ride

In the days before the end, she sent me--and everyone, really--on a lot of errands. Everything, no matter how trivial it should have been, took on a level of absolute urgency. We knew the end was approaching, both from a strategic and logistical standpoint, and because you could feel it. I could, anyway, and I think the others could, too, even if they didn't know it: there was something oppressive in the air, like a storm building, except it didn't break. It just kept getting worse, and it put everyone on edge.

And, yeah, part of it was the princess. She was getting desperate--there was a reason she was losing followers--and desperation pushes people to strange things. And I don't mean "strange" as in "making poor strategic choices," but strange as in "sending urgent letters to people who wanted no part of the rebellion." And she still had that way about her where if you weren't careful you'd just go along with her ideas, wouldn't question it until you were already committed.

Sometimes I think she'd stopped trusting anyone, even those of us who had stuck around, and was trying to get us out of the way so we couldn't stop her. Other times, when I'm in a particularly dark mood, I'm convinced she just wanted to separate everyone right before she destroyed everything. And very occasionally I entertain the idea that maybe she did it to save us from the fallout.

That night she pressed a sealed envelope in my hand and told me to ride for the estate of some countess or other--it would be several days' ride for me, and I was equipped to deliver messages quickly; any meaningful help the countess could provide would arrive too late. And yet, the way she asked, with such confidence, such conviction . . . maybe she knew something I didn't. Maybe this would avert disaster. What choice did I have but to ride?