13. Aria
Aria
That evening, the fire crackles softly, warmth brushing against my face as I sit cross-legged on the bedroll.
The familiar rasp of stone against metal fills the air—Roan sharpening her sword, just like every night. It’s a ritual now: the fire, the scent of smoke and damp earth, the low murmur of our conversations punctuated by the steady thrum of steel being honed.
Tonight, she’s more relaxed than usual— and that’s strange, isn’t it? After everything we confessed recently—Garrick, Vire, the people I’ve killed—it should feel heavier between us. It should be unbearable.
And yet, somehow, it’s like a weight has lifted, like speaking it aloud bled some of the poison from our wounds.
Roan sits with her legs stretched out in front of her, back against a mossy boulder, her grip on her blade loose instead of tense. When she glances up from sharpening it, her crooked half-smile is easy, effortless.
“Plotting something, Mouse?” she teases, voice low and rough with amusement.
I roll my eyes and poke a stick into the fire. Sparks leap and curl into the air. “Hardly. I’m too busy trying to figure out why you insist on treating your sword like a delicate lover.”
Roan chuckles, the sound rich and deep. “Better to baby the blade now than die because I neglected it later.”
“Practical as always,” I say with a smirk.
Roan snorts. ““Steel doesn’t forgive neglect.”
“Neither do people,” I say before I can stop myself.
Roan glances at me, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. She doesn’t argue, just goes back to her blade, her motions slower now. More thoughtful.
“People don’t,” she agrees. “They remember what was done and what wasn’t. What should’ve been said. Who didn’t show up.”
Her eyes lift to mine.
There’s no challenge in her gaze, no pity either—just quiet understanding. The kind that comes from experience. From wounds still tender beneath the surface.
“I know what it’s like,” she says. “To keep offering more of yourself and getting less back. To be told you owe someone something just because you’re still breathing.”
I swallow, the fire crackling between us. I want to ask her who neglected her, what she gave up to end up out here, alone with her sword and her scars—but I don’t. We don’t push each other that way.
Instead, I say, “My mother used to say loyalty was everything. That if someone hurt you, they deserved it right back. Twice as hard.”
Roan’s mouth pulls into a grim line. “That sounds like someone who never earned loyalty in the first place.”
I look at her, and for a long moment, neither of us speaks.
Her hands still. “You don't have to prove you’re worth something, Aria. Not here. Not to me.”
The words settle between us like dust in the firelight—soft, but unshakable. I stare at the flickering flames, unsure how to respond, feeling the heat on my face and not knowing if it’s from the fire or from her gaze still resting quietly on me.
Eventually, she clears her throat, like she’s breaking her own spell. “Besides,” she adds, that familiar dry tone sliding back into her voice, “if I let you mope too long, you might start composing sad poetry.”
I blink. “I don’t write poetry.”
Roan lifts a brow. “Not yet. But give it a few more dramatic stares into the fire and a rainy day—you’ll be halfway to tragic ballads.”
A laugh escapes me. “Well, if I do, I’ll make sure to rhyme something with ‘mercenary.’”
She smirks. “Good luck. That’s a tough one.”
I glance at her, lips twitching. “Oh, I think I could manage. ‘Legendary,’ ‘visionary,’ maybe even ‘unnecessarily sarcastic.’”
Roan chuckles, the sound low and warm. “I’ll allow it.”
I shake my head, but I’m smiling now. And I catch her smirking too, just faintly.
I should look away. But I don’t.
Instead, I let myself drink it in—the glint of firelight in her dark eyes, the way it traces the curve of her jaw, the slow ease in her posture now that the edge of the day has worn down.
She looks at home in the half-light, at home in the hush between us.
And for just a moment, I think I could belong here too.
***
We’ve fallen into a companionable silence that stretches long and easy between us, like we’ve done this for years instead of days. The fire crackles low, casting ember-glow shadows on the mossy ground, and Roan has shifted to sharpening her smaller knife, her motions slow and idle. I’m sitting cross-legged beside the dwindling heat, a piece of bark in my hands that I’ve been absentmindedly peeling apart.
