Fallen Eagle-Chapter 46: Severed Hearts

Fallen Eagle-Chapter 46: Severed Hearts

The garden was dead.
The thought should have worried Cassandra less than it did. It was winter, the season of fallow and quiet sleep, when animals curled into their burrows and plants withered and drew in on themselves. Like books that could only be read in the right season, they waited for spring to be seen again.
It didn’t sit right with her.
She wanted to smell the fragrance of the roses in bloom, to see the colour of the marigolds as they stretched and waned in the breeze. She had long since accepted that it was a childish notion, that this turning of the year was the way of things and that God had ordained it so. A world of seasons, not of everlasting summer. She could not live in fantasies and make-believes.
But today she felt the lack keener than she usually did, as though the bare branches themselves were watching her.
She could not deny that it might have been because of the meeting she was about to have. The Captain had proved an enigmatic puzzle for her to solve, each conversation yielding only more questions. Today she would finally have the time to prise a few answers from him.
But that worked both ways, didn’t it? She had to be careful not to show too much of herself, as she had at the feast. The thought made red rush up her cheeks and sent her heart fluttering. She had been like a lost damsel then. This time she had to be a poised lady, measured and serene, no matter what he said.
Her adversary reached the battlefield not long after noon, followed by his servants, who teetered off to the edge of the path to join Cassandra’s own on the opposite side. Custom dictated they could not meet alone; it would be unseemly, even impious, for an unmarried man and woman to do so, however innocent the talk.
The Captain arrived with a cold northern wind at his back, dark curls stirring with the breeze. He looked his usual serious self in his black-and-grey brigandine, pitched neatly between military and proper, with nary a wrinkle to it. It certainly made him look the part of the gallant knight, though one more mysterious than any in the fables. And-God, was she yapping? Get a hold of yourself, Cassandra. He arrived perfectly normally, as a normal military aide, nothing too special. Yes. Much better. Oh-was he saying something?
“...ning, Lady Cassandra.” The Captain fell into a practiced bow.
“Captain Theodorus,” Cassandra managed to respond, dipping into a curtsy she hoped looked graceful rather than panicked.
“I had thought we could take a stroll,” he said, gesturing to the pale winter light beyond the hedges. He was already looking to place her on the back foot, change the location and thus the game.
“Can’t we just remain here and socialize? Get to know each other better?” Cassandra was wiser to his methods now. She would not be swept away again so easily.
“I had intended a surprise to show you,” the Captain said, extending his hand to Cassandra’s, trying to use his wiles on her. It would not work. She had determined so.
“I would prefer to remain here, Captain. In truth, I also have a surprise for you.” Cassandra extended her own hand, letting the Captain take it and bow over it to kiss it. She was oddly proud that she did not flinch when she felt his warmth brush her skin, though her pulse leapt traitorously beneath his lips.
“Very well then, my lady, as you wish,” he said, eyes glinting with what looked very much like amusement at Cassandra’s attempts to remain cool and distant. He clapped his hands once, the sound crisp in the winter air, and his servants straightened at once, awaiting orders.
“Demetrios,” he said to the older one, “bring the gifts over here to the garden.” The man bowed and hurried off. With that done, the Captain offered his arm with unhurried courtesy and escorted Cassandra along the loggia to a shaded corner, where climbing vines clung to the stone and the air smelled faintly of old leaves and cold marble.
“What is that?” the Captain murmured, genuine interest coloring his voice as they neared the corner. His gaze had fixed not on her, but on the table set neatly against the balustrade.
“Uncle Hypatius had a chess table installed in the loggia not long ago,” Cassandra explained, following his line of sight. The board was carved directly from a great stump, its black and white squares inlaid with polished wood, the pieces neatly ranked as if waiting for some invisible players to return. “Is this your first time seeing it?”
“I haven’t had time to visit the loggia for leisure as of late,” the Captain said at last. For a heartbeat he simply stood there, silent, staring at the arranged pieces as though they held some deeper meaning.
“Busy with your various projects?” Cassandra probed lightly as she eased down onto the stone bench most favoured by the light. A thin shaft of sun warmed the cold seat, and the rustle of bare branches and distant birdsong seemed louder, as if the garden itself were leaning closer to listen.
