"Now you recognize it," Oliver said. "And you know not to be lying. You have given much, Princess Asabel – but I might have further use for you still. I shall not allow you to run away, now that I know for certain."
"To that end, I return the sa words to you, Ser Patrick," Asabel said. "If you are so enamoured with a power that I despise, then you had best do your best to claim it."
Whatever exactly those words ant, Oliver didn't have the faintest, but they certainly sounded like a challenge.
"Is your heart back to the strength it was?" Oliver asked.
"Perhaps," the Princess said, letting out a sigh. "I thought it was ant to be I with the power to heal… Fine – very well. I know what you seem to expect of . The sa thing that I expect of myself. I haven't been neglecting my duties, but I suppose neither have I been giving them all that I should have.
I shall anticipate your victory, Ser Patrick, and when you return, I shall show you victories of my own."
"I'm looking forward to it," Oliver said.
…
…
The discussion with the Princess had gone on longer than he'd intended – a good ten minutes – but it was still not as long as it had felt. There was a weight to certain monts that gave them more significance than entire days worth of ti. Several monts in that room with Asabel had eclipsed that phenonon. Those montums felt like weeks.
If Oliver had a mind to, he thought he could have spent years dissecting them, trying to find the truth of a certain action, or a second shifting of the eyes.
That was a ti that he was not privy to, however. The Oliver Patrick and Princess Asabel that left that room were forward-facing individuals, people with purpose. They said their goodbyes with resolute looks on their faces. Asabel's retainers seed to note the change about her imdiately, just as Verdant soon noted the change about Oliver.
He allowed the Princess to leave first, and then when Oliver strode towards the main entrance with all the grace of a panther. Once more, his body felt rested, as did his soul. It ached for potential. It spoke to him of its readiness, in the sa form as the sword at his hip did.
Though this battle had not been one of Oliver's wants, he found himself better prepared than he'd been for any battle throughout his entire history. His condition was perfect – as perfect as he could get it.
The guard's cloaks fluttered as Oliver strode past them. It was as though the wind itself had rushed through. They were startled, but by the ti they made to look, Oliver had already made it towards the bottom of the steps. There, Verdant awaited, holding the reins of both his horse and Oliver's own, and Lady Blackthorn was to the side of him, beautiful and determined.
Verdant saw Oliver's condition, and nodded his approval. He said nothing else about it, for nothing needed to be said. So things seed to be better left unspoken.
"He's eager, my Lord," Verdant said instead, handing Walter's reins off to Oliver.
"As am I, Verdant," Oliver smiled, accepting the reins. "I see now that the High King has been a better instructor for than perhaps any man at this Academy – he has given opportunity, ti and ti again. What King could be more worth serving?"
The priest pulled a face. Even in humour, he didn't seem inclined to complint the very man who had made his Lord's life as difficult as it was. "I pray only for your survival, my Lord. And jokes, I think, should co after that fact."'
"Relishing the opportunity for a good battle can be done at the sa ti, can it not?" Oliver. "Lasha, at the very least, agrees with , I think."
"I am equally grateful for the opportunity," Lasha said, mounting her horse beside Oliver, her whole body prickly with tension. She was just as ready to confront and overco sothing grand as her teacher was.
The priest sighed. "I suppose, at the very least, I am grateful for the opportunity to see you achieve such greatness, my Lord," Verdant said, mounting his horse, the last out of the three of them. "It will be a long ride though, I fear. I hope whatever sentints we might have will not be dulled by the winter cold on the ride there."
"Not a chance," Oliver said. From the furrow of Lady Blackthorn's brows, she was thinking the sa.
With that last word, they drove their heels into the sides of their mounts, and sprang forward towards the outer gate. The guards let them pass without a second question – seeing the surcoats of the different n, none could have them stop. Oliver, in his primarily red surcoat, Lasha in her black and gold, and then Verdant, in the sa surcoat as Oliver.
They sprung out through the snow, cutting dashing figures, as their thick woollen capes rose up behind them. By now, the news had spread reasonably well. The guards, at least, knew where they were headed.
A few offered salutes of encouragent – though they seed to be more for Verdant and Blackthorn than Oliver, though he did think that he recognized one of the saluting n, and supposed that he might have been amongst the n that Skullic had gathered for practice.
It was far faster on their horses than it otherwise would have been in a carriage. The depth of the snow made increasingly sure of that. It was already beginning to fall, just as they were leaving the Academy behind them.
It was a strange thing, to see that both Lasha and Verdant had horses of the purest black. Casper – an old friend of Oliver's by now – retained his distinctive black shine, whilst Lasha's mount was in no way inferior. Smaller, perhaps, but just as well tended, a perfect match for the woman's hair.
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