CHAPTER 17 JAX
JAX
When we ride out the next morning, the sky is overcast, heavy with unshed rain.
The darker skies haven’t brought any relief from the heat, however.
I can’t believe I spent years wishing I could have a chance to wear armor like a soldier.
Now that I’ve spent two days sweating under the weight of leather and steel, I just want to leave it all behind.
Sephran was asleep when I slipped into the room last night, and when I woke hours later, Leo was in his place on the pallet beside me.
The younger soldier was snoring away, the room flooded with sunlight, so I shoved him awake, worried we overslept.
By the time we dressed and headed downstairs, the horses were saddled and ready.
Tycho, Malin, and Sephran stood alongside, not speaking, their expressions stony.
I might have resolved things with Tycho, but it’s clear no one else resolved anything at all.
We aren’t riding as far today, and endless acres of crops force us to stick to the King’s Highway instead of traversing the open fields we galloped across earlier.
The roadway is crowded with workers and travelers going about their early morning duties, so we keep the horses at a walk and break into pairs again: Tycho and Malin at the front, then me and Sephran, with Leo holding the back.
At my side, Sephran has been unusually quiet, but I’m not sure how much I can pry, especially when we’re riding in such a tight formation.
His expression seems permanently fixed in a glower, and I can’t tell if he’s more annoyed by Tycho or by Malin.
To his credit, Tycho has been coolly professional since the moment he handed me Teddy’s reins.
I don’t know if he’s worried about discretion since we’re sharing such close quarters, or if he’s trying not to stoke the tension with Sephran any higher than it already is.
Maybe both. But before he turned away, he let his fingers stroke a line across my arm in a way that made me shiver, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it.
He’s riding right in front of me, and every time I glance away, my gaze is called back by something new: the sun gleaming on the gold of his hair, the way his back narrows into his waist, the sway of his body as he moves with the horse.
Last night he pulled my hand to his chest like something to be cherished. Like he’d never let go. I almost melted into a puddle right there.
No one can leave you behind. No one. Never again.
The words lit me up inside, a glow that refuses to dim. If I don’t stop thinking about this, I’ll melt right off this horse.
Then I glance at Sephran. His eyes are shadowed with exhaustion, but his whole frame is tense. I don’t think he’s said more than ten words to me all morning.
I shouldn’t feel guilty, but I do.
“Did you sleep?” I ask in Emberish.
He lifts one shoulder in a tense shrug. “I’m fine.”
“You not talk?”
His head jerks in my direction. “I said I’m fine.”
He’s never snapped at me. My eyebrows go up. Malin looks back over his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”
Sephran heaves a breath. “Nothing.” He leaves a long pause, and his eyes flash with rancor. “Sir.”
Malin’s eyes narrow, and I expect him to give Sephran a sharp order, the way he did during the card game. Instead, his voice drops. “Quit being such a prick, Seph.”
Sephran draws up his reins, and the horse prances, responding to his tension. “Why don’t you suck my—”
“Hey.” Tycho whips his head around. “Both of you. Knock it off.”
Two middle- aged men are leading a pair of mules past us with a cart full of baled straw. They must hear the warning in his tone, because one nudges the other, and their mules seem to slow. They glance over with clear interest, one of them craning his neck around.
A group of arguing soldiers would’ve been high entertainment back in Briarlock, and I’m sure it’s no different here.
Sephran’s gaze shifts to Tycho. His tone turns as cold as steel, each word as sharp as a dagger. “Yes, my lord.”
A young woman with a basket of vegetables is walking from the opposite direction, and one of the men with the mules leans close to murmur a few words to her. Her eyes widen, and we suddenly have her attention, too.
Malin has drawn a sharp breath, and he looks ready to breathe fire. Tycho reaches out to grab his forearm. “Ride on,” he says.
Beside me, Sephran’s horse jerks at the reins again, prancing sideways until he nearly collides with Teddy. “No,” Sephran says. “Maybe we should just put an end to this right now.”
Another woman on the road has joined the others. They’ve all come to a stop, and we’re beginning to attract more attention. I think I hear one of the men say something about fetching the enforcers.
I have no idea what would happen if a group of uniformed soldiers started brawling in the middle of the road, but I doubt it would end well for any of us.
