"It was just a few bites of sausage from the kitchen. I don't understand why Tessa made such a fuss," Treni complained. "I didn't even whine about how wretched those dried sausages tasted. You can barely tell if they're pork or rat meat. We ate far better than this back at the brothel."

  The old woman roared with laughter. "You ravenous little cats, daring to pilfer military rations! In my day, they'd string you up by the neck without even bothering with a military tribunal. Don't you know how fortunate you are? I always thought the Godma Emperor was a savage tyrant, but it seems I was quite mistaken."

  "You can never truly fathom that man's mind," Teresa added. "Ruthless with his enemies, yet fair, stern, and respectful to his own people—those who remain loyal."

  "Sometimes it's better not to know too much. Ignorance is bliss, as they say." The old woman brushed mud from her tattered skirt. "Well then," she hefted a pile of Treni's unwashed garments. "Let me help you young ladies."

  The younger sister flung her arms around the old woman in delight. "Really? That's wonderful!" She peppered the woman's sagging cheeks with enthusiastic kisses.

  "Just let her wash them herself," Teresa said with a laugh. "Leave her idle for five minutes and she'll be sneaking back to the kitchen."

  "You'll never get through it all anyway. More's coming soon," the laundress said, crouching down. "Besides, there's a knight waiting to speak with you."

  Treni turned to see a knight standing nearby, gazing into the distance. With his milk-white hair and meticulously trimmed sideburns and beard, he cut quite a handsome figure. "Well hello, handsome," Treni called out. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

  "Indeed, quite pleasant," he replied distractedly. "Though far more pleasant with you two ladies present," he hastily added.

  (Interesting,) Treni thought. "What are you looking at?" she asked, shielding her eyes as she squinted toward the horizon.

  "The distance," the knight answered. "And the unknown. The two always appear together, inseparable companions. Distance harbors the unknown, and the unknown is always distant."

  "He's rather appealing," Teresa whispered to her sister with a sly wink, seizing the opportunity while Treni was distracted to snatch some clothes from her tub. "Are you a clerk in the logistics department?" Treni asked, cocking her head. "Though you don't quite look the part."

  "I'm neither clerk nor wandering poet, my dear. I'm a knight—a knight who has become utterly worthless."

  "Worthless?" Treni draped herself over the knight's shoulder, her breath warm against his ear. "You don't mean... worthless in that particular way, do you?"

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  The white-haired knight smiled. "Quite the contrary." He pivoted to face Treni directly. "The proper angle can create quite the illusion."

  The knight was missing his left leg, a blood-soaked bandage wrapped around the stump at his knee. "Oh... I'm sorry, I didn't realize..." Treni recoiled slightly.

  "No matter. The way I was positioned simply created a false impression." He raised his left hand, which held a crude crutch that resembled an unfinished tree branch, and used it to lift Treni's chin. "You're the younger sister, aren't you?" he said, staring into her aquamarine eyes. "Treni Disha White."

  The sister blinked, nodding stiffly. (How is he standing so steadily?) "How do you know our names, nameless knight?" Teresa asked, setting down her laundry.

  "Which of you belongs to Tyler Wynlers, and which to Carl Clawyn?" He flashed a smile. "May I hazard a guess, ladies?"

  "It would be infinitely preferable if you answered my question first, mysterious sir," Teresa said, rising to her feet and gently but firmly pressing down the knight's crutch. "We prefer not to converse with the nameless," she stated. "Not even paying customers."

  "Not even if they pay well?" the knight asked with a hint of impertinence.

  "Not even then," Teresa insisted. "Please, tell us your name first. And explain how you came to know ours."

  "Aren't you rather famous?" The white-haired knight shifted his gaze from the sisters to the women laboring along the riverbank. "As prostitutes, that is."

  "Even so, we've never revealed our full names to anyone," Treni said, wiping her chin with the back of her hand. "Except for... oh."

  "As expected of half-elves—quicker witted than ordinary women," the knight said with a chuckle.

  "What is it, sister? What does he mean?" Teresa asked, gripping her sister's shoulders. "Could it be..."

  "Indeed. I served in the same squad as Carl and Tyler when this leg was still intact." He inhaled softly. "Ah, the unmistakable scent of Night Queen. Tell me, half-elves—is that your natural fragrance or perfume?"

  "Both," Teresa replied coldly. "You still haven't told us your name."

  "Jess, my beauties." His tone matched her frostiness. "Jess Hilton. Now that I've revealed it, what happens next?" He suddenly pushed past Treni, leaning on his crutch, and embraced Teresa. "Will you weep with joy and exclaim, 'I've found my long-lost brother at last!'? Or perhaps," he released her, gesturing toward his severed limb, "my leg will miraculously regenerate?"

  "..." Teresa regarded him with growing suspicion of his mental stability. "I was merely curious about your identity since you know our names..." She backed away as Treni placed a protective arm around her shoulders.

  "I'm not deranged, miss," he attempted to explain. "Everything people do has a reason. Sometimes the mind works too fast, and you don't have time to think before you act, so it seems impulsive."

  "Well, I'd be delighted to discuss philosophy or psychology with you, but not at present," Treni said with a transparently false smile. "My sister and I have mountains of laundry to wash..."

  "When did you last see Tyler Wynlers and Carl Clawyn?" The abrupt question froze both sisters in place. "Think carefully."

  The elf sisters had last encountered Carl and Tyler a week ago, the day Godma's forces seized Sida. Though widely recognized as the knights' handmaidens—or perhaps mistresses—their actual meetings were infrequent. Most often, all four were stationed at different camps, with the knights perpetually at the front lines.

  "Oh... no," Treni gasped, covering her mouth. "No, don't tell me... I don't want to hear it..."

  "Are you certain?" The white-haired knight leaned on his crutch. "You don't wish to know their current whereabouts?"

  "No... I don't..." Treni stared at the ground, her body trembling. "Some things are better left unknown..."