Nature's tranquility amplified the beauty of the world and the impurity of the mind in equal measure. As the hours passed, the light changed Aksinya's face and form from something full of spring promise to a quietly menacing thing. During the day, he could imagine her as someone else's woman, distant and wonderful, but by night there as an intimacy that made his skin crawl -- if not in fear, in wonder. When they were together, in close quarters as husband and wife, his sleep was tumultuous at best, his dreams all from the perspective of a child or a giant, a strange foreign deity or a beast in the shadows. Masses of girls, dressed all alike and marching through the snow. Knock kneed peasant girls with tattered hems and bare feet.
He spent his days reading, pretending to, writing memoirs full of lies, telling idiotic stories to his wife and his ward. The afternoon was no exception, and across a table set with ripe Arosian berries, he waited for his wife to speak and hoped she wouldn't. Not because he loathed her voice, but because he despised his replies.
Amidst the fragrant berries lingered traces of her cigarette. They sat in silence -- comfortable in its discomfort -- with only the chain of songbirds to occupy the void of their mutual reservations. She watched his pages turn, content to bask in their proximity and the sun seeping through the windows beside them. It was rare they were together without the little one, but the mundane suited the pair beautifully, all picturesque airs and a distanced propriety befitting of each and the other. Aksinya was nearly dosing, lulled half-lidden by the plumes of smoke and the smell of ink along the pages of Ivan's book. Cigarette to the ashtray, a wine stained her lips floral and sweet as she extended the silence, swallowing all those doubts and fears that came forth in blind compliments and little more.
The peaceful airs of the countryside were soon inturrupted by the distant rambles of the little noble they kept guarded. As though she were talking to someone. How strange-- despite Runa's proclivity toward being rather young in her manner, it'd been many a year since she'd kept an imaginary friend.
The kick of the door followed her ruckus and the girl bounded toward Aksinya, skidding to her knees and wrapping her arms around the woman's legs, head resting on her lap.
"'Ksinka~ I told my friend Fran that you make the best soup. Will you make soup for her?" She looked up, looking to Fran then to Aksinya. Before anyone could respond to her, she was already up, taking Fran by the hand once again-- to pull her out of her frozen stance in the doorway.
It had been perfectly preferable to be ice at the door. To have the time to debate with oneself the probability of getting out of this without a new bruise to decorate her body. She figured slim, at best. The odds were far from in her favor, and the memory of searing pain stole the breath from her chest, igniting that all-familiar dread. With disobedience came consequence.
Fran had every opporunity to sprint the other way.
But Runa's hand was soft and warm and inviting when hers was stolen once again, and rather than dashing out of the lodge, she took a leap of faith. A stupid, childish leap of faith, but one nonetheless. A perfected deer-in-headlights look greeted the two once their feet had stopped.
Spilt blood was in her future, surely.
And it was no concern of Ivan's. He ignored the playmate duly, setting down his book and crossing his hands on the table.
"My cook makes soup, darling." Aksinya watched the pair of girls from where she sat. Her cigarette had resumed its post, dutifully poised in its holder between her lips as she thought of the man across from her -- only him. Envy eyes narrowed on the pair, all deer-limbs and doe-eyes, and she smiled the sickly-sweet smile of patron saints. "You've made a friend so fast," she cooed, absolutely marveled.
Speaking closely to Fran, the girl, quick as a kitten and just as precocious, brought the point around rather sharply. "Fran-- will you tell Ivan and 'ksinka what's wrong? They can help you!"
Ivan leaned forward, all well bred politesse. "Now now, Runa. Our friend seems ill at ease -- will you kindly introduce us all? 'Ksinka will get us further refreshments while we talk." He looked to his wife with unspoken gratitude for fetching berry juice, as all drinks currently before them would likely put a young girl such as Fran into a stupor.
"Yes sir," the girl said with a droll sort of dad you're embarassing me hiding in the lilt of her voice. Aksinya was already gone, but Runa started anyways. "Fran, this is my paladin Ivan. Ivan, this is my new best friend Fran. May the dawn light your meeting!"
Impossibly clear eyes shifted to said paladin's face, anxiously taking a few key features before fluttering away. Born a highborn girl and always a higborn girl, the stolen countess dropped into the briefest of curtsies, out of practice and awkward.
"Well met, young lady." The door to the room adjacent opened, and his eyes moved to his wife in turn. "Are you here to enjoy the retreat, or does your family live here?" A murmured 'thank you, love' as Aksinya poured a light honey wine for the young ones.
Oh, how Fran wanted to admit those pretty little truths. How she desired to blurt out her captor's whereabouts so they may apprehend him and return her to Belorien at last. But fear, and a distinct lack of hope, had her freezing in place. To lie, or not to lie?
To lie.
