CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Planting Seeds
Pytr
It’s been almost three months. Where in the godsdamned hells is he?
I lean back in the booth and try to look like I’m having a good time.
At first, Syrus was shocked by my sudden enthusiasm for sneaking out of the Towers.
He said he thought I was the responsible one, the first one to say perhaps we shouldn’t risk the wrath of the Exemplars just to get drunk on expensive wine.
I just smiled. I couldn’t tell him, damn it. I couldn’t tell any of them.
I know they would help, and that almost makes it worse. My friends would do anything for me, and I’d do anything for them. But the Exemplars are ruthless. I think of the burns across Reznyk’s back, the ones Syrus just healed, and shiver.
And then I turn back to the door. Waiting for that idiot Zayne, just like I’ve been doing for the past three months.
I handed him all the coins that were meant for Kyla and her husband, and he said he’d find me when he was ready.
Ever since, I’ve been more than happy to go along with Syrus’s stupid plans to sneak out of the Towers.
But Zayne hasn’t found me, the bastard. And I’m starting to worry he never intended to.
A woman laughs, drawing me out of my dark thoughts.
It’s Veloria, the Novice that Syrus finally managed to seduce.
She joined us last month for Silver City’s Crown Day, and the two of them danced under the colored lanterns and stared at each other in a way that made me want to punch something.
I spent the night searching futilely for Zayne and missing my wife so desperately that it was almost crippling.
If Zayne isn’t coming, then I need to come up with another plan.
I stare down at my wine glass. Next to me, Syrus leans in close to whisper to Veloria, and she laughs again. On the other side of the table, Aveus is tormenting a strange stringed instrument, and Reznyk is watching the door. He’s looking for that woman, Lenore, I’m sure of it.
The musician who loaned her instrument to Aveus walks over to the table. She corrects his hand placement, then turns to me.
“Message for you,” she whispers as she presses a piece of folded parchment into my palm.
My mouth falls open, but before I can think of a response, she asks Aveus if he wants to join the band for their next song. Syrus cheers at this and makes a toast before Aveus can respond. In the chaos, I glance down at the parchment.
Tomorrow night, it reads. Next Best Gander.
That stupid pub? I frown as I shove the note into my pocket. The Next Best Gander is a shitty, run-down pub by the docks. It’s exactly the kind of place where you’d expect to find members of the Mercenary Guild.
It might be a trap. Hells, it probably is a trap, although why anyone would want to trap me is a bit of a question.
Still. Something cold and hard settles in my gut, like I’ve swallowed a stone.
I look around the table at my friends, Syrus grinning with his arm over Veloria’s shoulder, Aveus cradling the instrument in his arms like a child, and Reznyk, with his back against the wall, watching the door, and I feel like something is falling apart inside my chest.
I clear my throat, then raise my glass. The wine Syrus poured in there hours ago sloshes around, catching the light.
“I want to make a toast,” I say.
They all turn to stare at me. Usually, it’s Syrus and Aveus who make the toasts, while Reznyk and I grumble from the shadows.
“To— to you,” I stammer, tilting my glass at them. “The best friends I’ve ever had.”
Reznyk blinks. Syrus looks like he’s about to say something, so I push on.
“And to the Towers,” I say, as my friends stare at me like I’ve lost my damned mind. “Where the only way out is to die.”
I bring my glass to my lips and drain it. Syrus looks like I’ve just slapped him. Aveus frowns. And Reznyk gives me a slow, strange smile.
“For Kyla,” Reznyk says, tilting his glass at me. “You got her out.”
“We got her out,” Aveus adds.
Syrus finally comes back to himself, shakes his head, and starts pouring more wine into everyone’s glasses.
“Hear, hear,” Syrus says, clinking his glass to mine.
I lean back in my chair. I don’t dare tell them what I’m about to do, but I am a farmer. I can plant seeds.
And perhaps the idea I just planted will grow. Perhaps, given time, they’ll realize what I meant.
Reznyk pushes back from the table and comes to his feet with a look on his face like the rest of the world has just ceased to matter.
I follow his gaze and see Lady Lenore, the beautifully dressed noblewoman, standing on the far side of the room, ignoring him.
Syrus leans in toward Veloria, pressing his lips to her temple, and then the band comes back to the stage and Aveus leaps to his feet to join him.
My chest aches with all the things I don’t dare say as I watch them, the three men who became my closest friends. If I could take them with me, I’d do it. But it’s tempting the gods to try this for myself; doing it for all four of us would be insanity.
Syrus laughs at something Veloria said, and I run my thumb over the folded piece of parchment. The words float through my mind. Tomorrow night. Next Best Gander.
I can’t drag them with me, my wild, amazing friends, the people who made living in the Towers almost bearable. And they wouldn’t want to come, not really. Syrus Maganti would never be a farmer, and I think Reznyk and Aveus still have something to prove, to themselves perhaps.
No, they’ll have to find their own ways out.
And, as I watch Syrus smile at the woman he’s falling in love with, and Aveus laugh as he plays in the band, and Reznyk lead the beautiful noblewoman to the dance floor with the most solemn expression I’ve ever seen, I whisper a prayer to whichever gods might be listening.
Watch over them, my dangerous, deadly friends, the Elites of the Towers. Please.
Protect them when I’m gone.