Chapter 10
Esme
I could remember feeling several emotions towards Ford over the years—anger, hurt, embarrassment, even fear.
But I didn’t think I’d ever felt unsure. No, nervous? Maybe unsettled.
Whatever the emotion was, making my hands feel cold and my limbs twitchy, I didn’t like it.
The Bond, meanwhile, was having a fucking field day. Ford’s incredibly dramatic performance had been full of pure male protectiveness. Not the first time he’d done so—he’d always been the type to stand between danger and his people.
Maybe that was the problem. Before it had always felt impersonal, like he’d lay himself down on the line for anyone who was at risk of harm.
The way he’d stormed out of the barn after me and pushed himself in between me and Officer Edeka…that had felt personal. Really, unavoidably personal in a way that made the Bond feel stroked and cared for.
Hence, the flighty feeling in my chest.
I couldn’t remember the last time I’d ever let myself feel unsure, that ability brow-beaten out of me long before I ever stepped foot on this planet.
A good soldier, that made.
There was no room to mess up in the children’s home I’d grown up in, stuffed too full with abandoned kids.
Though Vir dedicated a fair bit of resources to children, knowing the value of carrying for those who could not care for themselves, no amount of comfortable furnishings and warm meals and kind guardians could truly suppress the consequences of being an orphan.
Nor was there room when I’d been whisked away to boarding school at the ripe age of ten, after I’d slipped up and perfectly recited prose I’d read for the first time mere minutes prior in front of one of our teachers.
All concerns about my rearing were thrown out the window when they realized the tool I could become, shoving me into classes with people years older than me and left to survive by myself on campus when students would return to their families over breaks.
My value became crystal clear on my fifteenth birthday, when I’d been informed that I had been selected for a special opportunity. It was an inventive way of describing being drafted so that they could exploit my memory. At least they’d been honest about that part during my training.
They were sending me to Muli as their backup plan. Someone who could memorize sensitive documents without the risk of discovery. Complete with grueling training in manipulation and deception, I’d walked out of that center as prepared as they came.
And markedly unused to feeling like I didn’t know what to do. Standing here next to Ford while he stared at Officer Edeka in barely-masked threat, I certainly didn’t know how to fucking handle this.
I tried not to fidget, though that was what my mind was telling me to do, as I watched Peter whip together a group to escort Edeka back off our claimed territory.
The kid looked seconds away from crying.
The cynical side of me said that was exactly what Muli was trying to accomplish, sending a fawn into the fire so we’d hesitate before shooting.
The other side of me, the one that was slowly fighting its way back after years of suppression, saw Ford in that young soldier. A boy who was willing to enlist to protect his family.
What threatened to break my spirit was the understanding. Ford never wanted this. He was a pacifist that life had beaten into a sniper with several kills under his belt, all of which I knew haunted him.
It made sense that he would inherently reject everything tied to this war.
Even me. Even the Bond.
I couldn’t stay mad at him for that. But that was what made this situation all the worse, what had driven me to medication in the first place.
For all that understanding, it didn’t do anything to ease my pain. I still acknowledged the Bond, and it would punish me for anything less than finding total acceptance from Ford’s half.
Feeling that old trickle of buzzing pain start to crawl down my spine, I straightened my shoulders and promised to fight it.
For my sanity, and that of a man who would take the first chance to get away from this.
?
This was harder than I remembered.
I’d forgotten the level of self control it took to keep the Bond under my thumb.
Five years. That’s a long time for me to be asleep. I missed so much. Ford is older. That’s good though. He seems healthy. You seem different. Why didn’t we sleep in our chair last night? We are much closer to him in that chair. Does it have to do with his scar?
Oh no, I thought to myself. Not the scar. I’d learned in a few short hours that caused the Bond to—
WHY HAVEN’T WE KILLED THE PERSON WHO HURT HIM?! The Bond shrieked like a petulant, murderous child. If you did it while I was asleep, I’m going to be very unhappy.
I was saving him for when you came back, I responded to the
Bond. Not entirely true, as the general who had tortured Ford wasn’t there when I’d rescued him and I had precious few moments to get him out of there, but I knew it would be enough to calm the Bond down.
