Under the Oak Tree Novel - Chapter 235

235 Side Story Chapter 41

Riftan woke to the sound of rain tickling his ears. He had never felt such lethargy before. It pressed on him, taking him a while to fully come to his senses.

He stared up at the shadows flickering on the dark ceiling until the sound of soft breathing startled him. Looking over, he saw tousled red curls spread like clouds over the pillow. His breath hitched when he registered the woman deep asleep on his arm. The feel of her damp body, the pungent odor of their coupling, and her soft scent all served to make his head spin. He stared dazedly at her sleeping form as though intoxicated until he realized he was clenching her to him. He abruptly relaxed his grip.

The chill that brushed him as they parted made him pull her close again. He could feel her bones beneath her smooth, sweat-slicked skin.

He gingerly peeled away the curls sticking to her face, his fingers trembling, and gently cupped her soft cheek. Her lashes were reddish-brown, a shade darker than her hair. They were drooping like wet feathers in the rain, and her eyes were rimmed red. The sight wrenched at Riftan’s heart.

He traced her round forehead and small nose, pausing to lightly rub her plump, swollen lip with his thumb. Her delightful breath tickled the tip of his finger. It felt as though she was burrowing into his very bones.

Even from afar, she had always managed to captivate him. There was no going back now. She would live in his heart for the rest of his days. His brow crinkling, Riftan pried himself away, an act more agonizing than having his flesh torn.

He pulled the blanket up to her neck, then sat on the edge of the bed to stare into the dying fire. Though his head told him it was time to leave, his body felt as heavy as water-soaked cotton.

He scrubbed at his face and willed himself to stand. Though he wished to see her winter lake eyes one last time, he knew she would not welcome it. She would no doubt prefer to find him gone when she awoke.

He briskly wiped himself with a wet towel and threw on his clothes. The longer he lingered, the harder it would be to leave. Quashing all manner of excuses to stay, Riftan picked up his sword. He gazed one last time at the woman he now called his wife.

…..
Unbearable sorrow swirled within him. Squeezing his eyes shut, he opened the door and stepped outside. A maidservant and cleric, who had been waiting in the corridor, entered the bridal chamber to confirm the consummation.

“This will be the final part of your agreement with His Grace,” the head steward said, handing Riftan a roll of parchment. “It is His Grace’s mandate. It appoints you as the new commander of the Dragon Campaign in his stead.”

Riftan eyed the parchment for a long moment before snatching it from the steward. Turning to the soldiers standing in the wings, the steward motioned with his head.

“Show Sir Riftan to the dungeons.”

He was about to request the steward to take good care of Maximilian when he bit his lip. What right had he to such entreaties after the way he had tormented her?

Riftan suppressed his self-loathing and followed the guards, his footfalls heavy. When he descended the stairs, he found his men waiting for him in the empty hall. They opened their mouths to speak before firmly closing them again. Striding past the knights, Riftan hurried on to the garden, which was growing brighter with daybreak. Clouds covered the blue sky into a white haze, and icy winter rain spattered his head and shoulders.

“It is this way.”

The guard hurried through the rain, a torch held high. He stopped at a dark door on the side of the thick castle wall. The entrance to the dungeons.

Turning to his men who had followed, Riftan instructed Ursuline and Ruth to wait outside. Only Elliot was chosen to descend underground with him. At the bottom of the stairs, the guard unlocked two sets of iron bars before setting the torch in a wall sconce. The flame flickered over the appalling sight. Riftan clenched his fists.

Rat carcasses littered the damp floor in mud-like heaps, and the rows of cells reeked of excrement. Inside, prisoners lay motionless as if dead. Grabbing the torch, Riftan inspected the dungeons with gritted teeth. It incensed him that his stepfather had been stuck in such deplorable conditions for days.

“The man you are after is in the innermost cell.”

Riftan shot the guard a murderous glare. “Lead me to him at once.”

Flinching, the guard rushed to oblige. Mustering his remaining patience, Riftan followed. If his stepfather had suffered some unfortunate incident during his captivity, he would never forgive the duke.

“H-He is in here.”