“You could say that,” the Captain answered slowly. His fingers drifted across the board, skimming the tops of the carved figures without quite touching them.
“Have you ever played?” Cassandra asked, taking in the faintly forlorn cast to his expression, the way his shoulders had gone still.
“A bit,” was all he said at first, but his eyes had gone far away. “With my father. A long time ago.” He emphasized the word 'long'.
“Oh.” Cassandra’s stomach dipped. Of course she had managed to stumble directly onto his dead father - perfect conversation for a first meeting. Great going, Cassandra. “I apologize,” she said quickly, her fingers twisting in her skirts. “It must not have been easy to lose him in the way you did.”
“It wasn’t,” the Captain said, turning to face her fully at last. The winter light caught the edge of his jaw, highlighting a barely-there stubble. “But all we can do is move on for our loved ones, and live as they would have wanted.” The words tugged at Cassandra, in more ways than the Captain might have realized.
“Do you think they are watching?” Cassandra asked, her voice quieter than she had intended. “Up above, from heaven?”
“I’d like to believe so. It is what keeps me going.” He moved then, crossing the small space between them to sit beside her on the bench. The closeness left her both uncomfortable and wanting more. “You’ve lost someone as well?” he asked, his gaze intent, searching.
“My mother,” Cassandra said. The word felt larger than it ought to. The Captain nodded once.
“Tell me about her,” he requested gently. That he did not offer the rote ‘I’m sorry for your loss’ was already a relief. That, more than anything, showed that he truly understood.
“She was the sun,” Cassandra said, picturing her light auburn hair catching the morning glare, turning almost copper. “Bright, and all laughter. Always ready with a joke, or some little mischief to widen a smile. She had a knack for it, too. Used to pass me sweets under the table when she thought Madame Zeta wasn’t looking.” Cassandra breathed out a small laugh, despite herself. “When she was gone…”
“It was like a piece of you died with her,” the Captain finished softly. His eyes were intense and unguarded, like a reflection of her own grief. At that moment, Cassandra thought she understood the Captain a bit better. He was working past his own demons, and trying to move forward in his own way.
Cassandra jolted as she suddenly felt observed from an angle unseen. An intruder, in the shape of a man, pierced the fragile peace of the loggia.
“Uncle!” Cassandra exclaimed.
Heat flared in her cheeks as she realized she had instinctively leaned closer to the Captain. She snapped herself back in the very next breath, putting as much distance between them as the narrow bench allowed, smoothing her dress in a flustered attempt at composure.
“Ah, apologies. I did not know I was intruding,” Uncle Hypatius said, his tone mild. His eyes, however, widened only imperceptibly in surprise. “I had come here in the hope of playing some chess with myself.” He rubbed his head in mock consternation, as though embarrassed he had not foreseen such an interruption. Yet his gaze slid, almost lazily, to the Captain, and there it sharpened - gleaming in a way Cassandra knew all too well.
Cassandra did not like her uncle much. Eyes, she had heard said, were the windows to the soul. And his were shifty, always moving, always measuring, never quite showing what lay behind. Like a murky room with the curtains half-drawn.
The Captain rose in a single, fluid motion, the movement so controlled it might have been rehearsed. “Our apologies,” he said evenly, inclining his head. “We will move to another spot. We did not mean to disturb you.”
“Nonsense, I was the one who intruded on your little date,” Uncle Hypatius replied with false modesty. “I was not doing anything of consequence. Merely looking to pass the time.”
The Captain took Cassandra’s hand - a bold move given her uncle was standing directly before them. His grip was firm but careful as he guided her up from the bench. Cassandra felt, for a heartbeat, as though she were sheltered behind his armour, hidden from her uncle’s gaze. Something unfamiliar and disconcertingly pleasant blossomed in her chest, a feeling she did not yet have the words for.
As they began to move away, however, Uncle Hypatius’s voice cut across their retreat. “I feel I have to ask, Captain. Do you play chess?” He nodded toward the board. “I couldn’t help but notice the pieces had been moved.”
“I do,” the Captain replied. His face revealed nothing, every line of it composed. Only a faint stillness in his shoulders hinted that he was weighing something unseen.
“Would you care for a small game some time, then? To pass the time?” Her uncle’s eyes had that ugly gleam again, as though he were baiting a hook and waiting for the Captain to bite, the question sounding casual but anything but harmless.
