The silence that followed was the kind that comes before storms. Heavy. Expectant. Filled with the potential for violence.
The Guardian took the scroll with steady hands. His fingers showed no tremor as he broke the wax seal. No hesitation as he unrolled the parchment.
But I watched his face as he read. Saw the careful neutrality slip just slightly. Saw something flicker behind his eyes that looked like recognition.
And dread.
"Well?" Henrik's voice cut through the tension. "What does his lordship want with us?"
The Guardian rolled the scroll back up slowly. Deliberately. Like he was buying time to think.
"The Baron extends his protection to our village," he said finally. "For a reasonable tribute, of course."
The words hung in the air like smoke from a funeral pyre.
"Protection from what?" Elisabeth asked. Her voice was steady but I could see her hands clenched at her sides.
"Bandits," the messenger replied smoothly. "These are dangerous times. Small communities like yours are vulnerable to... unscrupulous elements."
"We've never had trouble with bandits," the Guardian said mildly.
"Not yet. But His Lordship has reports of increased activity in the region. Villages burned. People killed or taken as slaves. Surely you wouldn't want such a fate to befall your peaceful community?"
The threat wasn't even subtle. It hung between us like a blade waiting to fall.
"And the tribute?" Henrik asked.
The messenger's smile widened. "Very reasonable. Half your grain stores. A quarter of your livestock. And ten able-bodied young people to serve in the Baron's household."
"Ten people," the Guardian repeated softly.
"Volunteers, of course. His Lordship values willing service above all else."
I felt something cold settle in my stomach. This wasn't protection. This was conquest dressed up in prettier language.
"And if we decline this generous offer?" the Guardian asked.
"Then you would be unprotected. Vulnerable. His Lordship would be... concerned... for your safety."
The messenger's tone remained perfectly polite. But the meaning was clear enough. Accept the Baron's protection or face the consequences.
"We'll need time to consider," the Guardian said.
"Of course. His Lordship is not unreasonable. You have until the next full moon to provide your answer."
The messenger consulted the sky with theatrical precision. "That gives you... twelve days. Surely ample time for a community of your wisdom to make the right choice."
He turned his horse without waiting for a response. Began riding back down the road with the same unhurried confidence he'd displayed arriving.
We watched him go in silence. No one moved until he'd disappeared beyond the first bend in the road.
"Well," Henrik said finally. "That was unpleasant."
"Protection racket," the Guardian said bluntly. "Oldest trick in the book. Create the threat, then offer to solve it for a price."
"Can we fight them?" someone asked from the crowd.
The Guardian's laugh was bitter. "The Baron of Lubeck commands three hundred professional soldiers. We have maybe forty adults, half of whom have never held a weapon in anger."
"So we submit?" Elisabeth's voice carried an edge I'd never heard before.
"We survive," Henrik said quietly. "That's what matters."
But as the crowd began to disperse, muttering among themselves about impossible choices, the Guardian caught my arm.
"Not you," he said quietly. "We need to talk."
Henrik nodded grimly. "My house. Now."
The three of us walked in silence through the village square. Around us, people gathered in small groups. Voices raised in worried conversation. Children sensing the adults' fear and staying close to their parents.
Everything had changed in the space of a single conversation.
Inside Henrik's house, the Guardian closed the door and drew the curtains. The familiar kitchen suddenly felt like a war council.
"It's worse than he said," the Guardian began without preamble. "I've heard about this Baron. He's been expanding his territory for months. Village after village accepting his 'protection.'"
"And those who refuse?" Henrik asked.
"Burned out. Scattered. The survivors spread stories about bandit attacks, but everyone knows the truth."
I thought about the tyrant in the marble hall. About the pattern of conquest that seemed to be spreading across the north like a plague.
"How many people has he actually demanded?" I asked.
The Guardian consulted the scroll again. "Two from each village. Young. Strong. Capable of... various forms of service."
"Slaves," Henrik said flatly.
"Effectively, yes. Though he's careful not to use that word."
"And our alternatives are?"
"Fight and die. Or run and abandon everything we've built here."
Neither option felt acceptable. This village had saved my life. These people had given me a home. A family. A chance to heal.
I wouldn't let them be destroyed by another tyrant's ambition.
"What if we gave him what he wanted?" I said slowly. "The tribute. The people. But not permanently."
Both men stared at me.
"Explain," the Guardian said.
"Two people go to serve in his household. But they go as spies. As saboteurs. They learn his weaknesses. Find ways to undermine him from within."
"That's suicide," Henrik protested. "You're talking about walking into the lion's den with no backup and no way out."
"Maybe. But it's better than watching everyone here get slaughtered."
The Guardian was studying me with new interest. "You're volunteering."
It wasn't a question.
"Someone has to go. Might as well be someone who's already lost everything once."
"And the second person?" Henrik asked.