That’s when I hear it.
Faint. Rhythmic. Steady.
My fingers go still. The bark slips from my hands and lands in the dirt with a soft rustle.
Hoofbeats.
The sound is distant, but unmistakable—leather and muscle moving over packed earth, slow and deliberate. Not the wild, erratic gallop of a stray horse. No, this is controlled. Someone’s riding. Someone nearby.
Roan notices immediately. “What is it?”
I swallow hard, heart racing. “A horse.”
In an instant, Roan sits up, muscles taut. She sheathes her knife with practiced ease and scans the forest beyond the fire’s glow. “Direction?”
I tilt my head, straining to isolate the sound from the whisper of wind in the trees. “West. Getting closer.”
The fire crackles beside me, its flickering glow painting us as easy targets against the dark. A lump forms in my throat. Should we put it out? Hide? If it’s them—if my mother’s enforcers have finally caught up—there won’t be anywhere to run.
Roan shifts, and I see the decision harden in her eyes before she speaks. "I’ll check it out."
She moves to stand, but before she can take a step, I reach out and catch her wrist. My grip is tight, desperate. "Wait—don’t go alone."
Her gaze snaps to mine, sharp and assessing. I see the argument form behind her lips, the instinct to keep me tucked away, out of danger.
But I shake my head before she can protest. "I'm coming." My voice wavers slightly, but I steel my spine, refusing to back down.
Her jaw tightens, a muscle jumping near her temple. She wants to argue. I see it. But when she looks at me— really looks at me—her shoulders drop the smallest fraction.
She exhales through her nose, muttering something under her breath before nodding once. "Stay close. No heroics."
The way she says it, like I’m the one she’s worried about, sends a strange warmth through my chest. But I ignore it, pushing down the emotions clawing their way up my throat.
We douse the fire quickly, leaving only the faint glow of embers. The hoofbeats grow louder as we move through the underbrush. Roan leads the way, steps silent, shoulders tense. I follow her, trying to breathe through the fear clawing up my throat. Clan enforcers ride horses. If they’ve found us here—
The mare emerges first—a sleek bay with a black mane, snorting softly as it steps into a patch of moonlight. Its rider follows, dismounting with fluid grace. Leather armor, weathered and scarred from years of use, clings to the stranger’s lean frame. Her eyes are dark beneath the shadow of her hood.
And when she speaks, it's with a grin that seems carved from familiarity.
“Well, well,” the woman drawls, resting a gloved hand on the mare’s neck. “If it isn’t Roan Talrik. Thought you’d retired to a cushy noble’s guard post by now.”
Roan goes still beside me, her entire body stiffening like a wolf scenting danger.
“Selis,” she says, voice cold. “What are you doing all the way out here?”
The woman—Selis—doesn’t answer. Her gaze shifts to me, and her smile widens as she pulls down her hood and leads her horse closer. Her hair is pale and long, tied back in a braid that falls down her back.
“Who's your friend?”
The question lodges like a thorn beneath my skin. I glance at Roan, hoping for some sign of reassurance, but her jaw is locked tight, her shoulders rigid. The tension between them crackles more sharply than the fire ever did.
I want to ask how she knows this woman, but the words stick in my throat. Selis stands too easily, too comfortably, like she’s used to sharing Roan’s space. Her presence tugs at something unfamiliar inside me—a prickling discomfort I can’t name.
And when Selis’s eyes linger on Roan a beat too long, I recognize it for what it is.
Jealousy.
Roan shifts beside me, jaw tight as if she’s grinding her teeth behind closed lips. Her hesitation is a hair too long before she finally speaks.
“This is Aria," Roan offers. Nothing more.
“Aria.” Selis repeats my name, slowly, like she’s sizing up an opponent rather than greeting someone new.