The Captain stood tall, facing her uncle squarely, though Hypatius still towered over him. “Some time, definitely,” he said at last, with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.
They walked together farther from the corner, the sound of their steps echoing softly under the loggia arches. Cassandra could feel her uncle’s gaze like a weight between her shoulder blades, prickling the back of her neck, as though he were filing away every glance, every movement, for later use.
They exited the courtyard just as the older of the Captain’s servants came through the opposite archway, followed by a small procession of house staff bearing trays piled with unfamiliar offerings: glazed fruits, spiced nuts, and pastries dusted with something that glimmered faintly in the light.
“One for the road, Demetrios,” the Captain said.
“You’re going out? But I brought the gifts.” The servant asked, his tone close to exasperation.
“Yes. We had an unexpected guest interrupt our meeting.” The Captain inclined his head back toward the loggia. His gaze flicked to the chessboard, and Demetrios’s eyes followed, sharpening once he understood. “I believe we can proceed with the normal route we had planned. Yes, my lady?”
Cassandra found herself nodding before she had fully thought it through. The idea of remaining in the loggia under her uncle’s watchful, prying eyes made her skin crawl. Better, by far, to see what the Captain had in store for her beyond the garden walls.
…
It was a walk unlike any other.
They began along the outer battlements, boots knocking softly against age-smoothed stone. The wind up there came sharp, tugging at Cassandra’s veil and reddening her cheeks, but the view made her stomach tilt with a familiar, childlike thrill. It was reminiscent of when Hilda dragged her up here for ‘fresh air’ that always turned into hide-and-seek.
The Captain let her set the pace as they wound through narrow wall-walks and tucked-away staircases she had once used as hiding places. He said little, only asking now and then about small details of her past, listening with a quiet attention that made her feel as if every foolish childhood memory were something of consequence.
They descended into the castle town proper, through narrow streets and thoroughfares she had seldom followed before, where the stone gave way to packed earth and cobbles, to the smells of baking bread, iron from a distant forge, and the faint, ever-present tang of the river.
This story has been taken without authorization. any sightings.
Children darted past with sticks and rag balls, women called to one another from open doorways, and laundry fluttered like faded banners above their heads.
When they reached the southern quarter, Cassandra almost stopped in surprise. This part of town had always been a place she was warned away from - muddy lanes, leaning shacks, too many shadows. Yet here the streets were newly firmed with new paths, a gutter outlined the edge and the shacks were remade into houses proper. The site was manned by the Captain’s own company. The men dipped their heads respectfully, and she noticed their boots were well-mended, their belts properly buckled, and their faces full. Laughter here was a less rare occurrence than in the rest of town.
“Today is a rest day.” The Captain explained when she’d questioned him about a commotion where men seemed to be testing their arm strength against one another. “I usually arrange competitions like these on those. It is only a small prize at stake, but the real victory is the competition and bragging rights,” He gazed upon the men with a quiet joy. “They’ve been hard at work, but leisure is sometimes as important as the work you do.”
The Captain commanded them with a natural gravitas that did not need shouting. A lifted hand, a short word, and the men straightened, smiles flickering on faces that were wary but not fearful. He asked after a soldier’s injured brother, remembered another’s newborn daughter, and each answer came with a rough, humble gratitude. Cassandra watched all this out of the corner of her eye, her earlier assumptions about him quietly rearranging themselves once more.
They walked farther still, beyond the last row of houses and out toward a patch of open ground just outside the walls, where bright awnings had been hastily erected. A miniature market spread before them like a little festival sprung from nowhere: tables laden with goods, banners snapping in the wind, the air alive with chatter. Cassandra slowed, taken aback. This was not the usual jumble of caravan stalls pushing their way into the city; this felt arranged, curated.
“It’s… for me?” she asked, before she could stop herself.
“For us,” the Captain said mildly, though the faint curve of his mouth suggested he knew exactly how transparent his ploy was. “I noticed you didn’t show up to the market fair. So I thought I’d bring a bit of it to you.
Outside the largest tent, Cassandra partook in delicacies she had never seen. Each taste was a small shock to her tongue - too sharp, too rich, but fascinating. The Captain moved easily among the merchants, greeting them all by name and bargaining mercilessly.
