Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
I t’s not long before we’re relaxing by the fire with a bowl of extraordinarily plain stew in our hands. The other three are eating with such gusto that I’m left to wonder whether these people don’t have any taste buds or they’re just that hungry.
“What, uh, what are we eating?” I ask as I tip the gruel from my spoon back into the bowl, allowing the chunky sludge to drip and plop back on itself.
“Bean and donkey stew,” Riley says with a mouthful, staring me down, forcing me to avert my eyes to my food.
“Uh huh. Is it literally only beans and donkey or are there other ingredients?” I grimace. “For flavor?”
Tovi is unsuccessfully trying to hide her laughter behind her hand with a mouthful of food, while Beans is grinning in what looks like sheer delight between me and Riley. This group is fucking weird.
“It’s food that you didn’t have to make, and you’re complaining?” Riley’s indignance is mildly amusing.
“All I am saying is that a little flavor wouldn’t hurt. Thanks for the food though. Cheers!” And with that, I shove another disgustingly boring mouthful of Riley’s stew in my mouth and lift my bowl in salute.
Tovi and Beans also salute with their bowls before Riley tells us all to go fuck ourselves, and stalks off into the sunset, which has both Tovi and Beans snickering.
I awake to the sounds of birds and their morning songs. Laying there listening, I can hear shuffling about. Riley is returning, presumably from relieving himself, which triggers my need to do the same.
“Morning,” I whisper, to which he nods a greeting and lays heavily back onto his bedroll.
The early sun is already starting to cause steam to rise from the grass, so it’ll be a foggy morning. Beans and Tovi are both awake when I return, chattering happily about their good sleep. Riley glares at them with dark circles under his eyes.
We have a quick breakfast of chewy fruit and grain bars that Beans’ mother made for the trip, and get on the road before the sun has fully crested. I resist the urge to ask him how his mother made them. He’s a Patron who shouldn’t— couldn’t —know who his family are. Perhaps this woman is not his birth mother?
When I try to saddle Applemint, she dances and prances away. I chase her. She stays still long enough for me to think it’s over, before springing into the air and taking off in circles around me.
I look at my three travel companions for help, and all three of the assholes shrug and go back to their own tasks. Remembering the applemints, I retrieve them from my pack and dangle them toward the naughty horse. She trots back and snorts in my face with impatience, as if this is what she had wanted the entire time.
The day is dull and never-ending, a gloomy fog surrounding us. Beans and I speak about everything he and the various teams have done and what intel they’ve been able to source. Tovi and Riley speak in whispers and laughter, randomly chasing each other or having stick fights from horseback.
During a lull in a particularly long and boring stretch of road, I notice Riley has a giant axe like Beans’. I ask if it’s purely for chopping wood. Riley laughs at me as if I’m a child asking a silly question. This starts a discussion about other countries and their preferred weapons.
I was unaware that all Nemorisborn are taught to fight with the axe as well as the sword, Beans himself only learning after he was purchased by the Nemoris crown. I’d never paid attention to what weapons countries—except Mieva—preferred because I encountered them so little. Most targets were dead before a weapon could ever be raised toward me.
“I prefer the Erdu metal short swords now,” Tovi says, gesturing to one holstered on her person and the other on her horse.
“Can you fight with both? One in each hand?” I ask, to which I get a grunt of affirmation that ends the conversation.
She would be fun to spar with if I could find a way to protect the blades of my hatchets. Well, protect other people and myself from the blades of my hatchets. They’re far too dangerous of a weapon to spar with. I shudder at the memory of the one—and only—time I carried them holstered on my belt. I run my finger along the scar of my left wrist where I almost mortally wounded myself. The closest I've ever come to meeting my Divine end, and it was a careless brush of my wrist against my own blade. Another shudder skips down my spine at the memory.
After three more dinners of bland stew, I offer to cook. Not only does it allow me to contribute, but also to eat something that doesn’t look and taste like dirty dish slime. With my ferments and pastes, I’m able to get creative.
By the time everyone returns from their respective duties, I’m soaking a few pieces of the salt-brined donkey, cooking wild rice, and patting dry some pickled onion and carrot.
Now, I have an audience. I fry the now much less salty donkey with the pickled carrot and onion. I add a heaped spoon of my fermented black soybeans, sending a silent prayer to the Divine that it won’t end up too salty. I serve it to everyone on the wild rice with some swordmint.
Riley stares at me while he eats with an unreadable expression, always with that constant smirk simmering at his edges. I hold his gaze for a moment before looking away, but his eyes bore into my skin for the rest of the meal.
After dinner, Tovi offers to take my plate, doing the washing up for everyone.
Unfortunately, I underestimated how much food the three of them eat, especially Beans. They all end up having some crusty bread and hard cheese as well. Despite not cooking enough, I am officially appointed the travel cook. Riley is banned from ever cooking again, much to his apparent relief.
After a cold day of travel, Riley gives me a full smirk and asks if I’m making sure there’s enough food tonight. “Flavor is not a substitute for substance,” he announces, as if I can’t cook enough food for them that also has flavor.
