“You risk your life every day being a mercenary!”
“That’s different than going against a warlord and her private army, and you know it.”
I look down at my feet, a little ashamed, but mostly angry. At Kellyn. At myself. At everything.
The silence stretches and stretches, no one moving. I’m torn between running and staying right where I am so I don’t draw attention to myself. I feel like crying for some reason.
Kellyn growls, and I look up to find him glaring at me. No one else. Me. “I will get you to the next city as I promised, but after that I’m done.”
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
I have a restless mind, one that fixates on the things that bother me the most.
And right now that’s Kellyn.
I remember him drunk and fighting against another mercenary. I remember the way he slaughtered a pack of wolves, kicked one off me before it could go for my throat. The way he looks at me when he tries to understand what I’m thinking.
And over and over again, the way he hesitated before saving my sister.
Fighting invisible assassins.
Buying me new clothes.
Putting flowers on my pillow.
He thinks you’re a beauty.
The next night after Kymora’s assassins attacked us, Temra and Kellyn are laughing during her sparring session over something. I think they’re reliving the high of the other night’s battle.
Petrik and I scowl from the sidelines.
How can she act like nothing is the matter? Like nothing is changing? Kellyn is abandoning us.
When I manage not to think about the mercenary, I watch Petrik and Temra together.
“Let me help you with that,” she says while he cooks. She stirs the pot while Petrik adds ingredients. Their fingers brush when Temra hands the spoon over to Petrik so he can taste the food for a flavor check. She watches his lips while he swallows.
And though he keeps a carefully neutral face, there’s some extra color on his cheeks.
And I can’t help but feel like an outcast all of a sudden.
I hadn’t anticipated this happening.
Petrik has definitely become one of us. If his help in the beginning hadn’t been the deciding factor, then him saving my sister’s life by running for help solidified it.
I shouldn’t feel as though Petrik is taking my sister from me. He’s not. And yet—
I begin to feel like I don’t quite fit here anymore.
Which is probably ridiculous, but I feel it all the same.
I wander from our camp, as I so often do when my help’s not needed, but damn it all, Kellyn’s following me. I see him out of the corner of my eyes, keeping his distance yet watching over me.
“You’re hovering,” I say.
“We were recently attacked, and there’s every reason to expect more ambushes.”
Oh.
I’d honestly forgotten his whole purpose was to keep us safe. And he’s doing just that. He’s protecting me. Not trying to get me alone.
What am I supposed to do? Just pretend like he’s not there?
As if.
I want to say something. Maybe apologize for not telling him about Kymora? But I’m still angry at him, and the whole conversation would only be uncomfortable anyway.
But isn’t silence worse?
He surprises me by talking first. “I don’t want to leave things as they are now.”
“Me neither,” I answer. Then I blurt, “I’m sorry for not telling you about the warlord. You had a right to know.”
“I did.” His voice has grown incredibly soft.
“I didn’t mean to put you in danger. I was only thinking about my sister. I needed to keep her safe. I should have taken the time to think about who else I might be hurting by letting them aid us. I’m so sorry. I don’t hold your leaving us against you.”
After a pause, he says, “I’m sorry about your sister. About what happened in Thersa. If I can’t make it right, then how can I make it better?”
I turn to face him; the sun is sinking, and I can barely make out his expression through the space between us.
But it’s so sincere, so open, it nearly takes my breath away.
“Why do you care?” I ask. “You’re leaving us. We’ll never see each other again. So why does it matter?”
“If I did stay, would that make it better? Do you want me to stay?”
Why do I feel like that question is asking more than one thing?
“Would you stay if I asked?” I honestly want to know.
He’s quiet, but he meets my eyes. My every instinct is to look away, but I force myself to hold steady. Not just to prove to myself that I can do it, but because I need to convey my seriousness.