The first thing Cerena perceives is silence, so complete that she thinks she has gone deaf. She blinks. It is evening, the sky above her is dark blue and the air smells of rain and stone.
She moves slowly and her legs protest. Three weeks on cold stone floor have left their mark. Around her lies a marketplace, expansive and decayed. Broken stalls, overgrown pavement stones, buildings with empty windows that stare at her like black eyes. Behind her the portal flickers weakly and casts blue shadows on the ground. Ahead of her, half hidden in the twilight, her sword lies on the pavement. She picks it up immediately. The familiar weight at her hip comforts her more than she would admit.
Then something moves. A door in one of the buildings at the edge of the plaza opens and a figure emerges. Small, thin face, black hair. Hand on the grip of a sword.
Cerena’s heart skips a beat.
The face is thinner than in her memory and the hair is unkempt, but that posture, that defiant chin, those dark eyes that study her as if they challenge the whole world. Seven years she has watched over this face. She would recognize it among thousands.
“Your Highness?”
Her own voice sounds strange to her ears, rough and broken from the dungeon. The princess stands perhaps thirty meters away and does not seem to have recognized her yet. Cerena does what her body has done of its own accord for years. She goes to her knees, one hand at her chest, head lowered.
“Your Highness, I am…”
Then she hears footsteps. Quick footsteps, on the pavement, coming closer, and before she can finish the sentence, something hits her with full force. Arms wrap around her and pull her up from her kneeling position. The princess presses against her so tightly that Cerena gasps for air. She freezes, her entire body goes stiff, arms at her sides, shoulders raised. Years of protocol and etiquette fighting against this. One does not embrace a princess. One is not embraced by a princess. Certainly not like this.
Then she feels the princess begin to tremble. At first slightly, then more strongly, until her entire body shakes. And then she hears it. A sob, so deep and so raw that it sounds as if it does not come from her mouth but from her chest. Cerena stands still and understands.
This is not the joy of a princess over a familiar person. This is something that runs much deeper and has waited much longer.
Cerena’s arms slowly lift, as if she has to fight against an inner resistance. She puts them around Nara’s shoulders, at first tentatively, then more firmly. Her hand finds Nara’s back of the head and holds it the way one holds the head of a child who has scraped her knee.
Nara buries her face in Cerena’s shoulder and everything breaks at once. Three weeks alone in a dead city. Three weeks in which she has talked to a skull because there was no one else. Three weeks in which she lay awake at night wondering if she would ever hear a human voice again. The fear of the forest and the breaches in the wall. The silence, the unbearable silence that she had spoken against until her voice was hoarse. The moments when she did not know if she would survive the next day. The moments when she did not care. And now someone stands here, a human. Cerena. And Nara cannot take it anymore.
She cries. Not quietly, not with restraint, not as befits a princess. She wails with open mouth, face wet and twisted, whole body shaking. Sounds come from her that she cannot control, sobs that echo across the marketplace and are thrown back by the empty buildings.
Nara does not know how long they stand like this. The tears do not stop and she does not want them to. Every tear that falls takes something with it. A piece of the loneliness, a piece of the fear, a piece of the weight that has been pressing down on her since she stepped through the portal. She presses her face harder against Cerena’s shoulder and the fabric of her clothing is rough and dirty and damp, but she does not care at all.
At some point, as the sobs grow quieter and only the trembling remains, Cerena clears her throat softly.
“Your Highness, I must apologize.” Her voice is soft and Nara hears the embarrassment in it. “My current state is unacceptable toward you. I am well aware that I smell quite unpleasant, and I am genuinely ashamed that you have to endure it.”
Nara laughs. It comes out wet and muffled and half as another sob, but it is a laugh. She releases herself from Cerena’s shoulder and wipes her face with her sleeve. “Then I must apologize as well, Cerena. Three weeks of cold rainwater and a washtub apparently are not sufficient to maintain a royal scent.”
Cerena looks at her and Nara sees her mind working. The notion that a princess of House Runenberg has not had a proper bath in weeks seems to cause her physical discomfort.
