“She was looking for a new trainer. I saw the objective she was trying to accomplish and the usefulness of a position there.”
“And do you like it? Working for her?”
He hesitates. “Let’s say it’s a relationship of efficacy. She gets what she wants. I get what I want.”
The horses’ hooves clip through the darkness. One of the beasts snorts.
She gets what she wants . . .
Wait—oh no. Oh, disgusting. “What do you mean ‘she gets what she wants’? Like you two . . . you both . . . are together? Like . . . romantically?”
“What do you mean ‘romantically’? Are you asking if we’re lovers?” From the sound of it, he nearly falls off his saddle. “Curses, Nym, have you ever considered minding your own business?”
I gulp and the world starts sliding. “Is that a yes?”
Inhale. Just inhale.
“No, it’s a definite no! But do you really need to ask? Is that what you think?”
Exhale. The world tilts back. “Well, you said she gets what she wants.”
“I guarantee there are things she wants more than me.”
“But Breck said Adora killed a kitchen maid because of you.”
“Trust me, she’s killed for a lot less,” he mutters.
A chill envelops me, reaching through my skin to rattle my bones. Horror blooming, I look through the dark toward Eogan. “Then why haven’t you stopped her? How could you just stand by?”
“Do you always stop the people you know harm others?”
“No. But only because when I try, I hurt everyone. But with you, you’re in control. You can—”
“It’s not as simple as that.”
“Seems pretty simple to me, I say.”
“It’s not,” he snaps. “Are we done here?”
“No. Maybe. Yes.”
“Good.”
Unless you want to tell me why you’ve been cold to me for the past week.
After a quiet minute, he sighs. “So what about you? What’s this thing between you and Colin? Are you in love with him?”
“What? No.” It’s so loud, Haven jumps and I think Colin stirs awake. I pause and gulp and pray to Faelen he didn’t hear us.
His snoring resumes.
“Such passion,” Eogan muses. “They say the louder you deny something, the more you desire it.”
I’m thankful the blushing flames licking my face aren’t illuminating the dark. “You’re such a bolcrane,” I mutter, and nudge Haven to pick up her pace as Eogan’s soft laughter ricochets through the night. The rest of which passes in silence.
By the time dawn hits, the forest is smothered in smoke carried in from the war front. My hands and thighs are glued to Haven, and my lungs are on fire. It takes a minute for my fuzzy mind to decipher the smell mixed in with the haze, but when I do, I nearly throw up in my seat.
It’s the distinct scent of death.
The clatter of horses and clanging metal greets us before the forest spits us out into a village whose main path is lined with soldiers preparing to depart. They ignore us as we hedge through, while the few townspeople eye us with open suspicion. I can practically taste their fear.
We dismount in front of a market of three stalls and an inn smaller than Adora’s barn. Yellow and red flowers, the colors of Faelen’s flag, wave from one of the windows. A man who’s clearly the squadron’s commander yells at his men to saddle up, then clips his horse over to Eogan. Our trainer sends Colin and me into the market for bread and fruit. As I walk away I see Eogan shaking the man’s hand.
“Where you off to?” the inn’s matronly owner asks me.
A little boy peers out from behind her legs. I wink at him. “Higher up the mountain.”
“Gonna see what all the smoke and smells are about, eh?” Her tone is flat but her quick look at the little boy strikes of terror. Like she knows the war is right next door.
“Their ships have hit the water passage above the Fendres Mountains, you know,” she says, as if reading my mind. As if the Bron army attacking 275 terrameters north of here makes her feel safer because their entire force isn’t focused on the Crescent’s open cliffs three foothills away.
“I wish strength for our soldiers,” I say.
A slip of a smile breaks apart the weary lines of her face. “Me too. Go with the creator.”
I nod and thank her for the food. Outside, I’m walking toward Haven and the noisily departing soldiers when the woman’s little boy runs up and tugs on my shirt. He reaches his chubby little hands out, a flower in each. “For you.”
And if it wasn’t dissolved before, my heart is instantly a puddle. For him. For his mum. For the people of Faelen who have no idea what discussions take place and plans are being made behind the king’s and Adora’s war-chamber doors. They just know how to hope. And fear.
I tuck the blossoms in my shirt, next to my chest, and slide one of Breck’s simple ribbons out of the braid in my hair and press it into his palm. His eyes enlarge to the size of bumblebee eggs. He laughs and hugs it to his chest, then runs off.
“Go with the creator,” I whisper.