46. Archer #2
“Hard to say with their veil abilities, but there have been plenty of mortal men passing through as well. Some asking after Leo’s replacement. Apparently, that’s thinned out, but…”
“But there’s no shortage of Malevron’s agents,” I finish for her. “He had the uncanny skill to convince mortals and Azkari alike of his cause. His army isn’t solely monsters and mad men. And whoever they are, they’ve been waiting. They will be ready for battle.”
“And yet you say Saige is safe here?” Raven interjects.
“There are no guarantees in this life,” Daemos says with a wry smile. “But with two Azkari and two… what was it? Difficult women—guarding her—she should be fine.”
I sense Saige’s hesitancy. She doesn’t like the idea of putting her family in harm’s way, that much has been clear to me given how I met them.
Restoring the Confluence here, in The Awl and Cradle, puts them all at risk.
Not to mention the place itself is important to her, it’s the last piece of her father figure she has, it’s the birthplace of her passion, it’s her home.
But she doesn’t argue, instead she pushes her shoulders back with a nod.
“Then I’ll continue work tomorrow at first light. ”
My fingers twitch at my side as I consider reaching for her, to take her hand in mine and reassure her, but I stop myself.
She’d practically leapt away from me as though burned when the others walked in on us embracing, she likely won’t appreciate me drawing more attention to whatever this thing is between us.
So I keep my hands to myself but catch Yevna looking at me once more.
Her usual glower is gone, her expression something entirely unrecognizable to me.
She’s watching me with a sad sort of kindness.
Like she can see through all the poor choices I’ve made in life, and that she pities me for them.
I look away. I don’t want her pity. I prefer the crone as her usual disdainful, sharp-tongued self.
“Brother,” Daemos says sharply, the serious note in his voice has me reaching for my sword. “What the fuck is on your feet?”
My gaze follows his to where thick lumpy knitted wool reaches up over my ankles. “Socks.”
“Looks like what Grim vomited up this morning,” Raven observes with a wrinkled nose before her eyes drift to Saige’s feet tucked up beneath her. “Oh! I didn’t realize they were matching. That’s—”
“We’re not,” I growl. My brother’s expression is far too gleeful. “They’re just socks.”
Saige snorts. “I believe the General referred to them as a ‘warm hug for his feet’ earlier.’”
My head snaps to her. “How dare you—”
Daemos’ grin morphs into one of triumph. “I knew it.”
Saige and Raven dissolve into a fit laughter, and I decide all the teasing in the world is worth it if it gets that result. Besides, the realm’s ugliest socks are fucking comfortable.
When the women are talking amongst themselves, Daemos approaches me privately. “I spoke with Junior,” he tells me, voice low.
“Oh?” I’m trying for nonchalance but I’m fooling no one. “What did you say?”
“I told him you’re alive.”
“Was he as overjoyed as you?”
Daemos snorts. “Moreso, if you can believe it.”
“I can’t.”
“Sounds about right.” Daemos pinches the bridge of his nose. “The three of us need to talk.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’m rather busy these days, brother.”
“You can’t put this off forever,” he replies.
“Watch me.”
The group continues their conversations well into the night, but I pull back, busying myself with clearing plates and topping up drinks.
My mind is too far away, too introspective to partake in whatever topics they’re debating while the fire dies down.
I envy the familiarity of their touches, their ease with one another.
The depth and length of their friendship is there for the world to see.
One year has bled into the next, their milestones remembered fondly and cherished.
Saige is at the heart of it all, the pillar that supports the weight of the rest. I wonder if anyone knows me as well as the one here know one another, if I’ve ever let someone know me that well.
Their love for one another is carved from decades of routine, shared childhood, breakfasts.
They don’t need whispers of magic to talk, they can convey their thoughts with a single glance.
They’re open with their love… wiping a smudge of dirt from a cheek without hesitation, a casual squeeze of the hand.
Even before Gravereach I was never so free with my affection, not with my brothers, not with my friends, not even with my lovers.
Seeing them makes me ache, for something I never knew I wanted.
Yevna’s knowing stare puts me on edge, along with Saige’s progress with the Confluence. Once the book is restored and we deliver it where it needs to go, things will not only change between us—they will end. Before we’ve even had a chance to start.
“You’re not what I expected, Black Flame.” Yevna’s scratchy voice interrupts my thoughts, and I see that she and Grim are the last ones here, with Saige already outside, talking with Raven and Daemos as she closes the wooden shutters over the shop windows.
“Sorry to disappoint,” I reply dryly.
With an undignified groan, muttering something about her ruined joints, the older woman hauls herself up out of the armchair and starts towards the door. “You going to tell her?”
“Tell who what?”
Yevna’s gaze goes to the flowers in their pail on the counter. “I wonder.”
Sighing, I spear my fingers through my hair. “Tell her what, Yevna?”
“That you’re in love with her.”
For a moment, I say nothing, letting her words permeate the air before I huff a laugh as I wipe down the table, mindful of Grim’s slobbering maw. “I’m not in love with her,” I mutter.
Yevna reaches the door and clicks her tongue in frustration. “Well, if that’s not the biggest load of horseshit I’ve ever heard.”
Despite myself, I chuckle. “Have you ever considered mincing your words, old woman?”
Yevna scoffs. “Never.”
“Good.”
As her hand closes around the door handle, I take a step towards her. “What if she doesn’t feel the same?”
She gives me a sad smile. “Love isn’t an exchange, or a bargain. It’s a gift, given willingly, no matter what is offered in return.”