Chapter 10: The Beautiful Butterfly

Ronan scarfed down the rest of his meal and got up from his bed. He gave his shoulder a quick roll and then stretched to touch his toes. Angelina had measured him at 6'2, though he never realized how tall he was since he'd been hunched over in hunger so often. He was getting used to carrying a proper amount of weight on him for his size, and was eager to turn the twenty pounds he'd gained into muscle.

But he was more eager to speak to this mysterious Rank 8 Master and discover what had happened to his temple.

Ronan followed behind Ike, who continued to blow loose hair from his eyes with each stumbling step.

"Lady Maritza awaits you in the corridor," Ike said with a small wave. Ronan caught Ike before the graceless man teetered over on his crutches.

"I'll wait here," Ike said with a nervous and appreciative laugh.

"Maritza," Ronan whispered, exiting the hospital ward. The name clung to his lips like magic, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had heard it before. Perhaps the woman was of great renown, and he had read of her legendary feats before.

"What a beautiful name," Ronan buzzed to himself.

He turned the corner and entered a corridor gleaming in candlelight. The walls were covered in long and exotic tapestries that depicted lone heroes triumphing over hideous monsters.

One woman stood beside a tapestry with her hands gripped loosely behind her back. She had the rosy, sun-scorched skin of an avid adventurer. The woman's shining blonde hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail, yet still fell into luscious curls. Her back was to Ronan, and out from the edges of her white bodice and lightweight leather cuirass, he saw a set of black butterfly wings etched onto the woman's toned shoulders. Four tally marks were tattooed beneath each wing, and the woman wore a light purple battle-dress that fell right above her knees. Her long, curvy legs were covered by thigh-high stitched leather boots, and poking out from under her dress was a dark leather tassel that concealed a sharp and short dagger.

"I've been told that you summoned me, Lady Maritza," Ronan said, nearly speechless at the woman's beauty. He noted that Maritza did not wear any of the jewelry that seemed customary in the temple, and that gave him a sense of safety speaking to the Rank 8 Nightblade.

She analyzed a tapestry of a tall and muscular man wielding a thin sword. In the tapestry's design, the warrior noble had long, wavy blonde hair, and was slicing down a tiger-like creature with a set of curly red horns near its ears.

After a moment where Maritza didn't acknowledge him, Ronan approached the tapestry Maritza was lost in. He said, "I've read about this story, I believe."

Ronan extended a finger towards the tapestry and continued, "That's Bellamy the Brave, isn't it? Yeah, I think it must be."

Maritza slowly turned to the young Nightblade. She arched her brow and listened to him.

"Bellamy the Brave was the man who single-handedly defeated a mighty Varmikor that was ambushing merchants on the market routes. I've read that Bellamy challenged the beast because his heart was as rich as his coffers."

Ronan gleamed as he retold the heroic story. "Yes, Bellamy had made short work of the Varmikor, then used the money from the bounty to help repair the merchant wagons that had been damaged by the monster. He was an honorable Nightblade true and true, as we should all aspire to be."

Maritza scowled and slid her tongue against her front teeth.

"That's not how it went, you know," she said bluntly, pointing to the man in the tapestry. The same thin sword that was in the image rested in a golden sheath at her hip.

"Bellamy was my father. He tried to slay a Varmikor for a wealthy bounty to fuel his alcohol obsession, but the Varmikor took his arm. When he returned home, bloody and defeated, he spent the remainder of our family's fortune on cheap liquor and drank endlessly, then beat me and my mother whenever we had something to say about it."

Maritza sighed and looked at Ronan. Golden bangs fell perfectly above her sparkling green eyes.

"I found him hanging from a rope in the dining hall one day when I was fifteen. He left no note."

Ronan was amazed at how plainly Maritza spoke about the events, as if they were long in the past and no longer haunting her.

"But that's not the story you see in the tapestries, or read about in the books," she added.

Ronan felt a chill run down his back. At the same time, he was glad that Maritza respected him enough to share the reality of the situation.

He'd rather know an ugly truth than a sweet lie.

"And yes, I did summon you, Sir Ronan," Maritza said with a patronizing smile. "Forgive my candid reflection."

"Please Lady Maritza, there is no need to apologize," Ronan insisted. He offered a small bow. "I imagine it must be difficult to see such a tremendous lie depicted in front of you everyday. I thank you for sharing such a story with me."

Maritza blinked sharply.

She had not expected the young Nightblade to demonstrate a realistic understanding of her hardships, as most people in the temple preferred living inside the dazzling dreams of tall tales and legends. Suddenly, Maritza felt foolish for doubting the man, and for trying to lure him into a state of shock. Perhaps talking about Bellamy had opened a wound she believed to be long shut, and she had taken out her feelings on a stranger. who had just suffered equally as horrible a fate as she had. She wondered how many others had taken out their problems on Ronan.

Maritza knew that wasn't the person she wanted to be, and resolved to make right with the young Nightblade.

With more respect than she'd demonstrated before, she said, "Yes, well, if you are to be only Ronan to me, then I am to be only Maritza to you."

She smiled and meant it. "Is that understood, Ronan?"

Ronan smiled back and with a soft nod said, "Indeed it is, Maritza."

"Excellent." Maritza gestured down the corridor. "Let's walk, shall we? There's much to discuss, and I'm not one to enjoy standing still for very long."