46. Stranger
Stranger
Faren
With shaking hands, Faren reached for the candle on his bedside table in the infirmary and dribbled wax onto the folded letter.
For the past hour, a healer had been at work on him, cutting away the inflamed flesh around his wound, applying all manner of stinging topicals, and threading both sides of the puncture with stitches.
He’d tried to distract himself from the discomfort by writing his letter to Archer, and as a result, his handwriting was a mess—but it would have to do.
Faren pressed the profile of his fox figurine into the wax, sealing the letter with the most authentic symbol he could think of on short notice. It was likely that his family was traveling in Archer Loth’s caravan; if Archer didn’t recognize the makeshift seal, Faren’s brother, Rown, would.
With the letter prepared, Faren shifted in the bed, wondering how soon he could leave and find a messenger.
His leg currently rested on a stack of pillows, the skin exposed to the cool air.
The healer had disappeared into a back room in search of bandages, and perhaps more tools with which to torture him.
Her ministrations had been agonizing; eventually, he’d given up on magically staunching the pain altogether.
It’d been easier to grit his teeth and accept his suffering.
At least it’d distracted him from how sorely he missed Mariana.
He couldn’t stop thinking about the bruises and scars that covered her body, wondering how many Heris had inflicted.
Faren knew she could take care of herself, but she shouldn’t have to, and his mind had no trouble conjuring up all manner of horrifying imaginings about what she was currently facing without him.
His physical pain was nothing compared to the torture of worrying about her and doing nothing.
But he wasn’t doing nothing, he reminded himself.
Their plan could still work. It had to. He trusted her, and she trusted him. He would see her again—he was sure of it—and when the moment came, they would not fight as enemies, but side by side as allies. He had to keep his hopes up—for both their sakes.
None of that would happen, however, if he didn’t get out of this fucking sickbed.
The click of a door latch echoed throughout the empty hall, alerting him of the healer’s return. “Finally,” he muttered.
His bed was one in a long row of beds that lined the shiny marble floor, with pale blue privacy curtains hanging around each one.
The castle infirmary had been empty when he’d hobbled in, but the healer had drawn his curtain closed anyway, and now he stared at the drapery with mild resentment.
The purple hue of dusk was already dimming across the surface of the thin material.
“How much longer will this take?” Faren called out. “I have matters to attend to.”
Footsteps snapped on the marble in a rapid approach. Three pairs of heavy boots, none of which belonged to his soft-slippered healer.
“Fuck,” Faren mouthed.
With his leg still propped up, he leaned out of bed, reaching for his swords, which rested on a chair with his armor just beyond the bedside table. His fingers had barely tickled Honor’s cross guard before the curtain was yanked back.
“What a sorry sight,” Shae tisked. “Put the sword away, please. You look pitiful.”
Faren sat up straight, allowing the weapon to tip onto the floor with a clatter. “Fates, Shae, announce yourself next time.”
Warner and Lee crowded in behind her, the three of them gathering around the foot of Faren’s bed.
“Did the infirmary run out of pants?” Warner lifted his hand as if to block the sight of Faren’s bare legs.
“At least he’s wearing underwear,” Lee remarked.
Warner snickered. “I’m not sure Shae’s delicate sensibilities could’ve handled any further state of undress.”
Shae rolled her eyes, then made a grabbing motion at Warner. “Pay up.”
With a scowl, Warner fished around in his pocket and flicked her a single gold coin.
“You made bets on my return?” Faren asked.
“We made bets about whether you would return,” Shae said.
Faren made a face at Warner. “I appreciate your confidence.”
“I didn’t bet her you’d die, I bet her you’d run away with Mariana,” Warner said.
Faren scoffed, trying to hide how close Warner had been to the truth.
“How in the Fates are you, Faren?” Lee said, coming round the side of the bed to inspect his leg. “Fuck, that looks terrible. Crossbow?” He leaned in, his beaklike nose wrinkling. “Looks like you were hit with a hunting bolt, that’s lucky.”
“I feel truly blessed,” Faren said flatly.
Lee patted his shoulder. “If it’d been a barbed tip, your leg would be in far worse shape, trust me.”
“Couldn’t dodge a fucking crossbow?” Shae chided. “Don’t you practice that maneuver with Lee all the time?”
“You don’t see a bolt sticking out of my neck, do you?”
Shae laughed. “Aside from the hole in your leg, how was it? Tell us everything.”
“Tell us this, first: did you at least fuck Mariana?” Warner procured another coin from his pocket and gave it a toss, catching it in his palm.
The question was classic Warner—goading, crass, and more in jest than judgement—yet still, it grated.
Faren had no interest in speaking behind Mariana’s back, and while he knew his friends wouldn’t reproach him for sleeping with her, he didn’t know how three dutiful Mighty Knights would react to Faren falling in love with her.
He didn’t have to lie, though; his scowl was apparently enough for Warner to assume the answer was no and flick the coin in Lee’s direction.
The archer caught the gold and pocketed it with a smirk. “Faren is too straitlaced to risk his Oath for a lay,” Lee stated, giving Warner a chiding look. “Unlike you.”
“Do tell,” Faren said, but he hardly listened as his friend launched into a story about a recent dalliance with an apprentice at the Collegium.
Straitlaced. Once, that descriptor would’ve been a point of pride, but Faren wasn’t the same man he’d been when he left.
