HUI 05

A Face She’d Never Seen Before

The temple’s permission came through.
Ninia had requested it, but she hadn’t expected approval to arrive so easily, and the smoothness of it all left her with an odd, unsettled feeling.

Before the permission, there had been a few small disturbances, but it had all ended quietly enough. Merely being allowed to head north was satisfaction enough for her.

Still with the priests… for now.
She stole a sideways glance at the temple clerics riding in the carriage with her, their presence clearly meant to keep watch. Once they left the Promaia territory, she had heard, she would change carriages. Other hired escorts would then take her on to the far north.

That meant she wouldn’t have to see the sigil of the Church of Kaner for at least several weeks.

Her eyes drifted to the Kaner emblem stitched into the priest’s hem. She had been born into that pattern, seen it more times than she could count, yet it now felt strangely alien.

Do people in the north believe in gods at all?
She wondered how many in that frozen land still kept the faith—or if they cursed the icebound earth and hated the god who made it.

From birth Ninia had been raised to be an offering to the goddess. She had been taught this a thousand times.
So when the moment came to ascend the altar, she felt nothing. Only when the searing pain overwhelmed her did fear finally sprout—and by then it was far too late.

“It’s over,” someone said.

The carriage marked with the Kaner crest halted. They had reached the edge of Promaia. When Ninia stepped down, a new driver and a handful of men who looked like mercenaries were waiting. The priests handed her over.

The clerics turned back, relieved. To them she was nothing more or less than a sinner, and she could almost understand their cold detachment.

Alone now in the new carriage—a shabby wooden one far rougher than the temple’s—Ninia felt a surprising ease. She did not mind its age or creaks; what mattered was that the church’s emblem no longer wavered before her eyes.
That alone brought an unsettling calm.

“…Ah!”
She had dozed off, leaning against the wall. In her sleep the same dream returned, as it always did when she was jolted awake on a journey.

Wiping away a cold sweat, she pushed aside the torn curtain and looked out the window.
Dark…
Night had fallen, and the carriage rattled along a shadowed forest path. The faint light was moonlight—only a thin, aloof crescent.

The god-touched world held many beauties, but the moon alone carried a bewitching power. Ninia found herself staring, spellbound.

Thwack—!

“…!”
An arrowhead pierced the wooden wall beside her seat, quivering inches away.

Before she could think, the horses screamed. One had been struck and collapsed sideways. The driver’s shout rang out as the carriage lurched and tilted sharply.

“Ah—!”
Thrown across the swaying floor, Ninia slammed into the opposite wall, pain reverberating through her body.

Outside, the clash of blades rang out.
An ambush? Bandits? Or…
She tried to piece it together. Traveling in a temple carriage with holy knights, she’d never faced a real attack. Stray vagrants were sometimes cut down before they even approached.

Should I get out—or stay hidden?
The only view was through the small upper window. But the noises outside were vicious; sticking her head out could mean death. She hesitated, frozen.

A sharp shatter made her look up. Moonlight glittered on falling shards of glass. Through the now-open window, a gloved hand thrust inside.

“Take it.”

The voice was low and rough, commanding her senses awake.
The hand reaching for her was clad in sleek black leather, a dangerous presence that smelled of violence.

Her heart pounded, yet she could only grasp it.

“…Ahh!”
Her small white hand was engulfed, the grip so strong it almost crushed her fingers.

With brutal strength the stranger hauled her up and out. He released her the moment her feet cleared the window.

Ninia staggered and dropped to the ground, her bare calves—her dress torn aside—brushing the wet night grass. At her lowered gaze lay the black-gloved hand that had pulled her.

Slowly she raised her eyes, following a long silhouette until she could see his face.

“Can’t have you dying yet, Saintess. Or… perhaps you’re not that anymore.”

Red eyes.
Before his mocking words, it was those eyes that branded themselves into her memory.

Disordered black hair fell across strong brows; the shadowed hollows beneath gave a chill to his expression. Below a straight nose, a firm mouth twisted slightly at one corner.

Like a sharpened blade or a wild beast, he possessed a dangerous kind of beauty.
Under the pale moonlight, he was striking.

…A beast.
He was more animal than man, she thought.

“To those tied to your temple, death is just running back to your god’s embrace. That would be a waste to me.”

His voice was a low growl, his blood-dark eyes gleaming with scorn, like smoke thick in the air.

Different from that time…
She knew this man. But she had never seen his face clean of blood before.
Taraan Danteor—the man destined to be her husband.

“She’s a woman bought at a high price. Take her.”

Taraan jerked his chin toward his lieutenant. The subordinate started to protest.

“Sir, wait—”

“You filthy imperial dog… die!”

One of the attackers lunged with a sword, cloak whipping. To Ninia’s eyes, it was only a blur.

Taraan merely shifted his shoulder aside and caught the soldier’s neck in his hand, twisting.

A sharp crack—the kind no blade could make—echoed as the man’s spine snapped.

The soldier collapsed without a scream. His loosened helmet rolled across the ground with a dull bounce.

Ninia had never known a person could snap a neck bare-handed.

“Keep the rest alive. Deliver them to the fortress.”

Moonlight washed over Taraan as he spoke. At Ninia’s feet, the fallen helmet spun in place like a bottle in a tavern game.

He hadn’t meant the dead man, of course. The helmet nudging her toes jolted her back. When she looked up again, Taraan was gone.

“Saintess! Are you unharmed?”
His lieutenant helped her to her feet, but even standing, her eyes searched for Taraan’s shadow.

As if spellbound, she finally murmured the correction that still mattered.
“…No. Not Saintess—Ninia.”

Despite the attack, she had managed to grab a small box while climbing out of the carriage. Inside lay the handkerchief she had embroidered for Taraan.

I won’t be giving this now, will I…

The lieutenant glanced at her strangely, but Ninia only toyed with the box’s lid, dazed. Amid the chaos, one truth settled clearly in her mind:

Her betrothed did not like her.