Chapter 241: v3- - 2: the man who survived II

It was sometime later when Cassian heard his own language.

He had been in the wagon for roughly five days, though he couldn’t be certain.

The journey had become a blur of roads, brief stops, and long hours confined among strangers.

Then, one afternoon, another man was shoved into the wagon.

He stumbled against the wooden floor and cursed beneath his breath.

"Fuck."

Cassian looked up.

The man straightened and rubbed his wrists.

He was dark-skinned, with thick, curly black hair and a lean, solid build. He looked younger than Cassian, perhaps only twenty-two. His clothes were worn but relatively clean, suggesting that he had only recently been taken from wherever he had been kept before.

The other captives barely acknowledged him.

Cassian did.

The man noticed.

"What?"

Cassian continued looking at him.

The man frowned.

"What are you looking at?"

Then something seemed to occur to him.

"Wait."

He looked at Cassian more closely.

"You understood that?"

Cassian raised an eyebrow.

"Yes."

The man’s expression brightened.

"You speak the Imperial language."

"Yes."

"Well, thank God."

He dropped down against the wagon wall.

"Another Imperial."

Cassian looked at him.

For days, every voice around him had been meaningless.

Now, finally, there was someone he could understand.

His first question came immediately.

"Where are we?"

The man blinked.

"Milicia."

Cassian went still.

"Milicia?"

"Yeah."

The man looked at him.

"You really didn’t know?"

"No."

"Huh."

He leaned his head against the wooden wall.

"Well, now you do."

Cassian looked through the narrow opening between the boards.

Milicia.

An enemy kingdom.

He had never been there. His responsibilities as Duke of Ashford lay in the north, guarding the Empire’s northern boundary. The southern frontier belonged to another command.

But Milicia was not unfamiliar to him.

He had read the military reports.

He knew of the fighting along the southern border.

And now he was here.

His thoughts sharpened immediately.

If anyone discovered who he was, he would not remain an ordinary captive.

He was the Duke of Ashford.

That alone would make him valuable.

They could question him about the northern territories.

The Empire’s defenses.

Its military strength.

Its troop movements.

They could torture him for information.

They could use him as leverage.

They could turn his capture into a political weapon.

Cassian understood exactly what an enemy might do with a prisoner like him.

At the same time, there are other possibilities he can explore.

If he revealed what he knew, he could hurt Adrian.

He could give Milicia something that might be used against the Emperor who had ordered his death.

For a moment, the thought existed.

Then he dismissed it.

Whatever Adrian had done, the Empire was not Adrian.

Its people were not Adrian.

His lands were not Adrian.

He would not betray his homeland to settle a personal hatred.

He would not hand his country to its enemies simply because its Emperor had betrayed him.

That would not be revenge.

It would be betrayal.

And Cassian would not betray himself.

So no one here could know who he was.

The man beside him glanced over.

"I’m Robert, by the way."

Cassian hesitated only briefly.

"Carlo."

"Carlo."

Robert nodded.

Then he looked around the wagon.

"Don’t worry. I don’t ask too many questions."

Cassian gave him a look.

Robert grinned.

"Usually."

He settled more comfortably against the wall.

"I’ve been in Milicia since I was twelve."

Cassian looked at him.

Robert continued before he could ask.

"Was brought over from the Empire. Didn’t speak a word of their language back then."

He gestured vaguely toward the road outside.

"Had to learn."

"You speak it well?"

"Well enough. I’ve had ten years."

Robert shrugged.

"Would’ve been difficult not to."

Cassian listened.

Robert seemed perfectly comfortable filling the silence.

"I ended up working with merchants. Mostly escorting their wagons."

His mouth twisted.

"Not exactly a glamorous life."

"You were armed?"

"When they trusted me with a weapon."

Robert glanced down at his hands.

"Being an Imperial meant they never trusted me completely."

Cassian understood.

Robert had been useful.

Useful enough to protect caravans.

Never quite trusted enough to belong.

"I suppose I was good at it," Robert continued. "Kept the wagons from getting robbed. Kept the drivers alive. Things like that."

He smiled faintly.

"Apparently that made me worth keeping around."

"Until today."

"Until today."

Robert sighed.

"My former owner sold me this morning."

Cassian nodded.

That explained why he was here.

Robert glanced at Cassian’s bandaged side.

"And you?"

"I was taken."

Robert’s gaze lingered briefly on him.

He looked rough.

His hair had grown untidy during the weeks he had been gone, and a thick beard now covered much of his jaw. Dirt had settled into his skin and clothes. His face was thinner than it should have been, and exhaustion showed beneath his eyes.

Yet there was something about him that didn’t fit the circumstances.

Even filthy and injured, he had striking features.

A strong, high-bridged nose.

Sharp cheekbones.

Blue gray eyes that remained watchful despite his exhaustion.

And there was something in the way he carried himself.

Robert had seen men stripped of everything before.

Most eventually began to look like their circumstances.

This man hadn’t.

Robert didn’t know what he had been before.

But he suspected it had been something considerably better than this.

He decided not to ask.

Instead, Cassian asked the other question that mattered.

"What day is it?"

Robert thought for a moment.

"Twenty fifth of November."

Cassian went still.

The funeral had been in October.

More than a month.

His men would have known immediately that he was missing.

Ashford would have searched.

The Empire would have searched.

And after this long without a body or a message, they would almost certainly have presumed him dead.

His thoughts went to his estate.

His household.

His men.

And Marian.

She would know.

She would have been told.

Cassian had no idea what she had been told about his death.

No idea how she had taken it.

And no way to tell her that he was alive.

He looked away.

For now, there was nothing he could do.

--

Over the next several days, Robert talked enough for the silence of the journey to become bearable.

He spoke of the roads they passed through, the merchants he had worked for, the cities he had seen, and the strange habits of people who had lived their entire lives in Milicia.

Cassian listened more than he spoke.

He learned what he could.

Robert, apparently, had no such restraint.

By the end of their journey together, Cassian knew considerably more about Robert than Robert knew about him.

And that suited Cassian perfectly.

--

Tbc