Reaching the cell at the end of the passageway, the guard slipped a torch between the iron bars. The prisoner let out a soft sob and shrunk into the corner. Stunned, Riftan could do nothing but stare. The guard opened the cell door and walked over to the prisoner. As he helped him up, the man’s disheveled hair parted to reveal a face as swollen as a rotten pumpkin.

Riftan stifled a gasp. His stepfather’s bruised eyelids slowly parted to look back at him with a dull gaze. A whimper of terror whistled from the man’s cracked lips. Riftan’s face fell as he realized that his stepfather was begging for mercy.

Seeing Riftan frozen in shock, Elliot brushed past into the cell in his stead.

“Let us take him out of this place at once,” said the knight, helping Novan up.

Not daring to touch his stepfather, Riftan turned away.

When they finally made it back to the surface, Ruth rushed over to inspect Novan’s condition.

“Fortunately, there is no permanent damage,” Ruth mumbled with a small sigh of relief.

The mage’s assessment did little to ease Riftan’s agitation. Even after Novan’s prompt healing, his suffering seemed to linger.

Looking down at his stepfather’s slumped figure, Riftan bellowed at a soldier, “What are you waiting for? Bring the carriage!”

The drizzle turned to white sheets of rain as the carriage arrived. Riftan made sure his stepfather was placed safely inside before mounting his horse.

He stared at Croyso Castle through the frigid cold. The towering, gray structure glistened like a lake shrouded in mist. The fortress he had once gazed upon with envy now seemed to sneer down at him. Finally, Riftan rode his horse away.

***

Novan’s wife and young daughter burst into tears the moment they saw his wretched state. After watching the reunion from a distance, Riftan paid the innkeeper a hefty sum to prepare a warm bath and meal before stepping outside.

The rain was growing heavier. Ruth, who had been vacantly staring at the sky, quietly walked over and stopped next to him.

“It isn’t your fault. Even if you had not given him the gold, the duke would have found another excuse to hold him hostage.”

Riftan did not reply.

Reading his dissent in his silence, Ruth sighed and changed the subject. “What will you do now? Will you have your family moved to Anatol?”

“No,” Riftan said, keeping his eyes fixed on the castle walls visible above the hill. “Anatol is too dangerous. I plan to have them sent to Lord Triton’s estate.”

They had never truly been his family in the first place. Turning his head, Riftan saw Novan and his wife tearfully clutching each other.

“We’ll have to rejoin the others at the border as soon as possible. Prepare to depart as soon as the rain stops.”

“Understood. I shall have a carriage ready.”

After watching the rain fall for a while longer, Riftan went to his room and started on the letter to send to Drachium. No doubt King Reuben would be furious. It was because of Riftan that His Majesty’s plan to tame the duke was now up in smoke. The king would surely be incensed that his loyal hound had put teeth to its master’s hand.

He frowned as he wrote, imagining the king’s fury, when he saw that his scrawls were barely legible. He stopped. Furrowing his brow, he pulled out a piece of parchment and dipped his quill in ink. Unfortunately, his handwriting was no better. Only then did he realize he was shaking.

Was it rage? Or loss? A chill seeped into his bones. He was hunched over when a sudden, violent compulsion swept through him, and he hurled the inkwell at the wall. Black liquid spattered over the room. He stared at the dark stains with empty eyes before sinking onto his chair, clutching his head and growling like a wounded beast.

In only a day, he had lost the sanctuary he had carefully built in his heart. Unable to cry, Riftan pulled at his hair, letting out a strangled wail. All he had ever wanted was to conjure her in his mind every once in a while. He had not been allowed even that. Hugging his ink-spattered chest, he struggled to regain his composure.

Breaking down was not an option. Not yet. He had to keep his wits about him, for he still had obligations. He repeated this like a mantra. By the time his shaking subsided, rain no longer pelted the shutters. He donned his usual impassiveness and opened the window to look out at the gray scenery.

I must depart.

He picked up his sword.

***

His stepfather did not utter a single word during the entire carriage ride, and Riftan did not attempt to force conversation. The old man spent the journey next to his wife, looking thoroughly exhausted. Only when he saw his son sprinting toward them from afar did he leap to his feet.

Novan spread his scrawny arms to embrace his young son. Turning away, Riftan addressed Gabel.

“Please escort them safely to the viscount’s estate.”