“Riley, I promise that if I don’t cook enough this time, you’re welcome to take over.” I hear a resounding chorus of “no” from all three of them, and chuckle to myself. Something tiny thaws in my chest as rage swirls low in my belly.
I cooked far too much this time, making enough for breakfast too. Yet again a delicious meal. I offer a smug look at Riley during breakfast, and he gives me a lazy wink as he reclines. I’m not even sure what that means.
He’s not wholly unattractive, though his smirk definitely is. Certainly not a pretty man by any means—he’s rough and sharp. Pale skin with a smattering of red freckles across his nose and cheeks, with full lips in the shape of a perfectly defined bow.
He catches me watching his lips and raises an eyebrow. I poke my tongue out like a bloody child and then frantically busy myself with packing up camp.
I replay that moment in my head over and over all day, cringing internally every time. I can never speak to him again, it’s the only solution.
Crossing the Osraed gate onto the Nemoris bridge proves to be more of an issue than when I’m alone. Details must be checked for all four of us to confirm we have permissions on record to enter Nemoris and exit Osraed. I cannot pass through here again without explicit written approval from Queen Neoniri Ofnemoris.
I never had an issue with my sanctioned movements when traveling for assassinations. I was barely asked any questions as a Patron then. This time, fellow Patrons—fellow Nulls—treat me like a prized horse being taken to her new owners.
One of the jobs assigned to Nulls is peacekeeping. Stationed at all the gates in and out of Osraed, Peacekeepers report anything that doesn’t align. They’re also the people who come after you if you defect, usually with a Gifted captain who can force you in some way if needed.
The bridge into Nemoris is enormous . I’m in awe every single time I cross it, which has been only a couple of times, and not recently. Made entirely of wood from the Nemoris elomak tree. It would fit four large horse carriages side by side in width and takes us ten minutes to walk from one end to the other on our horses. Large elomak branches have been used as decoration on the sides. Intricate patterns and designs in the sand-colored wood with a burgundy red grain, spanning the entire length of the bridge.
The horses are able to travel much faster after crossing the bridge, galloping at a breakneck speed and requiring a good rub down in the evenings. Like our travels along the busy roads in Osraed, we don’t bother to set a watch here on the well-traveled roads directly into Nemoris. With the horses tethered nearby, they would let Beans know if something was amiss, or so I’m told.
I muse on what his Gift could be. Perhaps the ability to communicate with animals, or horses specifically. It would explain why he barely ever holds Ditch’s reins. That is a Gift I would’ve liked to have been blessed with. Or shifting into a horse to run free with them. I’ve only ever heard of a handful of Patron’s being able to shift their entire being, and every single one has been a various breed of horse. There hasn’t been one in years though, and there are none currently living.
I’ve realized the reason for Riley’s dark circles and bad moods every morning. He’s been drinking himself into oblivion every night. Last night, I watched him stumble into a tree, land on the ground with a grunt, and lay there unmoving for a long time. I looked at the others, but besides an eye roll from Beans and Tovi muttering “drunken wanker” under her breath, they didn't seem to care .
Applemint is still as cheeky as ever. She pinched my bum, again, because I dared to leave it within striking distance. I discovered she could undo her tether at will when I found her shaking one of my bags upside-down, emptying its contents. The other three were not surprised. If I’m not careful, she still dances away from me until I give her an applemint.
One evening, while waiting for water to boil for dinner, I ask, “Where does the name Beans come from?”
“Come on, Daddy Beans . Show us your beans ,” Tovi purrs, then pokes out her tongue through her teeth at him.
Riley casually puts his arm around my shoulders, and I stiffen at the unexpected touch. Trying not to notice the heat, or the muscles, or the smell of him, I fail and notice it all . While looking at Beans, he loudly whispers to me, “So, Beans’ Gift is that his beans are so…”
He ducks behind me, using me as a shield and yelling his surrender, as Beans throws small projectiles at him, and one hits me in the shoulder. I look down, and amongst the leaf litter are a bunch of pale green… beans . I pick one up and confirm that it is, in fact, a fresh bean. We have no beans. Beanstalks do not grow here. I’m still staring at it when I hear Tovi pissing herself laughing.
“Children,” Beans growls, and I look up to see him glaring at the other two, though a smile is tugging at the corner of his lips.
He waves me over to where he’s kneeling beside a tall weed growing in the large wells of a tree’s roots. On the weed, are a couple of bean pods that shouldn’t be there. I laugh uncomfortably, throwing a questioning look at him. He gently grabs the stalk of a different weed, staring at it intently. To my complete and total fascination, three bean pods rapidly grow from the weed .
He pulls one off and hands it to me. I break it open and find six, small, ripe beans inside.
“Can you do this to anything ?”
“It’s not easy through bark, but any vegetation still rooted to the Divine earth will grow my beans,” he confirms, shooting a side-eye at Tovi’s snicker. “Except grass for some reason,” he complains.
Beans grows a heap of beans for me to cook with and I try not to burst into laughter the entire night whenever I think about it. Even as I drift off to sleep, the thought that the commander of the Nemoris army—their Gifted commander—is able to grow beans, is about one of the funniest things I have ever heard.