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Autonomy

Anya

I f even the smallest part of me had wondered if my affection for Idris had grown due to proximity of travel, and not true emotional connection, my first half-day with Oderin dispelled all concern. It was not that Oderin was a bad travel companion. He was Idris’s friend, after all, and I felt safe under his guidance.

It was his chattiness .

In a single afternoon, I’d heard far more about his love life than even I—normally quite an enthusiastic gossip—would’ve cared to know. There were the young castle apprentices, the brawny coastal merchants, the thief who’d stolen his heart and the dress dagger he’d been given by the King of Marona. There was the time Oderin woke up in a literal pile of shit after going home with a stablemaster, and a rather exciting secret tryst with a nobleman from the southeastern territory of Lothgaim. The only men who were off-limits, Oderin had stated proudly, were his regiment.

Who would’ve guessed that a Knight of the Order of the Mighty—the most highly-respected Order in the realm—could be so… horny ? Touch magicians were notorious for their pleasure-seeking, but Oderin was beyond the stereotypes of his skill. I supposed his title granted him some magnetism, but did it not also demand restraint? His conversational momentum—so counter to my first impression of him: regal, grand, perhaps even a little stoic—and his general outgoingness made me wonder how he and Idris had gotten so close. They were two opposites: Idris, taciturn and dryly humorous; Oderin, downright boisterous.

Come to think of it, Oderin’s conversational momentum was a little bit like… mine . Had Idris felt this exhausted while traveling with me?

To be fair, under normal circumstances, I probably would’ve delighted in Oderin’s wild stories—but seeing as I was a prisoner marching off to possible death, I wasn’t in a place to be amused. Though I appreciated his efforts to lighten the mood, I found myself missing the quiet contentment of Idris’s presence.

Oderin was also a stickler for the rules.

I had been given my own horse for the journey, but as a criminal, I had not been permitted to steer the mare myself. Instead, Oderin had knotted my reins to the pommel of his saddle, leading my horse from atop his mount. The two animals didn’t get along. They pinned their ears and swerved constantly, making for a bumpy ride. And seeing as my hands had been shackled since the moment I was led from my cell, all I could do was hold on tightly, unable to even brush the strands of hair from my face lest I lose my balance.

By the time we stopped for the night, my butt-bones ached, and my wrists were raw. These were not the rolling green hills along the High Road. Here, the terrain was rocky and harsh. Jagged stones rose up all around us, black and crusted with pale green lichen. Scraggly bushes and stands of twisted fir trees provided some cover, but the Bone Mountains—even the foothills—were known for their frigid winds and arid scenery. Once we reached the River Gray, the western forest would provide more cover, but darker dangers than the elements haunted that path.

It took Oderin twice as long as Idris to start a fire, and with my hands still bound, all I could do was watch in silence as he struggled with the flint. I hadn’t even been able to change clothes before we left Fenrir City, so I still wore my ridiculous party dress—warm, but laughably out of place. I considered asking Oderin if I could change, but even the thought of briefly exposing my skin to the chill of night made me shiver.

So, I simply sat there on the ground with my back to a nearby boulder. Once the weak fire was lit, I held my palms up to the flames, waiting for our meager dinner to simmer. Unlike Idris, Oderin didn’t add any salt, syrup, or spices.

I hated that I missed Idris. I hated that Fate and Oaths and differing opinions had pulled us apart. He left you , I reminded myself. He chose his lonely, miserable, Oath-bound life over you. He chose it over…literally anything else .

Underneath the hurt, that’s what I didn’t understand. Why Idris would stay in an Order for criminals when he himself could walk free. Because if the Order of the Valiant wasn’t voluntary , then the charge—hunting monsters and who knows what else—must be work that few would carry out unless forced. How grim. How awful. How insulting that he’d stay.

