Resolution

“A traveler’s cloak, that’s enough that’s enough, she drank and she spoke, that’s enough that’s enough, a ceiling of stars, that’s enough that’s enough, she’s playing the bars, that’s enough that’s enough.” 

-Excerpt from “The Bard’s Wife”

The dungeon was cold, damp, and smelled of old iron and mildew—I had expected worse. They gave me a bench instead of chaining me to the wall, so I suppose I should have felt grateful, but gratitude was a mean ration with shackles around my wrists.

I was replaying the ball in my mind—Elma’s face when they took me, Ulbrieth’s unreadable expression, the Duke’s cold, measured voice ordering my arrest—when I heard the clinking of boots on stone.

He came alone. Duke Rhys Ahlríon stood before my cell like a marble statue carved into the shape of disappointment. He was haggard, as though the weight of his responsibility had settled across his shoulders like a yoke. His cloak was lined with winter wolf fur, immaculate. His eyes, sharp as cut obsidian, locked onto mine, but behind them was a cold fury that threatened to spill out if he lost control.

“Deryth, is it?” he said.

I stood. “Yes, Your Grace.”

He nodded once. “You took my daughter from me.”

My chest tightened, but I didn’t flinch. “I protected her.”

He gave a bitter scoff. “Don’t delude yourself. You sullied her.”

“No—” I stepped toward the bars. “I never touched her. I swear—”

“Don’t lie to me.” His voice cut like a drawn sword. “I know the look of a girl who’s been ruined. You were alone together, weren’t you? My daughter, cloaked in shame and silence, defending you to her last breath.” He turned his face slightly. “I should have you executed.”

I bit back my fury. He was wrong, but he wasn’t a man I could win with anger. I steadied myself.

“I came to the capital to stop a monster from chaining her to a lifetime of torment,” I said. “If that’s treason, fine. But I won’t let you call her ruined. Not by me. Never by me.”

His gaze lingered on me longer than I liked. Then, to my surprise, he muttered, “You wear fine clothes for a bard. That cloak—dyed wool, red trim. And you wear it well, like the son of a lord. Tell me, from which house do you hail?”

I hesitated before speaking. “My father is Gantry,” I said. “He’s a merchant.”

The Duke raised an eyebrow, but I could see his mind shifting—connecting the name, the power. “Gantry,” he echoed. “Yes, I’ve had dealings with him. I would not have expected his son to be so lowly. Either way, it explains the expensive clothing and noble bearing.”

“He is,” I said, too quickly. “I don’t talk to him anymore. Haven’t in years. Everything I own came from what I earned on the road—music, odd jobs, sword work. I didn’t take a single coin from him. But I cannot deny that the way I carry myself came from my upbringing.”

“Why?” he asked, eyes narrowing. “You have access to the largest merchant network in the country, why sever such a connection?”

“Because he left us.” My throat felt dry. “Abandoned me and my mother to chase wealth. She broke under the weight of it. She was never built for loneliness.”

The Duke looked away for the first time.

“Don’t make the same mistake,” I said. “You’re locking Elma in a cage because you think it’ll protect her. My father let my mother rot because he thought distance was mercy. You’ll both end up hated.”

His lips pressed into a hard line. “You think you know so much.”

“I know I love your daughter.”

He looked at me long and hard, as if trying to decide whether that was the truth or another performance.

Before he could speak again, voices echoed from the stairwell.

“I said I’m going down there!”

“Elma—Lady Elma—please—”

“Let me through!”

The Duke’s head snapped toward the sound. “Let her in,” he barked.

Moments later, she appeared on the stair, fire in her eyes, her hair half-pinned and gown askew. She looked like she’d run straight from the confrontation.

“Father,” she said, breathless. “You have to release him.”

“Elma—”

“No!” She stepped between him and the bars. “He listened to me when you wouldn’t. He believed me about Count Cannáed. If not for him, I would’ve been married to a man who would have hurt me—broken me. Do you know what that means? He saved me.”

Her voice cracked on the last word.

The Duke stared at her, and for the first time since I’d met him, he looked shaken. His anger faltered beneath the shame creeping into his face.

“I—” he began, then stopped. He exhaled through his nose, long and slow. “I did not want this for you.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“I only ever wanted to protect you. To make sure you had a life better than your mother’s.”

She reached for his hand, and he let her take it.

“I love him,” she said. “And I’m not ashamed.”

He was silent for a long time. Then he turned to me.

“I cannot overlook what this has done to my family’s honor,” he said. “But I also cannot deny that you protected her. That you did what I could not.”

He looked at Elma again, and something inside him softened.

“You may be together. But not here. Not in this court, not under this name. If you are to wed, you must disappear—vanish from these lands. Take new names. New lives. I will craft a lie to cover your absence.”

Elma nodded before I could speak. “We’ll do it.”

He held her for a moment, then turned and walked away, his footsteps echoing back up the stairwell.

That night, under cover of darkness, we left.

They dressed us in simple clothes—a maid’s modest gown and a butler’s dark uniform. No jewelry, no embellishments. Our weapons, our coin, even our names, were gone. The symmetry was not lost on me—Elma and I had met when she had done much the same.

We fled in a small carriage with no crest, no escort, just the two of us and a driver who didn’t speak. The stars were bright above us, cold and wide.

“I used to envy my mother,” Elma said as we passed the city’s edge. “She was a commoner, you know. Married into a noble house and became someone else. I thought it was romantic.”

“What happened?” I asked.

“She disappeared into that life. All the rules, all the silence, the duty. It broke her. Bit by bit.” Elma looked at me, her eyes wet but shining. “I’m glad I didn’t follow her path. Even if it means losing everything.”

“I understand,” I said quietly. “My mother tried to be a merchant’s wife. It didn’t suit her either.”

She reached across the space between us and took my hand.

“Then let’s never be like them,” she whispered.

I squeezed her fingers. “We won’t be. We’ll carry each other. Always.”

The carriage rolled on into the night, carrying two people with no name, no title, and no place to belong.

But we had each other.

And for now, that was enough.