"To enjoy the retreat," she admitted softly, her gaze jumping from face to face. Aksinya was more beautiful than words, and so she said none of them. When it came time to pay a compliment, she would share. Maybe.
No, certainly.
The noble girl and her dancer's limbs didn't believe a word she said. Why would she be so scared if she was having a good time?
And she remembered, then, those rings of purple.
"Fran," the girl said, quiet and slow. "Where in the retreat did you get those marks on your wrists."
Aksinya stood beside the table, examining the aforementioned from afar. She'd noticed in passing en route to milder spirits -- those discoloured flourishes bleeding out from under her sleeves. An eyebrow arched, her expression grave, yet still she said nothing.
Ivan noticed for the first time not only the bruises but the girl's timid bearing, her delicacy and youth. She seemed suddenly relevant to him, beautiful in her quiet suffering, brave and small and in need. These thoughts passed beneath a furrowed brow, weathering a sip of strong spirits. "Are you being mistreated, young lady?" If so, it was by a fool -- how amateurish to leave bruises on such fair skin.
It was unfair, in Fran's mind, that honesty was often her first instinct. She was much like her brother in that way -- they would think of the truth, but then adjust it accordingly. As it seemed that deceit wasn't the right road here, was she to be truthful? Open? The thought made her tremble like a leaf in a breeze, but only for a moment.
"... Yes." Her words were quiet.
Of course. An awkward impasse, to be sure, and one which Ivan sorely wished Runa or Aksinya, Light bless her grace, would interrupt, so he could better think of how to proceed. "Is the criminal in your family? It is a man, correct?"
She ceased to breathe. This was it, this was the moment of truth. Everything could change if she uttered the reality of the situation -- family? As if. And certainly it had to be a man, unless a woman self-inflicted this on herself. But her tongue was held, and those clear eyes lowered.
"He's not my family," she gently returned, killing two birds with one stone. "He took me from them three years ago."
Oh, honesty.
Suddenly, Runa was all up and around Fran's neck like a band of woven flowers, all heartfelt tears and tight hugs. "Fran! Oh, Fran, I'm so sorry that I thought you were upset about unicorns!" The younger girl hugged the elder tight like it would have squeezed the past three years out of her body and out of her mind.
Selfishly, Aksinya panicked. A tremor ran up that elegant spine for anyone but the young girl before her, ensnared by jealousy and the panic of all manner of putrid possibilities. Still, her voice held the lilt of a mother -- all gentle airs and sweet whispers. She hushed concern, drawing forth with a cool rustle of satin. She took Fran's hand in her own, gently brushing lush layers aside to inspect the damages done. A tisk, all sorrowful and worry-spent.
Flustered by all of the attention, attention that was positive and kind for once, the older girl awkwardly placed both hands upon Runa's back, to return the hug in kind. Within seconds, she was melting into the hold, happy to be held for reasons that, for once, were not selfish, cruel.
Upon her hand being taken, she gazed up at Aksinya, unable to even force a smile. The comfort, however, was written in her eyes.
Ivan rose, ever concerned but otherwise indecipherable. "Lady Runa, you have done a great thing in bringing Fran to us. Now be hospitable -- she is to stay with us for the time being, as she is no doubt in need of rest. I trust you won't mind sharing your quarters?"
"I would love to have a friend for sleepover parties!"
Runa couldn't have been happier, surely.
"All I ask of you, Fran, is that you tell us where this man is, and who is with him." A courier to the capitol would take days. But a courier would not be sent at all. No guards would arrive, and none would know.
Hurt him terribly was the girl's first thought, and for once, she felt no guilt for it. Hurt him a terribly as he's hurt me, please. There had been pity once, but now, all she wanted was for him to suffer. He'd never feel her pain, for it'd scarred her so deeply, but he would know his own pain.
She nodded obediently, eyes shyly meeting Ivan's.
Ivan had entertained leaving the man alive -- after all, he was the criminal, and there was no redress, no claim he could rightfully stake on the girl. And there was the effort and risk involved in such a killing. But there was desire in the girl's eyes, a wish for something so easy for Ivan to give. Even if he killed in the night, like a coward, it would be worth it to see Fran sated. "Go on now, both of you. I must speak to the proprietor here and organize a night watch, should the scoundrel come."
Barely a second had passed before Runa was dragging the girl off to her quarters. "Do you like books? I brought a lot of books. And we can have tea together in an hour or two, because that's when we have tea time! Or are you hungry now? I think I hid some biscuits somewhere..."
And all Aksinya could do was smile after them, choking down resignation embittered.
Ivan looked at his erstwhile virtuous accomplice. His beautiful wife. He wanted to excuse the murder he had yet to commit, to beg her forgiveness for the machinations of his mind, to fall at her knees and love her as he should have. But all he could do was stare, swallow, and leave the room.