Chapter Sixty-Seven. Not Here, Not Now. Not Ever.
Sixty-Seven
Not Here, Not Now. Not Ever.
The way ahead is as the way behind.
As the echoes of the crowd’s departure fade, I look to beyond where the Crystal Gate was and see the other half of the clearing we’re in—and am unimpressed.
The continuation of the cliffs, and the hard turn out of the open space is just like all the other twists and curves we went through to get here.
“I thought the Outpost was your destination,” Merc remarks.
So did I. “I changed my mind.”
“The only thing after this is the Kingdom of the South.”
“Yes. That is where I’m going.”
“We ride together then,” Merc announces as he holds out Lavante’s reins to me.
I look over at him. The collapse kicked up dirt on all of us, and like my own togs, his clothes are dusty. He even has a shard hanging in his hair, and as my eyes catch it, he raises his hand and picks the crystal out.
His face is a mask of his features, neither his expression nor his black and white eyes giving anything away. For a moment, I’m tempted to suggest that he go first and I give him a half hour. But that’s just being petty.
I mostly keep my bitterness to myself: “Another new job for you, then.”
“Don’t sound so surprised.”
“Disappointed, more like it. I still think you need to stop running and go back to what you love to do.” I take my reins and saddle up. “But we all have choices to make, don’t we.”
Lavante is very excited about what just happened, and he paws at the shards that sparkle on the ground at his feet. The majority of the crystals blew outward from the maid as she broke down the wall, so the debris field is in front of us.
I’m worried about the horses’ hooves.
“Is it safe for them?” I ask.
“We don’t have a choice,” Merc tosses back. “So neither do they.”
He throws a leg over his saddle and spurs his steed forward—
His horse shies away from the crystals, rearing up while backing away and shaking its head. Though Merc gets control and prevents a full-on bolt, when he tries a second approach, the same thing happens, only with a buck or two thrown in for good measure.
“Let me go first,” I say as I give Lavante a little head—
My stallion prances over and kicks up his hooves, the shards spraying around him as he dances through the light show he’s deliberately creating. As I glance back, Merc is giving me an annoyed look.
“I’m not asking him to do this,” I call out over the tinkling sounds.
At least his horse falls in line, the instinct to stay with the herd greater than its fear of the strange ground covering.
Soon enough, we’re through the beautiful mess and onto solid dirt.
I’m not surprised there’s no vegetation here, as there wasn’t previously on the trail, but as I look up at the stone cliffs, something is different …
I just can’t figure out what my instincts have picked up on.
“No spent musket balls on this side,” I remark as I look down. When Merc doesn’t reply, I glance over my shoulder. “I said, no balls. On the ground—”
“I heard you.”
Pivoting back around, I bristle in my seat as only the landing of hooves and creak of tack fills the silence. “Guess only the Outpost wanted out.”
I lead into another turn, and glance up again. The rock faces rise so high I cannot see their tips, and as before, the stark, steep verticals are black and brown. But there’s an odd rippling I can’t explain—
“You know,” I say to try to calm myself, “I find it hard to believe that a kingdom wouldn’t have at least tried to break it down.”
Again, I wait in vain for an answer. So I continue, “Especially given how long the barrier was in place. Although perhaps they don’t care because it’s far enough from them, and there is the other way through.”
“As long as it hasn’t rained for twelve years straight,” he gripes.
“It was only three days.”
“Just felt like years then—”
I haul up on the reins and pivot in the saddle as our horses go side-by-side.
Before I can open my mouth, he cuts me off.
“Is this the second time you’re going to tell me to leave you?
Or the third? I’ve lost count at this point—and survival is more likely with us together.
So let’s just stop the bickering, shall we. ”
My brows drop low. “Good point about survival. Without me, that skystalker would have had you for luncheon in that gray stone wasteland.”
“And without me,” he snaps, “you would have been eaten by a balas. Or even more likely, murdered by one of your own villagers before you even got the chance to try to escape. Tit for tat with mortal boasting is going to be a losing game for you.”
“I’m not the one with the attitude problem—”
“Oh really? Whose voice is raised now?”
“You’re the one who got upset.” I lower my volume with determination. “Just because Thale was in our room.”