Cassandra recognized the outing for what it was: a carefully arranged display. She should have been on her guard, and she was. But despite herself, Cassandra enjoyed their time together. They toured the market as if it were their own little personal playground, Cassandra even offering to share some of her sweets with a small tanned child with bright green eyes, drawing a smile from the Captain.
The Captain had a surprisingly snarky sense of humour and argued like an offended housewife cheated out of her last coin. She laughed more than she meant to, and each time his eyes sparked with quiet satisfaction.
He hid plenty of himself beneath the banter, turning aside questions with a joke or a shrug, yet in small things he seemed possessed by a steadiness, a surety, that Cassandra found both disconcerting and strangely appealing. He was wiser than his years. And whatever else he was, he was good company.
By the time they wound their way back toward the castle, the sun was sinking low, laying a band of molten gold along the horizon. Whatever warmth the day had bled away quickly. Cassandra felt the chill creeping through the fabric of her gown, which she realized was not adequate considering the outdoor escapade the Captain had planned for her. She tried not to shiver, but a small tremor betrayed her.
Without a word, the Captain slipped free the coat from his shoulder and settled it around hers. The motion revealed the surprisingly toned lines beneath his undertunic. Cassandra could not help staring a heartbeat too long at the play of muscle before sense returned and she jerked her gaze upward, cheeks burning.
“Thank you,” she managed.
“The cold can be treacherous, my lady,” he said simply, as if unaware of the small storm he had just unleashed inside her. Wrapped in his coat, Cassandra felt warmer, and not entirely because of the wool.
“Were the sweets to your liking, my lady?” he asked as they passed back through the gate into the castle proper, boots echoing on the stone.
“They are quite good,” Cassandra said. “Though I believe you could tell that by the way I was licking my fingers all throughout the journey, Captain.” She aimed for a light joke.
“I wanted to spare your modesty, so I wasn’t planning on commenting on that, my lady,” he replied, mouth curving. “But you give me no choice in the matter, it seems.” His tone matched hers easily, slipping into the banter as though they’d done this a hundred times. “Despite the fact that they are entirely Tatar sweets.”
Cassandra’s eyes widened, her steps faltering. “Surely you jest?”
“Not at all.” Theodorus’s gaze remained steady. “They were all traded for and bartered during the market fair. The merchants have had modest success, from what I hear, selling the sweets to the townspeople.” His voice held a quiet note of satisfaction. “So I thought I’d take you there.”
“You tricked me,” Cassandra said, though a laugh escaped her, light and incredulous. “You are a rogue, Captain.”
“Guilty as charged, my lady. I apologize,” he said, hand over his heart in mock penitence, even going so far as to bend one knee before her until she hissed his name and hurriedly motioned him up, scandalized. Passing servants already pretended very hard not to stare.
“I simply wanted to show you that the Tatar can offer much besides raids and slave-taking, my lady,” Theodorus continued more soberly as he straightened. “They tan excellent leather from their herds, work fine wool into warm cloaks and carpets, weave shawls sturdy enough for the steppe winds and pretty enough for a lady’s shoulders. It is not just sweets.”
“Why this impromptu lesson on nomadic goods, Captain?” Cassandra asked. She could feel something shift beneath the playful surface of their talk. Her smile, so wide a moment ago, shrank at the edges.
“Because your father disagrees,” he said. The grin slipped from his face. “He thinks they are only useful for fighting, for raiding. To be used as fodder in battle.” His jaw tightened. “But today you’ve seen what else they can offer.”
“Is that what this was?” Cassandra’s voice cooled, a thin sheet of ice spreading over her earlier warmth. “A showcase of how civilized the Crimeans are? And how good your market fair is?” Her chest tightened.
“Was this courting simply to get close to me and whisper these plots into my ear? To drag me into politics?” The stroll, the sweets, and the Captain's careful kindness now took on an entirely different light.
“No.” The Captain’s answer came at once, quiet but firm. “Today was a day well spent.” He met her gaze without flinching. “I have enjoyed your company. And I hope you have enjoyed mine.”
“Then why tell me this? Show me all these things?” Cassandra felt her tone climb higher, edged with something too much like hurt. “Do you think I can change my father’s mind in matters of state?”