His admission about his Mirror had been a surprise, though. Regardless of what I’d said to him last night, his Fortune—the perfect reflection of my doom— was a compelling reason for him to keep his Oath. I just…had trouble believing that Idris would murder me. The Fates worked in mysterious ways, but then again, so did our hearts. Did my unfixed Fate mean nothing to him?

What did any of Idris’s thoughts or decisions matter when I was about to face a nest of monsters? Whatever strength of nerve I’d felt this morning during my audience with the Lord was gone now, lost to the howling winds. I couldn’t turn back, but I didn’t see a clear path forward, either.

“Dinner’s up,” Oderin said, lifting the pot from the fire and dishing out our meal. “Fair warning: Idris’s cooking is far better than mine.”

The steaming bowl he placed in my outstretched hands was wonderfully hot, stinging my cold-numb fingers. I breathed in the steam, finding myself starving in spite of its bland scent. The heel of moldy bread that’d been tossed into my cell early this morning had hardly filled me up, seeing as I’d picked off nearly half of its bulk, the rats rushing for the scraps.

I took a tentative bite of soup, struggling with the logistics of eating with my hands shackled; it meant I had to lift the bowl toward my face along with the spoon, which was awkward and caused me to dribble some down my chin.

Oderin wasn’t wrong—Idris’s cooking was better.

“Idris is better than me at pretty much all things related to camping,” Oderin went on good-naturedly, seating himself on a boulder to my right.

I fished a chunk of mushroom out of my broth. “He has more practice, I reckon.”

Oderin chuckled. “That he does.”

“When we stayed at the One Week Cabin, he told me Mighty Knights are fragile city dwellers unaccustomed to nature.”

Oderin’s chuckle morphed into a chesty laugh. “Glad to know the wilds haven’t diminished his sense of humility.”

“Why did you volunteer to do this?” I wondered.

“When clearly I don’t enjoy camping, you mean?”

“It seems beneath your station,” I clarified.

“Does it?” Oderin seemed pleased by my comment. “Why do you say that?”

“You’re a Knight of the Order of the Mighty,” I stated. “Escorting a prisoner to her death in the woods doesn’t seem particularly…mighty of a task.”

“You’d be surprised by how un-mighty my life is most of the time,” he said with a chuckle. “When there are frontlines to travel to, I can fancy myself a gallant knight, but usually, my role involves scheduling my regiment, training new recruits, and lots of paperwork.”

“Don’t tell me my potential doom is a welcome break from the ordinary.”

Oderin fixed me with his bright, keen brown eyes. “Idris cares about you,” he said, as if that explained it all.

If he cares about me , I wanted to ask, then why did he leave? Instead, I fumbled another bite of watery soup.

Our little camp was tucked within the shelter of a rocky outcrop, which served as somewhat of a wind break. A vast smattering of stars lit up the sky, which was completely clear, save for a few tiny, fast-moving clouds. I heard the horses shifting on their feet nearby, the scuttle of small animals, and the faintest hint of distant—breathing? I tried to pluck the sound out of obscurity, but the wind gusted, dispersing it. I was probably just imagining things.

“Do you really think you’re marching to your death?” Oderin asked.

I had to hand it to him, he was far more direct than Idris. That, I liked. “At the moment? Yes.”

“Then why did you suggest this path?”

“Autonomy,” I said, tipping the bowl up to my lips to finish the broth. I set the bowl aside. “You probably wouldn’t know anything about that.”

“Ouch,” Oderin said, but he didn’t sound offended. “I’d argue that my Oath gives me a better understanding and appreciation for autonomy than most.”

I thought of the Oath of Proving I’d taken today. I’d been surprised it had a taste, almost herbal on my tongue as I’d finished reciting it to the Lord and it’d snapped into place. It didn’t feel particularly restrictive, but I could sense its hold on me even now, like a leather strap tied around my neck. A pressure that didn’t go away.

I couldn’t wait to be rid of it.

“Why anyone would take an Oath—unless forced—is beyond me,” I said.