Merc laughs to the stone spires around us. And then leans in with a glare. “You want to repeat that? Just so you can hear how ridiculous it sounds.”
“Yes, I do. Because it’s what happened. When you came in and saw Thale, you got upset and—”
“I can assure you that Thale’s presence has nothing to do with anything—”
My disbelief echoes upward: “You wanted to kill him!”
“And that has nothing to do with where he was. The man sells women for profit, takes money from gamblers, and has the gall to parade around in a fancy suit and a stupid hat thinking that means he has authority. He is a common bully with a fortune from misbegotten gains, nothing more. He is utter shite.”
“And yet you didn’t get upset until he was in my room.”
“Our room.”
I arch a brow. “Were you really just worried about your personal property.”
In the silence that follows, I study every minute thing about Merc’s disapproving glower.
“You went to one of his women,” I say softly. “I’d hardly say that gives you the right to be critical.”
“A man has needs.”
I think of what Thale told me. “And out of all the ladies for hire there, you picked the only one with pale hair. Like mine.”
“Was she fair? I hadn’t noticed.” His lids lower. “What was on her head was less important than what was below her neck.”
I think of what we did, up against the wall, next to the bed. “Why don’t you just admit it. You were jealous.”
For a moment, he seems dumbfounded—or pretends to be. And then he begins to laugh without smiling. “You know, you’re reminding me of why I travel alone. You truly are—”
“I was jealous when I saw you coming out of the blond’s bedroom.
It just about killed me, even though I have no right to feel that way.
” I kick my chin up. “There. I said it. I’m brave enough to be honest with you, but I guess the same cannot be said of a mercenary who drips with weapons and aggression. ”
Merc’s gleaming black eyes narrow. “May I remind you that I killed a man, at your request. Before you go around with your judgments, you might recall the very bloodthirsty favor I did for you.”
I swallow through a dry throat. “I saw the way you looked at the bruises on Lalah’s face. You would have done it yourself.”
“No, I wouldn’t have.” He jabs a finger at me. “I did that for you.”
“Why.” I arch a brow. “Why was my request so important.”
Merc tosses up his free hand and sets to muttering. “I’ve had enough of this conversation. Follow me or don’t through this maze of cliffs. But I’m going ahead and there is going to be no more talking—”
“Why can’t you say it!”
“Say what!” he hollers back at me. “Are you looking for some declaration of love? Just because we had sex? Once? Surely your experience in your chosen profession tells you that it doesn’t work like that between men like me and women like you—”
“You are the first man I have ever been with.”
There’s a heartbeat of silence. Then with the way he rolls his eyes, it’s as if someone is trying to sell him a dead horse. Instead, I’m clearly beating one—and yet I cannot seem to stop.
“It’s true,” I protest as my head begins to pound. “I’m untouched. Or … was.”
Now he seems bored. “You forget I saw money changing hands between you and a man old enough to be your father the first night I met you. Are you suggesting all he was paying for was holding your virginal hand? And I’d also like to point out that it was a well-plowed field I slid into last night, smooth as silk. ”
I open my mouth. Close it.
Rubbing my temple, I remind myself that this is neither the time nor place for this confrontation. In fact, we are two people who should never have such an intimate conversation. At all.
We’re more than incompatible. We’re strangers in a foreign land, set upon different, if for the time being parallel-once-again, courses.
Abruptly, Merc blows out a tired breath, and looks to the way forward.
“I urge you to stop wasting energy on what you think about me, and get down to the job of traveling to our destination. And if you insist on pressing the issues of your good friend and lantern tender, Thale, I assure you, I am utterly incapable of jealousy.”
“And why is that.”
There is but an instant’s pause: “Because I am utterly incapable of love.”
A cold spear goes through my heart. Yet I shake my head. “That’s a lie.”
His head cranks in my direction, and his eyes are so bleak, they are like pits. “Don’t confuse our proximity with who I am at my core.”
“I saw you cry when you looked over that field at the settlement.” When he goes absolutely still in the saddle, I question why I’m saying any of this.
And then press on with, “And you left your journal open in the window seat. What’s on those pages showed a soul-deep yearning. The picture you drew of that gate was—”
“Shut up.”
His voice is no longer angry. It is dead.
And that is when we hear the grunting from above.