Nara wipes the last tear from the corner of her eye and studies Cerena. Her face is thinner than in her memory, her cheekbones more prominent and dark shadows lie beneath her eyes. But she stands upright, despite everything, and in her gaze lies the same quiet vigilance that Nara knew when she herself was still a child.
“Come,” Nara says and her voice still trembles slightly. “Come inside.”
She leads Cerena to the tavern. Cerena studies the marketplace as they walk, the decayed buildings, the weakly flickering portal, the overgrown streets. She says nothing, but her eyes are everywhere and her right hand rests on the sword hilt.
When they enter the tavern, Cerena stops in the doorway and examines the room. The swept floor, the tables that have been set up, the flowers in the clay pots, the fireplace with the stack of wood. Then her gaze falls on the skull on the counter.
“Is that an orc skull?” she asks and her hand closes more tightly around the sword grip.
“That is Dieter,” Nara says. “My former tenant.”
Cerena looks from the skull to Nara and back again. Her mouth opens slightly as if she wants to ask, but then she closes it and merely nods. “I see.”
“The washtub is in the back courtyard,” Nara says and gestures behind the counter. “The water is cold, but clean. Give me your clothes, I will wash them while you freshen up.”
Cerena clearly hesitates. Nara can see her jaw tense and a light red color her cheeks, as much as can be seen beneath the dirt. “Highness, I cannot possibly accept. It would be completely inappropriate if a princess were to wash her bodyguard’s clothes.”
“Cerena, I have neither servants nor a laundromat here. And I have spent the past weeks fighting slimes, digging an outhouse and weeding. I think washing your clothes will not further damage my dignity.”
Cerena opens her mouth, closes it again, and wordlessly hands her things over once she is in the back courtyard. Her face speaks volumes.
While Cerena washes and Nara works the clothes at a second tub, she calls over her shoulder. “Once you are done, you will find a blanket on the hook by the door. We can make something to eat together once your things are drying.”
At the fireplace they stand side by side, Cerena wrapped in a blanket with wet hair, Nara with the last of the supplies. Cerena cuts the potatoes into even slices, orderly and precise, while Nara tears the dried meat into strips and throws both into the pot. The supplies are running low. Perhaps another week if they are frugal. Now even less.
They sit at the table and Nara slides Cerena’s portion toward her.
“Thank you, Highness.”
They eat in silence. Cerena eats slowly and in control, but Nara sees her hands tremble slightly. There was likely not much given in the dungeon.
Cerena’s gaze wanders again to the orc skull on the counter. Then to the sword at Nara’s hip. Then to the bruises that show beneath Nara’s sleeve.
“Highness, may I ask,” Cerena begins and chooses her words carefully, “how is it really here? The stories with which we have been frightened since childhood, that Arthengard is overrun by demons and monsters and every person here is fated for certain death, are they true?”
Nara leans back. “Partially. So far I have only seen slimes. They are annoying and faster than they look, but nothing compared to what kept us awake as children.” She gestures to the orc skull. “That lay here when I arrived. Together with the rest of the skeleton. I buried the bones, but Dieter kept his place.” She taps on the counter. “Good company was hard to find.”
Cerena studies her for a moment with an expression somewhere between concern and incomprehension. Then she turns back to her food.
“However, I also have not ventured outside the city,” Nara continues and nods toward the window. “Behind the city wall lies a forest and it looks like something you should better leave alone. If a single slime can throw me on my back, I do not want to know what lurks between those trees.”
Cerena nods slowly and Nara sees how she categorizes and stores the information. The bodyguard in her was never really gone.
“Cerena,” Nara says and sets down her spoon. “Tell me what happened. How did you end up here?”
Cerena likewise sets down her spoon and folds her hands on the table. “The night after your banishment, your father called the bodyguard together. He gave the order personally, we were to gather what was possible and throw it through the portal.”
Nara nods.
“It had to be done quickly and without drawing attention. Each had their post and their task. Some gathered the supplies, others stood watch, the rest transported everything to the portal.” Cerena pauses and her gaze fixes on the flames in the fireplace. “Until the end. We had gone through everything, but then a temple knight came around the corner. He was not bribed and he raised the alarm immediately.”
