Chapter 34 A Dance of Axes and Arrows
A Dance of Axes and Arrows
Born in Porjea, Olga had to learn from a young age how to hide her feelings, wants, and needs. To swallow any discomfort or sadness and smile instead.
“It is not by chance that men are stronger and smarter than we are. They were built this way by nature to lead our species to glory. It is the power of men that makes this world turn, girl. There is no place for us beside their names in the history books. Our role in this world as women is to serve and guarantee the continuity of our species. Nothing else,” her mother used to say.
Raised to serve a man, to be an object of pleasure and breeding rather than a human being.
Raised to never dream, never surmise, never question.
Olga was only seventeen when she was sold to a man three times her age.
Her voice never mattered. Not to choose her clothes or the length of her hair, not to choose what she ate or what to do with her body.
For years, she was his and his alone.
A woman’s greatest duty was to grant men heirs.
It was supposed to be her greatest joy, the very thing that gave her life meaning.
But every time she imagined having a piece of the man she was forced to call husband growing inside her, she plotted her escape.
Even tamed and taught to believe herself undeserving her entire life, Olga never gave up on herself.
She played her part well. Smiling when his knuckles brushed her cheeks, even when her stomach twisted, feigning ignorance when he was engaged in business conversations, pretending to tremble under his harsh commands and violent outbursts when she acted clumsily around him.
On the outside, Olga was the stupid little submissive wife.
The perfect puppet. But on the inside, she had always been a rebel.
Olga was thunder waiting for the perfect storm.
Her first act of revolt was to stab her own stomach.
It wasn’t a planned decision but an impulsive, desperate attempt to end his continuous abuse and destroy any chance he had of having heirs.
If not for the intervention of a skilled healer from a neighboring town, she would have lost her life that day.
Her second act of rebellion was to use that same knife to slit her former husband’s throat open as he slept.
His eyes wide open in shock, his hands desperately seeking the source of the bleeding, she trapped his wrists on the bed to watch the blood pour out faster.
She saw his head fall sideways and his body turn still with the same blank expression she was taught to wear every time he would force himself on her.
Finally free of his chains, she took all of his savings, everything that was left from his business, and ran away from Porjea, never to look back.
Focusing on her freedom gave Olga the perseverance to survive until that day.
But when the time came, and she found herself alone in a world she didn’t fit in, she realized that freedom could make one feel as lost as imprisonment.
Being deprived of control over her own life had made it impossible for her to discover her true identity, her desires, and what she would like her future to be.
Years later, in Golheim, when the remnants of her trauma had shaped her into a bitter woman, Olga decided to learn how to fight.
If she had been taught how to defend herself, perhaps no man would have dared to buy her in the first place.
She dedicated all her time and energy to perfecting her body for combat, striving to reach the best form she was physically capable of to join the Royal Guard.
It wasn’t just a desire to never feel weak or helpless again; it was to prove that women were capable of doing anything.
Even though she had proven herself stronger than most of the accepted men, she was still denied the chance to fight for the realm for the same reason she had always been marginalized—being a woman.
To this day, Olga reaped the consequences of how she was raised.
She knew that now more than ever because she had lost Breno—the one person she had ever loved—and she couldn’t bring herself to let out the pain that ate at her heart since he was gone.
She couldn’t bring herself to cry, and she knew well enough that man deserved a tear; he deserved a whole damn ocean of them.
She was incapable of properly mourning his passing and the loss of the future that was taken from them.
She met Breno over a decade ago on a rainy night, shortly after she first arrived in Golheim.
Terrified and paranoid, she punched him in the face, convinced he had been following her as he wandered the streets at night.
At the time, she didn’t know he took walks to ease his mind whenever he had trouble sleeping.
Anyone else might have snapped at her or reported her for the unprovoked attack, but he simply asked if she was alright, offering his hand to steady her even as his nose bled.
There was a time she believed herself unfit for love.
It was such a distant, foreign feeling. A myth she had only ever heard of in fairy tales, but it all changed when this man came around.
He was the first man ever to treat her as a human being and to show her respect.
Through his loyalty and righteousness, Breno showed her there was still good in people and that life could be beautiful even in a world filled with injustice.
“Husband.” The word that used to frighten her to the bone took on a whole different meaning once he became hers, becoming the key to soothing her heart.
With him, life was perfect even in its imperfections.
With him, she had purpose and felt seen like never before.
There was nothing she wouldn’t have done for that man.
Now that he was gone, she was lost again, in a way she hadn’t been in a very long time.
It was not fair that the healer continued to walk the earth her husband was now buried under. It was not fair that she continued to breathe when Breno’s lungs were forever deprived of air.
For so long, she had rebuilt herself from her past, forging the strong woman she was today. Could she truly call herself strong if she didn’t avenge her husband’s death?
It was an eye for an eye.
64 DAYS UNTIL DHALIA’S DEATH DATE.
The last ray of sunshine disappeared into the horizon, the sky tinged with a dark shade of blue.
It was the sign they were waiting for. Alissa adjusted the final buckles of her garment, her fingers moving over the intricate details.
Originally, she had planned to wear her old dark blue cloak, but Olga had insisted that Alissa wear an outfit befitting a warrior.
She hadn’t disappointed. The new outfit was black and made of a fabric that clung to her skin, allowing for quick movements.
The long-sleeved top had straps adjusted around her waist, while small silver chains provided space to carry weapons.
Her torso was reinforced with an armor that Olga explained was made from crushed turtle shells.
Apparently, in Golheim, people used the shells of deceased turtles to fortify armor as an affordable solution.
It was an unexpectedly good alternative as it not only offered protection but also helped regulate her body temperature.
The trousers, though plain, were made from the same fabric as her top, which, under changing light, gave the impression of fish scales shimmering along their length.
Her hair, now a bit longer, was a blend of light blonde and her original color.
She had pulled it up into a tight braid atop her head, the two tones blending to create the illusion of a crown.
With her daggers strapped to her waist and her bow and quiver slung across her back, she didn’t just look like an angel of death—she felt like one.
She turned to face the old woman, whose eyes were fixed on her, shimmering with a mix of sadness and pride.
Mrs. Ilden not only revealed to her the secrets she needed to save Dhalia, but she also offered her a safe haven when everything seemed lost and made her into the mage she had become.
Alissa was not a master of magic, but she was skilled just enough to cause damage and, more importantly, to protect those she loved.
Alissa took a step forward, wrapping her arms around Mrs. Ilden, trying to hide the emotion resurfacing as she said goodbye to the person who had saved her in more ways than one.
“Don’t forget to focus, dear,” the teacher said, sniffing.
“I won’t.”
Mrs. Ilden’s nails dug into Alissa’s clothes as if she struggled to let go. “Remember, don’t let them toy with your mind. You have magic. It will respond to your emotions and thoughts.”
Alissa smiled and nodded.
Silence fell for a heartbeat as they held onto the moment, neither having the courage to move, the fear of how terribly this could go sinking in.
“Thank you for everything, Mrs. Ilden. I will never forget what you’ve done for me.”
The teacher’s tears dampened the shoulder of Alissa’s armored top as she pulled back and moved toward her first battle.
With a strong ally by her side, she glanced over her shoulder for one final lingering look at Mrs. Ilden, who mouthed the words that would echo in Alissa’s mind throughout the night: “Make them pay.”
Watching Alissa and Olga move through the capital would make anyone wonder how such an improbable pair ended up side by side.
Their opposite features and body structures could suggest they belonged to entirely different species.
But there were so many reasons why these two women, as unlikely as their partnership seemed, were the perfect duo.