“No, it’s not,” Oderin replied. “I’m sure you can imagine a hundred scenarios in which someone would willingly bind themselves to an Oath—or stay in an Oath.” I didn’t miss the hint at Idris. “It’s human nature to crave security. Boundaries, rules, Oaths—these offer stability. Direction in a directionless world.”

“Security and imprisonment are two very different things.”

“I agree with you,” Oderin said. “I’m just pointing out that it’s easy to confuse the two—especially for those who’ve never known true safety.”

I had to hand it to Oderin—promiscuous as he was, he had depth. This was the first serious conversation we’d had all day, and I was grateful for his openness—even if I disliked the point he was making about Idris. The reasonableness he brought to the heated emotions that—last night—had me insisting Idris leave the dungeon. Leave me to my sentence to fix the mess myself.

I settled back against the rock behind me, rubbing the raw skin of my wrists underneath the heavy iron shackles. “How’d you and Idris even become friends? You seem so…”

“Different?” Oderin supplied. “He helped my baby sister overcome her fear of horses.”

I frowned.

“Annoyingly sweet, isn’t it?”

“Yes, actually,” I agreed. “How’d that even come to be?”

Oderin waved a hand, as if this was classic Idris. “Oh, he was up in Fenrir recovering from that gnarly shoulder wound. He found me arguing with Phina outside the stables. I was twenty—the youngest of three noble brothers, newly admitted to the Royal Guard—and Phina was sixteen, but that day, we were no better than two bratty children making a scene. My mother had tasked me with reintroducing Phina to horses before the summer parade; she had suffered a bad fall the previous year and had refused to ride a horse since. When Idris found us, I was at my wit’s end, shouting at Phina while she screamed bloody murder, refusing to get on.”

I laughed at the mental picture he was painting. Though I didn’t have siblings, I’d witnessed and heard about plenty of brotherly and sisterly feuds in Waldron.

He rolled his eyes, smiling. “It was ugly, to say the least. And at some point, in our shouting match, the horse had tugged his lead out of my hands and wandered off. Idris found the gelding nibbling grass not far from the barn and came over to return him to me. He always had a way with horses—all animals, really.”

A wistful smile tugged at my mouth as I thought of Idris whispering to Briar—but I smothered the grin before it took over, unwilling to think of him with wistfulness when I was still so hurt and heartbroken over our last conversation.

“Long story short, he offered to teach my sister to ride,” Oderin said. “Of course, she immediately agreed. Even in his youth, Idris was all dark hair and broody glances, his quiet countenance impossibly mysterious and alluring—and with that sling over his arm, he appeared all the more valorous. To this day, she insists she accepted his help to rankle me, but it was a girlhood crush through and through.”

“It’s hard not to accept help from someone like Idris,” I said. “He’s too earnest. He doesn’t make you feel like a damsel.”

Oderin tipped his head, a smile quirking his lips. Suddenly embarrassed, I glanced at the fire, hoping he didn’t see the way my cheeks heated.

“Well,” Oderin said, continuing. “I was grateful to pass the thankless task off to some poor unsuspecting knight. Of course, he had her up on that gelding and cantering around by the afternoon.” Oderin’s smile spread wide. “He’s a good man.”

“If only he’d make good decisions.”

Oderin snorted. “I like you. I hope you survive this.”

“Thanks,” I said on a sigh. “Me, too.”

Later that evening, we settled our bedrolls a respectable distance apart. Oderin—unused to camping as he was—still managed to fall asleep within minutes, his soft snores lifted away by the howling wind. Behind our outcropping, the breeze was minimized, but the chill remained harsh. Astrophel—the longest night of the year—was quickly approaching, and I found myself wondering who in Waldron was making the preparations in my stead. Did they still expect me to return? How long after my absence would they begin to assume I wasn’t coming home?

Don’t think like that, Anya , I told myself harshly. You’re not dead yet.