For now.
The afternoon had only further devolved. Officer Edeka had run off into the sunset with a missive that we were accepting the meeting.
Soren had nearly lost his mind at seeing the Prince’s handwriting, remembering his last message that had asked for Bellamy’s hand in marriage. It had taken Bellamy pulling him off into a corner and speaking in hushed conversation for several minutes to get him to even blink.
He was so focused on Bellamy, a second wave of anger swept him out to sea when he realized who the Prince was offering up as security.
Of course, it was Carson. There was no one more precious to the Empire than Soren’s old Match who’d defected and had apparently been working for the Prince for several years before that, bringing letters to the Emperor back to Vir.
Peter had his fair share of things to say, especially relating to the Prince’s sly comment about me and Ford. Everyone knew who Ford and I were to the people of Muli, knew that my official assignment as a spy often had me playing the role of merchant on the black market.
Still, it was unsettling that the Prince knew. We were actively engaging in a crime, even if both governments turned a blind eye.
Peter’s strongly worded lecture was prematurely cut off by news that they’d managed to break through to the Bridge.
From the outside, it still looked covered in rubble, but a very smart suggestion from Freya had us digging a tunnel down to the Bridge and keeping up appearances that we were still working our way through the rocks.
Freya herself had been the one to finally break through. She was literally the only person who could do so, able to survive an accidental fall through the Bridge.
With that breakthrough, Peter had sent us off with the orders to take some time to gather our things, as we’d likely be Crossing as soon as the next day to gather supplies and regroup before we were sent off into the unknown of Muli.
Edeka had said they’d return in three days, but knowing Elijah—who would no doubt be our escort—he’d show up a day early just to spite us.
After eight years of jumping back and forth between worlds, it took me all of two seconds to gather what I needed. Even with as much jewelry as I wore, the only thing that had really become precious to me were those pills.
Pills I would hopefully have access to again in just a handful of hours.
Don’t you fucking dare, the Bond growled at me, awake enough now to realize what had sent it into a coma for so many years.
You don’t get to tell me what to do anymore, I shot back, holding true to my promise that I would shamelessly slaughter it again if given the chance.
The only other thing I did before Crossing was go on a run with Sky, who was pressing his snout to my shoulder. I reached up blindly to scratch the underside of his chin, keeping my eyes on the horizon.
The urge to run out into it and never come back was strong, but I could never do that to Sky. To Freya and Bellamy and Soren and Peter.
Another spin of that logical cycle in my head, and I found another reason to start taking the suppressant again.
One person had enough power over me to make me want to abandon my responsibilities to everyone else.
“You should really be wearing more layers,” Ford’s gruff voice sounded behind me.
Good God, did I conjure him up? I had been thinking about him an awful lot, but that was beside the point.
Sky started to make a low rumbling noise in warning, and I patted his neck twice, our silent way of communicating that I was okay. He was protective over me, but he wouldn’t do anything that would hurt Ford and by proxy hurt Shadow.
I didn’t turn around as I answered, “If you feel strongly about it, you should do something to fix it.” I hardly recognized my voice, it was so sucked dry of emotion.
I didn’t have to look at him to feel him, to know he was standing there with his arms crossed over his chest and his jaw hard. Or as he moved closer, enough that his scent started to create a cocoon of warmth around me.
The Bond released a contented sigh. Then promptly started spinning around in the back of my mind like an excited puppy.
I knew exactly what it wanted me to do, but I’d long trained myself to view its desires in its most general, sterile form.
“Here,” Ford said, stepping up next to me, right as Sky kicked one of his hooves across the dirt in warning. I stroked his chin again, then slid my eyes over to Ford’s extended hand.
He was holding one of his flannels, an easy layer of warmth to slip under my canvas jacket. It suddenly felt like someone was squeezing my heart in their fist.
“Put it in my saddle bag. I’ll use it if I need it,” I said, speaking to the flannel rather than to Ford. Emotion, a depth of which he wouldn’t understand, churned up a storm in my chest.
This was a sick, twisted coincidence. That he’d offer me his clothing right at the moment I was reflecting on the methods I’d used to manage the Bond.