The Vermillion Garden

Chapter Eight

There was a dead man lying in a bed of ferns. He was a dead, young man, lying in a bed of ferns and she was still clinging onto the hope he was alright. He wasn't alright. Of course, he wasn't.

The very moment she reached his body, she threw her rifle to the ground, dropped to her knees, rolled him onto his back and nearly vomited. His neck was completely blown open, his poor head practically lolling off his shoulders. Anona's hands shook as she lifted them off of his lifeless body, her breathing becoming short and ragged.

He looked so young, no older than twenty years of age, and beneath the splatters of blood, she could see his face was lightly dusted with freckles. His uniform looked pristine, and his hair was cleanly kept, indicating to her he was a well-rounded kid.

Kid.

He was a well-rounded kid. She had killed a kid─no, no, she had murdered a kid. Bringing her hands to her face, the Duchess of Norwin choked out a sob, the weight of her actions settling down upon her shoulders.

She could picture him, alive; a smiling, cheery young man walking the streets of the capital, out to fetch goods to bring home to his family. But now, he was never to return to his family. Perhaps he would eventually if the Crightonians found his body, but he'd return to them in a wooden box.

"I'm sorry," Anona whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry."

Sniffling, the woman reached behind her back and untied her apron, slowly removing the white cloth and draping it across his face. Some of the blood began seeping through the pristine fabric, earning yet another sob to wrack through her body. She didn't care if he was from Crighton, he was a soldier who fought and died for his country. He needed to be honored, for his death secured safety for Sage; he was their sacrificial lamb.

"Anona?"

Clutching the pale blue fabric over her chest, she craned her neck, her eyes falling upon Jonathan who stood in the moonlight, his sandy blond hair a disheveled mess. She could see his left temple had been cut, dribbles of blood beginning to dry while the bottom of his chin was starting to show sign of bruising. All she could do was look up at the man standing before her, her tears running down her delicate face, the salty taste meeting her lips as her nose began to run.

"I killed him." she said, bringing her sleeve up to her nose with a sniffle.

Stooping down, Jonathan offered his hand. Anona was hesitant to take it, for she didn't want to stand—not in front of the dead man.

However, she quickly gave in and the moment he was able to pull her up, the Duchess buried her face into his uniform, her body shaking with every sob. Jonathan's eyebrows shot up as his arms hovered over her back.

Lowering his arms, the messenger awkwardly patted her back for a moment before then easing his hands onto her shoulders and gently guiding her back. She was a duchess after all, and surely such physical interaction was inappropriate.

"Hey now, it's alright." Jonathan said, "Sage is likely saved from another attack, we did good tonight."

She halted her cries, stray tears escaping from her eyes as her brows furrowed, a scowl forming on her face.

"Good?" she repeated, "We did good tonight? By killing people?"

Jonathan began to fumble for words, eventually bringing a hand to his forehead and pushing it through his hair, searching his brain for the right words.

"No, Anona, what I mean to say is—" heaving a heavy sigh, Jonathan leveled his gaze and his expression became soft. "What else did you expect? This is war. Isn't this what you wanted? To join the fight?"