17. Saige #2
When we meet him in the alley, it’s clear to me that the Black Flame has veiled himself once again.
The savage brand at his neck is gone. The power that radiates from him is muted, and with his hood pulled up over his head and a pack strapped to his back, he looks almost human.
Almost. There’s still something otherworldly about him, something I can’t quite put my finger on.
I wonder if the good people of Hanniel can sense it too, or if they’re completely oblivious to the immortal warrior who walks in their midst.
Somehow, he’s acquired two horses—one for each of us, and the saddlebags look full of supplies.
I shudder to think of what he did to obtain such a bounty.
Did he burn down a stable? Torture a shopkeeper?
The questions are on the tip of my tongue, but the dark look he shoots my way has me changing tack.
“All of our rations are walnut-free,” he tells me stiffly.
I blink at him; brows furrowed as my mind struggles to catch up. “What?”
“I checked. Nothing has walnuts in it. Can’t have my bookbinder keeling over before she’s upheld her part of the bargain. You are allergic to walnuts, yes?”
There’s a fluttering in my stomach and I find myself nodding. “How—”
“You told me. In Gravereach.”
“And you remembered?” I gape, trying to pinpoint when exactly I said it.
“Obviously,” he grunts.
My gaze slides to Raven who’s watching our exchange with a curious look on her face from the doorstep. I give her a subtle shrug.
“Well, thank you.”
I’m met with another non-committal grunt, and I hide a smile.
“Just how far are we going?” I ask, changing tact.
“House of Reveries, I told you.” He moves to the stallion and fits his boot to the stirrup. He swings himself up into the saddle in one powerful motion, before he gestures to the other mount. “If it’s all the same to you, can we hurry the fuck up?”
Annoyance prickles at me but I bite back my retort. Something tells me I’m going to have to pick my battles, and this isn’t one of them.
Raven gives me a leg up, before glaring up at Archer. “Don’t let anything happen to her.”
“I don’t take orders from mortals,” he mutters. “I’m just glad we’re leaving the riff raff behind.”
Yevna ambles forward and grabs his reins. “Same goes for my boy. If anything happens to Grim, you’ll have me to answer to.”
Archer rolls his eyes skyward like he’s asking the gods for patience. “Anything else? Want me to tuck him in at night? Sing him a lullaby?” He yanks the reins from Yevna’s grip. “I’d say it’s been a pleasure, but I can’t stomach it. Here’s to never seeing you again.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” Yevna bites back.
Scowling, Archer guides his stallion away and calls to me. “Head to the city gates.”
I wait until he’s out of earshot to farewell my friends, surprised at the tears stinging my eyes. “I’m truly sorry about everything,” I tell them.
Raven waves me off. “Enough about that. Everyone’s alright. You’re forgiven. Just remember we love you and be careful.”
“Love you too,” I reply. “And you, Yev.”
Her cheeks redden. “Yes, yes, no need to get sappy. The sooner you go, the sooner you can be back laughing with us in the Kettle, eh?”
“That’s the plan.” I force a smile to my lips as I wave a final farewell to my friends and squeeze my horse’s sides.
I lurch forward and start to make my way through the city, with Grim bolting ahead with a joyful yelp.
The streets are quieter in the early morning, and we have less chaos to contend with as we traverse the narrow paths.
Peddlers are only just starting to hawk their wares, and the locals dart in and out our way without fanfare, eager to complete their own business before the morning rush.
But still, I shift uneasily in the saddle.
We’re traveling out in the open, and Thorne’s spies are never far.
Even with the Black Flame guarding my back, I don’t like it.
I feel exposed and on edge, like a raw nerve.
I take on the familiar route, much of which Archer and I travelled the day before, but even though I’m well acquainted with the twists and turns, the roiling sensation in my gut doesn’t let up.
It’s like my mind enjoys latching onto whatever brings me discomfort, like my body can’t survive without the constant churn of anxious energy, like I need it to feel anchored somehow.
Just outside the main part of the city, I halt.
A supply cart has broken down in the middle of the thoroughfare, one of its wheels hanging from the axle.
The driver is distraught by his cart, trying to pick up the goods that have spilled out onto the worn path in the commotion.
My apprehension surges as behind me, Archer jumps down from his horse and approaches on foot to investigate.
Even with his Azkari veil in place, like a curtain between him and the rest of the world, Archer’s towering presence has the poor merchant stammering his apologies. “My apologies, Sir. I don’t mean to be blocking the way—”
Archer dismisses this with a wave of his hand and is already kneeing in the dirt. “You’ve broken the spokes,” he says, voice gruff.
“Ah…” the man glances at me for reassurance, but I just shrug. “We went over some uneven terrain. I heard something snap.”
“Like I said,” Archer grunts. “You’ve broken the spokes.” He lifts the cart easily, sliding the wheel off the wooden axle pin.
“They make them strong wherever you’re from…” the man comments, and he’s not the only one staring at Archer’s rippling muscles that even magic can’t disguise.
I watch the small act of—dare I say—kindness unfold as the infamous Azkari general’s arms bunch beneath his shirt while he works.
It’s almost surreal now, watching his hands pass over the wooden axle with care before cutting away the broken spoke with a dagger.
A man who has lived through such violence, a man who has delivered his own, now seems almost gentle as he helps a stranger.
“Thank you, Sir.”
“Not a sir.”
“Well, thank you all the same.”
When we’re on our way again, I can’t help myself. “That was friendly of you.”
Archer forces a shrug. “I was bored.”
“Sure you were.”
“I don’t know what you’re implying, but I don’t like it.”
“That you have a heart?”
His mouth twitches. “Unlikely, bookbinder.”
“Your secret’s safe with me, General,” I tell him before I urge my horse onwards.
A little while later, a sharp caw to my right jerks me from my daydreams, and I spy the animal trader we passed yesterday.
“Three silver marks for a crow!” he shouts, trying to flag us down. “Eight silvers for three!”
I can’t count how many birds are confined to the wooden and metal crates that spill out onto the street from the storefront, but the sound of aggressive flapping makes me flinch as black feathers drift through the bars of the cages, into the early morning breeze.
I glance over my shoulder, remembering the curl of Archer’s lip as we passed the previous day. But he’s not in my line of sight. He must have fallen back.
I urge my horse onward, noting his flattened ears. Either the poor creature has picked up on my uneasiness, or there is, in fact, a reason for concern.
As I reach the end of the street, a scream pierces the air.
My horse startles, and I fight to get him under control, shortening the reins and clinging for dear life. Suddenly, he stills beneath me, and I look back towards the source of the noise.
My breath hitches.
For the Black Flame rides towards me, as formidable as ever. And behind him, a murder of crows blocks out the sun.