I lift my chin, meeting her gaze, and decide immediately that I don’t like her.
Still, I keep my voice polite, as I say, "It's nice to meet you."
Selis smirks, eyes gleaming with something unreadable, then flicks her attention back to Roan. “Well, this is unexpected.”
Roan’s expression hardens, but before she can snap out a response, Selis tilts her head toward the dark sky. “I was planning to make camp not far from here. But since fate’s thrown us together again, why don’t we make it easy? One fire’s better than two.”
I glance at Roan, trying to gauge her reaction. I don’t want her to say yes. I don’t want this woman in our space.
She hesitates. I can feel it, see the small crease between her brows. But then Selis grins, nudging Roan’s boot with the tip of hers.
“Come on, Talrik. It'll be like old times.”
Something flickers in Roan’s face—something tight and unreadable. Then, she exhales sharply, shoulders dropping the smallest fraction. “Fine. Just for the night.”
A triumphant spark dances through Selis’s eyes as Roan jerks her head toward the trees, leading the way back to camp.
I trail behind them, my stomach twisting. Like old times. I don’t know what those old times entailed, but I don’t like how easily Selis fits into Roan’s world. The space we carved out in this vast wilderness—the small world of just us —suddenly feels too open. Too exposed.
Selis is a reminder that the world is still turning. That we can’t stay hidden here forever. Or rather…that I can’t stay here forever…
By the time we reach the clearing, the fire is little more than glowing embers. Roan kneels to stir it back to life while Selis drops her pack beside a tree, stretching with a lazy roll of her shoulders.
“Still traveling light, I see,” Selis muses, watching Roan work. “Good to know some things don’t change.”
Roan doesn’t look up. “Aria, sit. Relax.”
The words are gruff, but there’s something beneath them, something softer. Maybe she senses my unease. Maybe she just wants to keep me out of Selis’s path. Either way, I don’t like how easy she is with Selis, even if she’s not warm.
I lower myself onto my usual spot near the fire, but I don’t relax.
Selis follows suit, settling across from me with a smirk that feels like she’s enjoying a joke I don’t understand. “She listens well. That must be new for you.”
Roan’s head snaps up, eyes sharp and dark in the firelight. “Watch your mouth, Selis, or it will be two fires instead of one.”
The weight of her voice silences the space between them. Selis holds up her hands in mock surrender, though the smirk lingers at the edges of her lips. “Easy, Talrik. Just making conversation.”
Roan doesn’t answer, doesn’t look away until Selis does.
Finally, Selis exhales through her nose and tosses a twig into the fire, her expression smoothing into something more neutral. “Fine, fine. No need to bare your teeth.” She stretches her legs out, reclining like she owns the damn ground beneath her. “It’s been a while since I’ve had decent company. You should be flattered.”
Roan mutters something under her breath and goes back to tending the fire, but I don’t miss the way her shoulders remain tense, the way her jaw is still locked tight.
Selis settles, but the air between us doesn’t. The tension lingers, stretching thin between the three of us.
I really don’t like her.
The flames catch, growing taller, throwing flickering shadows along the trees.
***
The fire between us is smaller than before, a pale flicker of warmth casting long shadows over the ground.
Roan sits beside me this time—not across, not apart. Close enough that her knee brushes mine when she shifts, just once. Her legs are drawn up, forearms resting casually over her knees, but her body still hums with quiet alertness. Like she’s ready to move the second the world gives her a reason.
The mare grazes a short distance away, reins looped loosely around a branch, calm and unaware.
Selis has been talking for a while now, spinning stories of mercenary contracts, odd jobs, and close calls. I’ve barely heard half of it—too focused on the way Roan’s expression has shifted into a mask of polite disinterest.
Selis stretches, the leather of her armor creaking. “You know, Roan, I still tell people about that Wilkinson job. Gods, you were a nightmare with that crossbow.”
Roan’s jaw twitches. “I remember. We nearly died.”
