43. I’ve Never
I’VE NEVER
DAWN
Sennett’s first love was music. This surprises many who know only his military record and ultimate fate. He set his harp aside at age fifteen when he took on the mantle of Sennett heir, but he never gave it up entirely.
Dawn had been looking over her shoulder every ten minutes for the past four days. She kept expecting to see a squad of enforcers. A pack of fluxborn. Something. It turned out, the scrubland west of Haven was fucking empty. No deer soft-stepping through the woods. No squirrels in the trees.
They were in red rock country, and the horses needed water.
Their steps had shortened. Their ears drooped.
Back in Haven, they’d barely made it out of the stables with Brimstone, Jonquil, and Larkspur.
Three mounts for five riders meant a slow shuffle—ride, walk, swap, repeat.
It wore on everyone, the animals most of all.
She and Talia had been testing the bond to pass the time. Working out signals. A sharp pinch to the left shoulder meant danger. Two hands to the chest meant all clear. Basic, but it worked. Next time one of them got in trouble, they had a plan.
“Let’s stop up here,” Riven called out.
A few scraggly trees leaned over a shallow creek. About as good as they were going to get. Valrotala was close now. A day or two at most. She wasn’t too eager to see that fucked-up city again.
They all dismounted and brought the horses to water.
Holloway stretched his arms and leaned back until his spine popped. “Ugh, I’m getting old.”
“You’re not old,” Dawn said. “You’re a baby. And you’re soft.”
“You call this soft?” He flexed his arms and playfully muscled into her space with a shit-eating grin on his face. “I’m an enforcer, ma’am. Very intimidating.”
The bruises from Haven had faded to yellow. The oath scar was a thin red line across his palm. He cracked those jokes to stay sane, and she got it. She really did.
“And you’re what? Going to arm wrestle me to death? Get out of here.” She shoved him back with both hands, and he cackled.
Talia laughed at them, and her delight glowed warm and fuzzy through the bond. It settled in Dawn’s chest, tugged her lips into a smile too. She’d never imagined taking on a channel bond. Ehrue was the one who used her power to help others. Dawn was the loner. The survivor.
But she liked this just fine.
Holloway looked over at a fallen log near the water. He grinned. “Not arm wrestling. Rock throwing.”
“You serious?”
“Afraid you’ll lose?”
She snorted and picked up a smooth river stone, weighed it in her hand. Her arm was weaker than it should be. She compensated, adjusted her stance, and threw. It smacked the perfect center of the log with a satisfying crack.
Holloway’s shot sailed wide.
“Best two out of three,” he said, already picking up another rock.
The contest escalated. Rules, wagers, heckling. Holloway was better than he let on. Dawn relied on instinct, the kind honed by hunting things that hunted back.
Lore picked up a stone and turned it over like he was feeling out some invisible current.
His throw cracked a branch clean off. She frowned.
They were all a little outgunned by Lore, she thought, until Riven stepped up.
He didn’t even pause to aim. His shot took out three brittle leaves in a row with a little thunk, thunk, thunk.
Dawn threw a pebble at his head. He caught it without looking.
“Arrogant bastard,” she muttered, but Talia’s affection rippled through the bond. Well that was new.
Lore raised his hands. “Fine. We have a new champion.” He plucked a handful of grass and braided a crooked crown. He dropped it onto Riven’s head. Riven endured the ceremony with dead-eyed dignity while Holloway and Talia cheered.
They traveled another few hours before making camp. Red dust stuck to everything. The sun was nearly down, and the sky was bruised purple. She’d say it was bad luck, except by some miracle she caught two rabbits. Talia dug up some wild onions and garlic.
Riven cooked. They fell into an easy rhythm.
She split the meat, cut the onions. He built the fire, added the herbs.
Shook the pan like he’d been doing it for centuries.
When he passed her the first piece, the meat was charred outside, tender inside, dripping fat. The onions had burned down to candy.