“Ride on,” Tycho says, and the sharp note in his voice reminds me he used to be an officer, too. “Both of you. Now.”
For an instant, the tension seems tangible, like a wire binding us all together— a wire that won’t snap without bloodshed. Sephran and Malin are still glaring at each other, and beneath the exhaustion and fury, I see the real basis for all of it: regret and resentment.
Last night, I said that Sephran saw my sadness. Just now, I realize I’m seeing his.
I pull an arrow from my quiver and poke Sephran in the arm with it. “Ride on,” I say quietly, echoing Tycho. “Ride on, Sephran.”
He snaps his head around like he’s going to fight with me next, but I just raise my eyebrows at him.
Sephran gives a disgusted sigh. “Fine.”
Malin turns forward and gives his horse a nudge with his heels. “Fine.”
The men with the mules and the woman with the vegetables quickly look away, busying themselves with their own duties.
From behind us, Leo mutters, “Silver hell,” almost under his breath. “What was that?”
No one answers him. But once we’re moving, Tycho glances back at me. He has enough sense to stay silent, but his eyebrows lift, just a bit, in question. All good?
I nod slightly, but I’m really not sure.
I truly thought that was going to end in a fight— and that’s the last thing we need right now.
Not after the queen’s messenger was executed.
Not with scravers lying in wait. We have no idea what we’ll face in the next town, and whether we’ll have to press on for the Crystal Palace— where soldiers from Emberfall may not be welcome at all.
But Tycho turns to face forward, and we ride on.
By the time we ride into Gaulter, the heat and humidity have been weighing on us all day, and everyone is too tired to fight anymore.
Tycho and Malin set out to secure lodging for the horses at the local livery, leaving me and Leo to walk to the nearest boarding house with Sephran.
He hasn’t said much since he almost picked that fight on the road, but this is the first time they’ve been separated all day.
Once Malin is out of earshot, it’s like Sephran visibly deflates.
“Finally,” he says.
“You are so angry at him,” I say.
“Not just Mal.” He cuts a glance in my direction. “Both of them.”
Oh. I hadn’t really considered that. I frown.
“Mal and I were recruits together,” he says. “We came up together, reached lieutenant together—” He breaks off and sighs, then scrubs a hand through his hair. His cheeks are so red from the sun. “This is stupid. It doesn’t matter.”
“Yes,” I say. “It matter.”
“No. It doesn’t. Come on. Hopefully we can get some private rooms this time.” He jerks a hand toward Leo, who’s gazing down the road toward some serving girls who are sweeping the steps out in front of a bakery. When they notice his attention, they stop what they’re doing to blush and giggle.
He doesn’t seem to mind the attention, but Sephran whistles through his teeth and barks, “Leo!”
The younger soldier whips around, his expression aggrieved. The girls giggle again. Sephran softens his tone, but only a bit. “Let’s go.”
Gaulter is larger than the previous town, and we’re relieved to discover that the boarding house does have single rooms available.
Sephran slides coins across the counter and asks the clerk if extra firewood can be laid out.
Then we head to the tavern to wait for Tycho and Malin.
When we’re sitting in a corner, it’s like the remaining tension leaks out of Sephran’s frame. He all but wilts in his chair.
He runs a finger along the edge of the table as a barmaid heads in our direction. “I might need real ale tonight.”
“Me too,” I say, though I’m not sure if I mean that. But Sephran looks like he needs an ally.
Leo grins. “I’m in.”
When the barmaid brings the ale, it’s ice cold, and I’m startled since it’s so blisteringly hot outside. I gulp twice as much as I normally would.
She smiles at my reaction. “We hang the jugs down the well,” she says. “Can I bring you boys anything else?”
“Dinner,” says Sephran.
“We should wait,” I say to him. “For Mal and Tycho.”
His eyebrows flick skyward, and he takes a long swallow of ale. “Whatever.”
The barmaid startles at my voice, then looks at me more closely. “You . . . you’re from Syhl Shallow.”
“Yes.” I wince, realizing how thick my accent must sound to people who aren’t used to it.
We’re closer to the border here, but I have no way of knowing if that means attitudes about my country are better or worse.
So many people hated me in the palace that I wonder if I’m going to run into problems here, too.
I try to enunciate. “I . . . sorry,” I say.
“My Emberish is . . . not good. Not yet.”