Before I could answer, the door opened. Elisabeth stepped inside without knocking. Her face was pale but determined.
"I heard what you're planning," she said. "And I'm going with you."
"Absolutely not," I said immediately.
"It's not your choice," she replied calmly. "I'm the only other person in this village who knows how to fight. Who's been trained by the Guardian."
"When were you trained by the Guardian?" Henrik asked in surprise.
Elisabeth's smile was sharp. "When did you think I spent my evenings? Embroidery?"
The Guardian actually looked embarrassed. "I may have... provided some instruction. Basic self-defense. Nothing elaborate."
"Nothing elaborate," Elisabeth repeated dryly. "Just enough to put a knife between someone's ribs if they threatened my family."
I stared at her. This gentle, kind woman who brought me flowers and bandaged my training wounds. Who'd spent years trying to coax me out of my shell.
She'd been learning to kill people.
"You can't go," I said desperately. "It's too dangerous."
"More dangerous than staying here and waiting for the Baron's soldiers to arrive anyway?" she countered. "Because that's what will happen eventually. We both know it."
She was right. This was just the beginning. The Baron wouldn't stop with tribute. He'd keep taking until there was nothing left to take.
"The plan has merit," the Guardian said reluctantly. "Two people could move more freely than an army. Gather intelligence. Maybe find a way to strike at him when he's vulnerable."
"Or get themselves killed in the first week," Henrik added grimly.
"That's a risk we'll have to take," Elisabeth said. "Because the alternative is watching everyone we care about die slowly."
The room fell silent as we all contemplated what we were discussing. Sending two young people into enemy territory with almost no chance of success.
But what choice did we have?
"If we do this," I said finally, "we need to be smart about it. Learn everything we can about the Baron. His habits. His weaknesses. His household structure."
"I can help with that," the Guardian offered. "I know people. Mercenaries who've worked for him. They might be willing to share information."
"And we need contingency plans," Elisabeth added. "Ways to communicate with the village. Escape routes if everything goes wrong."
"You're both insane," Henrik said quietly. "You know that, right?"
"Probably," I agreed. "But it's better than doing nothing."
Elisabeth reached across the table and took my hand. Her fingers were warm. Steady. Completely calm despite what we were planning.
"Together?" she asked.
I looked at her face. Saw the determination there. The courage. The absolute refusal to back down from what needed to be done.
Five years ago, I'd been a broken child pulled from a river. Now I was planning to walk into another tyrant's stronghold.
But this time I wouldn't be alone. This time I'd have someone who understood what we were fighting for.
"Together," I agreed.
The next twelve days passed in a blur of preparation. The Guardian shared everything he knew about the Baron's operations. Henrik helped us forge identities that would explain our presence. Elisabeth and I practiced fighting as a team instead of individuals.
And in the quiet moments between planning and training, we talked.
About the village. About what we were trying to protect. About what might happen if we failed.
About what might happen if we succeeded.
"Are you scared?" she asked on the last night.
We were sitting by the river where she'd found me five years ago. The water reflected the stars like scattered diamonds.
"Terrified," I admitted.
"Good. That means you're taking this seriously."
"Are you?"
"Scared? Absolutely. But also..." She paused, searching for the right words. "Excited. Is that wrong?"
"To be excited about possibly dying in a foreign lord's dungeon? Maybe a little."
She laughed. The sound was bright and clear in the darkness. "Not about dying. About finally doing something that matters. About fighting back instead of just surviving."
I understood what she meant. For five years, I'd been hiding. Healing. Learning. But always in the background. Always preparing for someday.
Tomorrow, someday would arrive.
"Whatever happens," I said, "I want you to know... what you said at the well. About kissing someone under the stars."
"Yes?"
"I think I'd like that. If we survive this."
Her smile was radiant even in the starlight. "Then we'll have to make sure we survive."
The next morning, the Baron's messenger returned. Right on schedule.
We were waiting for him in the village square. The entire community gathered to watch their neighbors volunteer for what everyone knew might be a suicide mission.
"Have you reached your decision?" the messenger asked.
"We accept the Baron's generous protection," the Guardian replied formally. "Our tribute will be ready within the week."
"Excellent. And the volunteers for household service?"
Elisabeth and I stepped forward. She was wearing her best dress. I was dressed like a farmer's son trying to look respectable for his betters.
We looked young. Innocent. Harmless.
Perfect.
"These two have graciously agreed to serve His Lordship," the Guardian continued.
The messenger looked us over with the calculating gaze of someone appraising livestock.
"They'll do," he said finally. "Have them ready to travel in three days."
He rode away without another word. Leaving us to face the reality of what we'd committed to.
Three days to say goodbye to everything we'd ever known.
Three days to prepare for a mission that would probably kill us.
Three days to save a village that had saved me first.
It would have to be enough.