“And then?”
“We fled. Each in a different direction, that was the plan in case of discovery.” Cerena’s voice remains even, but Nara hears the tension beneath it. “I escaped and hid in the lower city for three days before they found me.” She briefly raises her scraped hands and turns them in the firelight. “The trial was short. No evidence, but the church has never let that stop them from issuing a judgment when it suits them. Like you, I was also sent to Arthengard.”
“Three weeks in a dungeon,” Nara says softly.
“A bit longer, I think.” Cerena says it without bitterness. “Not a pleasant stay, but I have experienced worse. The judgment could have gone differently.”
“What became of the others?”
“I do not know. In the dungeon one hears little.”
“How is my father?”
Cerena does not answer immediately and Nara sees her weighing the words. “He kept his composure, as far as I could tell. He was the one who ordered the action, and he did so fully aware of what it could cost him if discovered. I had the impression that he saw the judgment against you as a personal defeat, though he did not let it show in public.”
Nara nods slowly. She wants to ask more, but Cerena’s next words distract her.
“However, something has changed in the city.” For the first time something in Cerena’s voice sounds like genuine concern. “In the dungeon one hears things, especially when the guards think you are sleeping. And what I heard surprised me. The mood has shifted. The guards talked amongst themselves about the judgment, about the church. More openly than I have ever experienced. Not just whispers behind raised hands. In the inns, in the markets, even in the barracks there are supposed to be conversations that would have been unthinkable a month ago.” Cerena looks Nara directly in the eye. “That was before my time in the dungeon. What has happened since then, I cannot judge.”
Nara is silent for a moment. She thinks of the execution, of the faces in the crowd, some angry, some weeping.
“I think we will not be the only ones to come through this portal,” Cerena says. “The church seems to have taken a liking to this form of punishment, now that the portal is open again.”
Then Nara tells her story. The first night on the plaza, the silence, exploring the city. The slimes, the garden, the supplies running out. She mentions the glowing crystals and that she does not know what they are. She mentions the forest and that she has not dared even to go near it.
Cerena listens without interrupting. She nods now and then. When Nara finishes, she puts a hand on her shoulder and says, “You have accomplished a remarkable amount under these circumstances, Highness.”
The hours pass and the fire burns down. Nara adds wood twice. They talk about the city, about the wall, about the seven breaches. Cerena asks questions that would not have occurred to Nara. Where are the nearest water sources outside the city? Are there cellars that could serve as storage? How often do the slimes enter the city? Nara answers what she can, and shrugs about the rest.
Somewhere in the middle of a sentence Nara notices that Cerena is no longer answering. She looks up. Cerena lies with her head on the table, head tilted slightly to the side and eyes closed. Her hands still lie on the table as if she meant to say something, but her body decided more quickly. Her sword leans against the back of her chair, at the ready even in sleep.
Nara stands quietly and fetches one of the blankets from the upper floor. She carefully drapes it over Cerena’s shoulders, taking care not to wake her. Cerena does not stir. Her breathing is deep and even and for the first time since she stumbled out of the portal, her face looks relaxed.
Nara stands there for a moment and looks at her. Then she looks toward the door.
Cerena’s words do not leave her mind. That they will not be the only ones. She bites her lower lip and puts her hand on the sword hilt at her hip.
She steps quietly out of the tavern. The marketplace lies in darkness, only the portal glows weakly and steadily. The air is cool and smells of the rain that fell in the afternoon. Nara walks slowly toward the portal and looks around. The silence is there, as always, pressing on her ears.
Then she hears something.
A soft scratching, like claws on stone. Nara stops and her hand closes around the sword hilt. The scratching comes from the right, from the alley between the smithy and the warehouse. She turns slowly in that direction.
Two figures step out of the shadows. Small, perhaps up to her hip, with long pointed ears and eyes that glow yellow in the portal blue. Their skin is green and leathery and in their hands blades glint.
Nara draws her sword. The runes glow blue.
A goblin grins.