ground like a limp doll. She peered at him to make sure he was still alive. But once she saw the heaving of his chest, she couldn't waste any time. She extracted herself from the limp young man and dashed out of the gatehouse. She paused only to barricade the door with a large rock. Not enough to keep him in forever once he came to. But enough to slow him down.
Then Constance Carwick hurried up the garden path. Back tot he party. Back to the fireworks.