“No.” Theodorus reached for her hand, his grip steady and warm through the chill. “Nor do I ask it. I simply ask what you think of it.”
“I think I shouldn’t much care for economic policies nor how my father treats his subjects.” Cassandra found herself saying spiteful things she didn’t believe in, but that seemed just right in that particular moment.
“I don’t believe that.” Theodorus’s eyes searched hers, and Cassandra found him sincere in this at least. Though she’d misjudged him terribly so far, so perhaps that counted for nothing. And yet. “I think you care very much,” he said softly, “and that you would not remain quiet in the face of injustice.”
“How can you be so sure?” Cassandra dared, lifting her chin. She risked falling into those silvery eyes again, but she was too proud to look away.
“Because I saw you treat a nomad child with kindness when you didn't have to,” he said, the words low but edged. “One whose people have enslaved our own for generations. Whose riders murdered my father in cold blood just to capture a few more bodies as slaves to sell on the market for a bit of coin.”
Cassandra heard a righteous heat breaking through the calm surface, an anger he had carefully sealed away until now.
She truly had not considered what it must feel like for the Captain to trade and parley with the nomads, day after day. To look into faces that wore the same features as the men who had killed his father, and still speak of prices and wool and routes instead of revenge. How selfless that truly was, how exhausting. She had also never seen him so passionate, so openly inflamed. It was an all-consuming sight.
“Because you know that despite all this,” he went on more quietly, “that little boy played no part in it. He is as innocent as any Greek child, and deserving of the same kindness still. They are only people in the end, not ‘subjects’ to use and break.”
He said the last word softly. Cassandra found herself holding her breath, entranced by the way conviction and restraint tangled together in him.
“Their families didn’t ask to be exiled from their homeland,” he continued. “And their children aren’t asking for their parents to go to war without their consent. Do you not believe so?” He looked at her almost tentatively, as though he were offering her some unguarded piece of himself.
Cassandra turned away, suddenly unable to face him, as much as she was unable to face the true answer coiling in her chest. “I cannot change his mind,” she said at last, and even to her own ears she sounded defeated. No matter what she did, the Captain always seemed to get the best of her.
“You can speak your mind,” he replied. She could feel his gaze on the side of her face, could almost sense him willing her to look at him. “Do not underestimate yourself, Lady Cassandra.”
She snorted lightly, clinging to sarcasm as to a shield. “You are quick to flattery when it serves your purposes.”
“That does not make it untrue.” He gave her a lopsided smile, half-earnest, half-teasing. He knew he had her.
“You always have a ready quip, I notice,” Cassandra said, rolling her eyes.
“One of my many talents.”
A laugh escaped her, in spite of herself. She had come to appreciate the sardonic, sarcastic sense of humour the captain possessed.
“Another is to annoy me to no end,” she added, but the sting had gone from the words. She let him lead her back toward their meeting point, where the loggia opened onto a narrow side path where a great oak stood, holding a swing in one of its branches. The last of the sun slanted in, threatening to fade away.
“As I said. Many talents,” he deadpanned.
Ahead, Cassandra’s servants signaled her discreetly with a small tilt of the head. “It seems our time is up, Captain. The day grows dim.”
“May we meet again, my lady?” the Captain asked. He took her hand with that same unhurried grace and brushed his lips over her knuckles once more.
Cassandra pretended to consider, tilting her head as if weighing a petition in court. “We may.”
The Captain nodded as though the answer had been certain from the first. A thought that annoyed Cassandra to no end. She decided at once to do something about that. “Oh, and Captain?”
“Yes?”
“I did promise a surprise of my own, didn’t I?” Cassandra asked, all innocence.
“Yes.” He frowned slightly, confusion knitting his brows in a way Cassandra found unreasonably endearing.
She leaned in before she could lose her nerve and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. It was little more than a peck, but it felt to her as daring as leaping from the battlements.
Then she fled, giggling under her breath at the image of his stunned expression.
Her steps felt lighter somehow. The winter air still bit deep, nipping at her nose and ears, but perhaps spring was waiting just beyond the horizon. And for the first time in a long while, Cassandra thought she might not mind the cold after all.
Theodorus stood in the loggia for a few long moments after Cassandra had left.