The rocky ground poked at my hip bones, my knees, my ribs. With my hands bound, I tossed from side to side, unable to get comfortable mentally or physically. Around midnight, frustrated, I sat up and grabbed my pack, hoping my spare clothing might provide some additional padding underneath my body. But when I reached inside, my fingers found something hard—a book.

I pulled it out, shocked to see its cover. There was no way Oderin would’ve put this in my bag, which meant—

My lips quaked, unsure whether to smile or frown. I swiveled away from Oderin’s slumbering form, using the remaining glow of our fire to illuminate the pages. I flipped immediately to the section on the Order of the Valiant, half-expecting to find a note of some kind from Idris—but the chapter was unmarked. Even without confirmation, I knew what this was: his best attempt at helping me understand.

The Order of the Valiant is reserved for the rehabilitation of skilled criminals. It provides the opportunity to use their sentence to fight the evil of our realm and keep its guarded secrets. It is for this reason that Valiant Knights must live solitary lives in the wilds, visiting towns only for supplies and the Capital only by request of the Lord or in the name of duty. Valiant Knights swear unyielding loyalty to their territory and the Kingdom of Marona, never to unveil that which seeks to fill the land with fear. Kills are tracked by the Oath Ledgers; desertion results in a broken Oath. Sentences are absolved by time or death; broken Oaths reset the original sentence of dungeon or death. In retirement, Valiant Knights may never speak of their former charge; if they do, their dormant Oath will activate, and their sentence will be reset.

I continued to read, my forehead pinching. There was information about monetary rewards, the training of new recruits, even their magical weapons, but nowhere did the book use the words abomination or monster . There was no information about them at all—only that the unnamed “evil” remain secret.

While I read, I looked for clues as to why Idris would stay shackled to his Order. He didn’t seem greedy or wanting enough to seek monetary riches. He didn’t seem to enjoy being alone, nor killing monsters.

I flipped back to the beginning of the chapter, thinking about Grinnick and how it was his sentence Idris had taken. Last night, I’d accused Idris of self-punishment, but in my anger, I hadn’t truly considered what that could mean. If a sentence was absolved in death, then Idris wouldn’t have needed to take Grinnick’s place, which meant…

Grinnick had broken his Oath.

For Idris, no doubt.

Had Idris been there when Grinnick died, then? Had he… learned something he was not permitted to know? Perhaps that would explain the Lord mentioning Grinnick during my trial. Had that been a threat to reset the sentence, even though Idris had already earned out? I wracked my brain, trying to sort through the disparate threads of Idris’s story—the parts of him he couldn’t let me see—trying to untangle the knots.

There was no scenario in which I could fathom Idris being responsible for Grinnick’s death, but…well, I could see now how messy the secret-keeping of the Oath could be. And if the Lord was willing to imprison me simply for witnessing monsters, there was no doubt in my mind that countless others—perhaps even Idris himself—had been sentenced for the same thing. Apparently, the Lord saw Oath-controlled criminals as a resource to do his dirty work. It was cruel, but I could see how it was effective for a ruler unconcerned with cruelty.

I could see how we’d all been caught up in it.

“But why ?” I whispered to myself, flipping back through the pages.

What benefit was there to keeping the monsters a secret at all? It seemed like such a massive amount of work to contain. And what of Oderin? What of all the other knights who knew of the monsters’ existence? How was it possible to keep a secret from the public when it was so widely known among the ranks? Were the Oaths they took really that strong? Were knights just…puppets of the Lord?

A raspy voice answered my question. “Power, Dear. It’s all for power.”

Caught up in reading, I hadn’t noticed the silence that’d overtaken our camp—like a blanket snuffing out a crackling fire. A thin, lanky man stepped out from a stand of nearby pines into the dim light of the stars. A dark shadow remained on his face, though, where his right eye should’ve been. He held a longbow, and the tip of his arrow flashed in the moonlight as he took aim—at me.