Visiting with his friends only made that change more stark.
As they continued to fill him in on the latest gossip among the ranks—who was sleeping with whom, who insulted whom, the most promising new recruits, and tales from their duties—he felt rather like a Faren Impersonator than the real thing.
A stranger masquerading as their friend.
“—but tell us about you,” Shae said. “How was Yar? Did the reports hold true?”
“Yar was…” Faren regarded each of his friends in turn, their faces lit by the golden reflections of their armor. “Tragic.” He shifted on the bed, wincing at the twinge of pain in his leg. “Did you know that the Valiant requested aid and were refused?”
Lee folded his arms. “Is that what Mariana told you?”
The disdain in his voice smarted, but Faren understood. He used to harbor the same contempt. Worse, even.
“The town looked like it had seen battle,” Faren said. “Completely destroyed. No survivors.”
“Fates,” Shae muttered. “I thought the Valiant’s reports were an exaggeration.”
Faren shook his head. “If anything, they understated the destruction.”
“You were gone much longer than any of us anticipated,” Lee remarked. “Were you there the whole time?”
“Your report must’ve been thorough,” Warner cut in. “Promotion-worthy, perhaps?”
Faren had already forgotten about the Fates-damned promotion. “Actually…”
His friends were clapping and hollering before he could get the words out, smacking him on the back and jostling his leg with their congratulations.
Faren braced against their onslaught, feeling like a liar all over again.
How could he explain to them that being Captain was no longer a victory?
That the shame he’d expressed to Mariana—his old quest for glory—now felt paltry compared to the precariousness of the coming coup?
That while he still valued his Oath, his status mattered less to him now that he knew the truth?
“Faren, has the infection in your leg gone to your head?” Shae asked. “Why aren’t you being a smug fuck right now?”
“She’s right, he’s positively pale.” Warner took a single step back. “You aren’t going to vomit, are you?”
“Something’s amiss,” Lee said. “What did you uncover in Yar?”
Guilt swam through Faren’s stomach, slippery as a fish. He couldn’t stand it. They deserved to know about the Lord. These strong, jovial, principled, well-meaning people—longtime friends, knights he respected deeply—were endangered by Faren’s silence and secrecy.
Abruptly, Faren gripped Shae’s vambrace-clad forearm.
She wrenched herself free. “Ugh, don’t smudge the metal.”
“Listen, before the healer returns,” Faren whispered sharply. “There’s something you should know about—”
“I’ve heard rumors about a Valiant uprising,” Warner cut in. “Is that—”
“The rumors are true,” Faren interrupted. “But this isn’t about that.” The trio crowded closer as Faren dropped his voice to an almost-inaudible whisper. “Have you ever wondered where the Morta came from?”
“The geothermal pools,” Shae stated. “Everyone knows that.”
“No,” Faren said. “No, they were—” A sharp stab of pain hit the back of Faren’s throat, and he choked, coughing into his fist. “Fuck.” A furious indignance rose inside him.
He couldn’t fight his Oath—not without breaking it and alerting the Lord’s ledgermasters—but he tried again anyway, burning with desperation. “Lord Ha—” A hot poker to his throat.
Faren squeezed his eyes shut, spluttering.
“Your Oath,” Lee said.
“Fates,” Shae swore. “You know something we don’t.”
“Something damning,” Warner added.
Faren’s sense of right and wrong, his faithfulness to his friends, was pounding at the closed door of his Oath’s magic, screaming and desperate to break through.
“I—” he tried, but even that caused his throat to sear with pain.
“I—” His throat worked, throbbing and raw, and for the first time in his life, he truly considered pushing past it.
But if he were to break his Oath—break his very being—now wasn’t the time.
Just then, the healer appeared with a basket of clean rags and bandages. “Apologies for the delay, Faren, I—oh.” She took in the three Mighty Knights crowded around his bedside, her shrewd eyes landing on Faren’s red face. “Do you need water?”
Faren was still coughing and wheezing into his fist, stars bursting across his vision.
“Laughing fit, is all,” Warner replied, patting Faren’s back. “I’m afraid we don’t make for restful company.” He swept his gaze over the healer’s pale blue robes, his eyebrows rising. “I don’t think we’ve met before, I’m—”
“Leaving,” Lee interrupted, smacking Warner’s back and shoving him toward the opening in the curtain.
“We’ll talk later?” Shae asked Faren. “Perhaps when you’re wearing pants.” Her expression turned serious and probing. “Unless you can’t?”
To the healer, her question probably sounded like an inquiry about his availability—not his physical ability to speak past his Oath.
“I’m afraid I might be incapacitated,” Faren rasped hoarsely. “You might consider annoying Oderin instead.”
Shae narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips, seeming to weigh his words carefully.
“I trust Oderin,” Faren said at length, “to take your odious personality in stride.”
He knew his veiled meaning had landed when she slapped his thigh with a loud smack. “You fucker,” Shae said. “It’s good to have you back.” Then she was striding past the parted curtain, following the other men out.
Faren watched his friends go, a dog trapped in a kennel. He shook his head, trying to shake loose his helpless anger. He could not let the guilt overtake him; he had to keep his sights set on Oderin’s plan. It was his only true way out of this.
“Apologies for my rowdy associates,” he said to the healer. “Now, how much longer will this take? I have a letter to post.”