Selis barks a laugh, eyes glinting. “Yeah, but we didn’t.” She kicks at a stray pinecone, then glances at me. “So, how’d you two meet? Doesn’t seem like your usual company, Roan.”
The question hits like a splash of cold water. I sit up straighter, glancing at Roan for guidance. My pulse jumps when I see the muscle in her cheek flex.
“We met on the road,” I say carefully. “Ran into each other by accident.”
Selis’s gaze sharpens, as if trying to dissect me. “That right?”
Roan shifts, drawing her sword to rest across her knees. The metal catches the firelight. “Leave her alone, Selis.”
“Relax, Talrik.” Selis holds up both hands. “Just curious. It’s rare to see you with company.”
I force a smile, but my hands clench in my lap. It’s rare to see you with company. The words swirl through my mind, sharp and cutting.
Selis speaks like she knows Roan—knows her habits, her temper, her solitude. Yet, Roan hasn’t so much as smiled since Selis arrived. Her voice has turned brittle, her eyes colder than I’ve ever seen them.
Something happened between them.
Selis’s foot nudges Roan’s boot. “Remember the tavern in Deneris? That bet with the captain from Blackhold?”
Roan doesn’t respond.
Selis grins. “You made me carry you home after three rounds of firewine.”
The silence that follows is suffocating. My stomach twists as the image forms in my mind: Roan, drunk and laughing, leaning on this woman. Trusting her enough to let her guard down. The tightness in my chest sharpens.
I don’t realize I’m gripping my knee until my nails dig into the fabric of my trousers. Selis sees it, too—her gaze flicking to my hand with faint amusement.
She shifts slightly, leaning toward me. “So, Aria, right?”
I nod, wary.
“You always travel with mercenaries?” Selis asks, voice smooth.
“No. Roan’s the first.”
Selis's smile curves wider, far more predatory than welcoming. “First time for everything, huh? Must be quite the adventure.”
I shift slightly, the urge to put more space between us creeping up my spine. I don’t really want to talk to her, don’t want to play whatever game she’s setting up. Still, my voice comes out, stiff but polite. “You could say that…”
Her gaze flicks to Roan, lingering just a beat too long before sliding back to me. “You’re braver than you look. Or maybe just lucky.”
I don’t like the way she says it. Like she knows something I don’t.
A prickle of unease runs through me, but my curiosity outweighs my discomfort. “Why lucky?”
Selis chuckles softly. “Well, traveling with Roan is like dancing on the edge of a blade. Exciting. Dangerous.” She leans in just a little more, her voice dipping lower. “But she does know how to keep things...interesting.” Then her eyes drag over me, slow and deliberate. “And I imagine she’s even more interesting with the right company. You seem like someone who could keep up.”
I don’t understand at first, the weight of her words slipping past me like mist. But then Roan moves.
She stands so fast it startles me, her sword in hand, knuckles white around the hilt. Her expression is thunderous, a cold fire burning behind her eyes—sharp, dangerous. There’s something raw in the way her shoulders square, in the way her chest rises and falls just a little too quickly.
Selis meant more than just Roan’s mercenary life.
And suddenly, I realize—this isn’t just about Selis pushing boundaries.
Roan doesn’t look at me, doesn’t spare me a single glance, but I see it now. The tension isn’t just irritation; it’s something deeper.
“Enough,” Roan says, voice low, tight. “Get some sleep, Selis. You leave at first light.”
Selis reclines back with a lazy grin. “Of course, Talrik. Wouldn’t dream of overstaying my welcome.”
Roan doesn’t wait for a response. She turns abruptly, walking toward the edge of camp, her back rigid with restrained fury.
Selis watches her go, then flicks her gaze back to me, lips curving into a knowing smirk.
I try to hold her gaze. I try.
But something cold curls tight in my chest, and before I can stop myself, I look away.
The shame is immediate. The unease lingers, gnawing at the edges of my heart long after she turns her attention back to the fire.