It was after Alty’d met with her allies to plan their course of action with the next day’s battle that she sought out Stéphane. She found him with the horses, as usual. “How goes training the jaelir?” Alty asked, finding a seat by the spring they’d set up a makeshift paddock by. The turn of his head, followed by the mare’s effortless unseating him was enough. One second he was on her back, the next in a pile of leaves. Alty laughed. “Not well, I see.”
“She’s just got a little spirit,” He replied, slowly climbing to his feet, “That’s good.” Alty couldn’t help but smile when she saw him. It wasn’t love, not like what she’d had with Rhylio, full of passion and trust, but she understood him. He understood her. It made what she’d be asking easier.
“Take a break, for just a moment, Stéphane. I need to speak with you.” Alty motioned to a smooth, flat stone, her smile tight-lipped. Stéphane wiped his trousers off as he approached, his face impossible to read, as usual. That face was always calculating some sort of benefit. “I want you to go if the tide turns against us.” She started before he’d even sat down, looking away. “This isn’t your fight, nor is it your men’s. However much we need you, I can’t go to my death knowing I led innocent men to their deaths.” The words were impossible for her to stomach saying, but she had to. His life couldn’t be given for her cause.
“We had a deal, but I don’t care. Take your men, your horses, and take the babies the moment it looks like we might lose. Stéphane...I can’t take you from your lands, nor can I take you from your sons. Just...if I die, care for little Constance and Rouen.” She didn’t notice the tears that trailed down her cheeks, as she tore her own heart in two again. Suddenly silence was deafening, and Alty squeezed her eyes shut to keep his face from her sight.
As much as she wanted to keep him there, to keep him by her side, Alty knew she couldn’t. He was happier elsewhere. So, Alty stood up, and walked away first.