The echo of her footsteps had already long faded, but he remained where she had left him, as if rooted to the stone. His expression was thoughtful, weary, matching the long shadows that clung to him as the sun finally slid below the horizon.
He did not mind Cassandra’s company, far from it. He had enjoyed it more than he had ever planned to. But it was in the quiet, fond way an old man might dote on a bright, kind, and funny young girl. He did not enjoy playing with her heart.
Demetrios and Stefanos approached from behind, their footsteps soft against the flagstones.
“I cannot believe your callousness, my lord.”
The voice was tight with anger. Theodorus was surprised to find it belonged to Stefanos - the quiet, kind, and soft-spoken servant - of all people. “Madame Cassandra is clearly smitten with you,” Stefanos went on, colour rising in his cheeks. “Do you truly mean to go through with your plan?”
Theodorus’s gaze didn’t leave the floor. His features set into a hard, unreadable mask, giving no answer. Which was an answer in and of itself.
“I cannot believe it,” Stefanos repeated, louder this time, his voice scraping raw at the edges. “I have followed you wholeheartedly and never raised my voice to you before, but you’ve always said you wanted men around you who could speak truth. So I will.” His left hand clenched, and Theodorus could almost see the phantom fingers of the missing one doing the same as well. “Does the result truly justify the means if it involves using a pure girl’s heart? I did not believe you to be that kind of man.”
The silence that settled after this felt heavy and thick, as if the very air in the loggia had turned to stone. Theodorus did not lift his head.
“Answer me, my lord. Please.” Stefanos’s tone hovered between pleading and command.
“Yes.” Theodorus’s reply was barely more than a whisper. “If it saves a hundred, a thousand other lives, it will have been worth it. And I will do what needs to be done.” The words came out cold, iron laid bare. They did not know what lay on the horizon, and why he needed power - how could they? And how could Theodorus explain it without sounding mad?
“A hundred other lives?” Stefanos scoffed, eyes burning, “or just your own?”
He did not wait for an answer. He turned on his heel and stormed out of the garden.
The shadows seemed to bite deeper into Theodorus than he cared to admit.
Demetrios stepped forward then, his approach much softer, more measured. A broad, steady hand settled between Theodorus’s shoulders. He stood like that for a moment, saying nothing, simply sharing the silence.
“Is this really necessary?” he asked at last, his voice low.
Theodorus’s gaze drifted to the mahogany chessboard where Hypatius had played earlier. The black king lay toppled in checkmate, surrounded by a ring of white pieces. “I do not see another way,” Theodorus said, the admission almost painful. “I need to get closer to Adanis, and to his secrets.”
Lord Adanis was moving pieces on a far larger board. The market stunt meant something; the way he had bolstered his troops meant something. It could be a naked, pragmatic bid for power. Or it could be the first hint of something much worse.
The market fair and the Shepherd program were quiet, long-term moves. Theodorus needed information to send to the Doux, to help hold the realm together until he climbed high enough to do more than whisper warnings from the shadows.
“Then do it,” Demetrios said.
The firmness in his tone made Theodorus turn, sure he had misheard. But Demetrios’s face told him he had not.
“You once told me the world is cruel and unjust,” Demetrios reminded him, eyes on the rising moon beyond the arches. “And that the only way to beat it is to treat it in kind.” His mouth tightened. “I followed a good man for too long to know it’s true.”
He looked back at Theodorus, and his gaze was glacial.
“This world - savage and cruel as it is - must be broken. And I believe you can do it, Theodorus.” His grip tightened on Theodorus’s arm, fingers like a vow. “So break it. And become the villain you promised me you’d be.” Demetrios’s eyes held that unknowing gleam he’d glimpsed on his birthday. Through the strength of his grip, Theodorus understood that Demetrios fully meant every word.
He remained standing there long after Demetrios had gone, the night wind threading through the loggia arches, tugging at his coat. Finally, he moved slowly toward the chessboard. He picked up the black king, fingers tightening around the small carved piece as his thoughts spiralled. What he was willing to do for success, what lines he would cross to divert the course of history for his own selfish desires, and for the lives entangled with his own.
He slammed the piece back onto the board, setting it upright in its square.
When he finally lifted his head, his eyes gleamed with a hard, honed intensity. One that could cut steel just as surely as it could sever hearts.

Chapter 46: Severed Hearts