She eyed the darkening horizon. They couldn’t see the spires of the city yet, but she could imagine them out there.
Then she turned back to dinner. No sense in worrying.
They ate with grease on their fingers, smoke in their hair.
Lore pulled out a flask and passed it around.
The liethi burned like fire and cinnamon.
Talia sniffed it suspiciously. “Where did you get this?”
Lore just smiled. “I found a few useful things in Haven.”
On top of the slow travel day and good food, the liquor loosened them up.
“One more game!” Holloway announced. “For the crown.” Everyone groaned. “This game is called ‘I’ve never.’”
The rules seemed simple. Each person had to say something they’d never done. Everybody who had done that thing had to drink.
“I’ll start,” Holloway said. “I’ve never broken off an engagement.” Then he shoved the flask at Talia.
“Damn, boy,” Dawn said, letting out a low whistle. “Guns blazing.”
Talia groaned and rolled her eyes, and Holloway giggled. She drank.
“Well I’ve never read a book.” Dawn stood and pointed at Talia, making the girl drink again.
“Rude!” Talia said, but she drank like a good sport. “Fine. I’ve never killed anyone. Not with my own hands.”
Everyone else had to drink. The laughter thinned to silence until Dawn broke it. “Well. Good. Keep it that way if you can.”
Lore leaned forward toward the fire. “I’ve never told a lie.”
“You’re full of shit.” Holloway punched his shoulder.
Lore only raised an eyebrow. “Name one time.”
Dawn tried to come up with an example. Couldn’t. “Huh, maybe he’s telling the truth.”
“That’s—gods, that’s worse somehow,” Holloway muttered, taking a sip and leaning forward, elbows propped on his knees.
“Old man,” Dawn said, pointing the flask at Riven. “Your turn.”
Riven shifted, clearly uncomfortable. “I’ve never died.”
The circle fell into stunned silence. Then Dawn started laughing. “What?”
Riven’s brow furrowed. “I mean, I’ve almost died, but I haven’t, so—”
“That’s not the game!” Holloway was laughing, too, leaning against Lore’s shoulder. “You say something the other people have done that you haven’t done.”
“You’re terrible at this,” Dawn said, wiping her eyes. “This is why I never invite you to do fun shit.”
“I’ve never begged,” Riven said, stubborn, like he didn’t see the problem.
The mood shifted again. Lore slipped the flask from Holloway’s hands and tipped it back slow, his eyes on the fire. Dawn raised an eyebrow.
“Is there a story there?” she asked, reaching for the flask and drinking herself. She’d judge Lore for plenty, but not that.
He brushed a hand through his loose hair. Kept his eyes fixed on the fire. “Just my childhood. It won’t happen again.”
Talia’s hand made to reach for him, then stopped. She looked away. Holloway touched Lore’s shoulder, whispered something only he could hear.
The fire burned lower. Someone added more wood. The game kept going until they were all loose limbed and the flask was empty.
“I’ve never been to Sovana,” Dawn said sleepily.
“You should come home with us.” Talia leaned on Riven’s shoulder. Her eyes were almost closed. “You all should. I’ll show you Vaelis. The harbor. The market at sunrise.”
“Maybe,” Dawn said. She didn’t plan that far ahead.
Holloway wore the grass crown now, crooked on his curls. He played a soft tune on his harp. Firelight lit up each of their faces—Talia sitting close to Riven, Riven relaxed for once in his life, Holloway lost in his music, Lore softening around the edges.
Dawn leaned back and watched them, this pack she hadn’t asked for. This thing they’d built? Annoying, loud, messy. She liked it despite herself.
She took first watch, like she always did. Sat with her back to a big old rock, grass crown perched on her head, listening to her pack snore lightly in the dark. They didn’t have many of these nights left before they got to Valrotala.
And that’s where it would end.
She didn’t see a way both her and Lore walked out of there alive.