42. Tobias
Chapter forty-two
Tobias
T he next morning, Tobias pulled on the spare Crimson uniform Lockwood had given him.
As a boy, his father had humored his dreams of becoming a Crimson someday, even sewing a scrap of red ribbon onto a pair of trousers for Tobias’s birthday.
Opening that gift, gasping at the makeshift uniform as well as his father’s battered war compass, was one of Tobias’s treasured memories.
His father died in a shipwreck just weeks later.
Tobias still had the compass in his pocket.
He’d asked his mother for his father’s dog tags, but she’d just shaken her head.
“He told me that losing them saved his life. Which never made much sense, but he never talked much about the war, either. Told me once that it all seemed like such a waste of life, in the end.”
A strange thing to say, and something he found himself thinking of it again now as he ran through the woods, trying to clear his head. No matter how far he ran, he found himself unable to shake the memory of the beautiful fae woman, and her urgent plea for peace.
When he returned to the safehouse, at the door, he overheard furious shouting from inside.
“I fail to understand,” Samuel Lockwood said. “How an entire plane can go missing .”
“Apologies, sir,” said a stranger. “It surprised us too. But—”
“I don’t want excuses!”
Tobias decided he was better off leaving before he was noticed.
With his luck, a missing plane was probably his fault too.
This time, he didn’t run, but meandered through woods until he found a stream.
He pursued it, watching the water’s speed increase.
The stream’s gentle gurgle gave way to the river’s stronger current as it approached the thundering, misty falls.
With a startled gasp, Tobias spotted a familiar lean figure, standing on a rock in the middle of the rushing river.
Dressed in now-soaked civilian clothes, Javen stared off into the distance, just as he sometimes did in the city, a faint crease between his brows, his jaw clenched.
A single misstep, and Javen would tumble into the rapids below.
“Captain Javen!” Tobias shouted. “Do you need help?”
Turning toward him, Javen asked “Something wrong, Lieutenant? Do you think I value my own life so lowly?” Nimbly he stepped from one stone to another, as if he crossed a simple stream rather than the deadly top of the falls.
A wry smile curved his lips. “Perhaps a fair assessment. If not for—” He trailed off, looking out to the misty distance, beyond the cliffs, where the fae isles lay, and shook his head.
Nothing more was said, and for once, Tobias managed to keep his mouth shut.
When Javen started to walk, he followed him back to the safehouse, which was now thankfully empty. A scrawled note from Lockwood stated something about checking the plane hangar near town.
“How about lunch?” Tobias was shocked when Javen answered with a shrug rather than an outright denial. The captain was different these past few days. Perhaps the change of setting was doing him good. Kirkton wasn’t exactly a resort town, but maybe the pollution of the capital agitated Javen.
Or maybe Tobias was starting to prove useful to him. He smiled at the thought. He’d managed to impress Erik before that Crimson had been killed. Maybe he still had a chance of earning Javen’s respect too.
The thought of Erik, though, bothered Tobias. As far as he knew, there was no funeral yet for those fallen soldiers. He’d promised himself he’d visit and pay his respects once he was told of the details .
Javen lit a cigarette, while Tobias found a loaf of bread and a can of soup, which he heated over the small kerosene stove. Further digging in the cabinets revealed two bowls and spoons. The little cabin seemed well-stocked with nonperishables. Lockwood must have used it as a way station for years.
How often had the Crimsons sat around this table, plotting their next moves?
By the time the food was ready, Javen had finished his cigarette. He sat at the table, pushed the bowl of soup away with a scowl, but cut a piece of the bread. Tobias wolfed down his own food, deciding as long as he was chewing, he wouldn’t be able to ask dumb questions.
“There was another attack,” Javen said, without preamble, setting down his half-eaten slice of plain bread. No jam, no butter, nothing. Did the man have no taste at all? “Another wave of smoke attacked a garrison nearby. Thankfully, they had silverbane on hand.”
“Did the smoke take the plane?”
Javen’s expression changed to show the barest hint of surprise. “A plane?”
“Yes, sir. Lockwood was, uh, quite cross this morning. Said one just went missing.”
Shaking his head, Javen muttered something under his breath. Tobias couldn’t quite catch what he said, but he heard a word that certainly began with a T, and was worried it was his name.
“It’s not my… fault, right?” Tobias asked, mouth full of soup. He swallowed quickly, nearly choking on a chunk of potato.
“Not that I know of. The attack I mentioned was at a nearby outpost. One without planes. Smoke descended on the sleeping soldiers. Two survived long enough to send a telegram. By the time I arrived, they were dead.”
“But the Accords?”
“Remain,” Javen said flatly.
“Because Blood Ember isn’t bound by them?
” Remembering how often Javen had explained the monster had nothing to do with the smoke, Tobias amended his comment.
“Or rather, any fae who isn’t Oathborn is not bound by them.
” The longer he traveled with Javen, the more Tobias understood just how complex the Accords were.
Not just a peace treaty, but rather, a magical, living document.
“Correct.” Javen lit another cigarette, done with his lunch after just one piece of bread. “An unfortunate loophole. General Ankmetta was too optimistic, and now two dozen lives have paid the price of his miscalculation. So tell me, do you think the fae still desire peace?”
“Some must.”
Javen snorted in disdain.
This was his chance. He had to make a case for peace.
He owed it to the beautiful fae with such conviction in her eyes.
“Sir, with all due respect.” Tobias stood.
“I didn’t tell you everything that happened last night.
There was another fae. Not an Oathborn, not a threat. Someone who wanted to be an ally.”
Fighting against his natural urge to ramble, Tobias felt more sure of himself as he spoke, convinced that if Javen would just listen to him a little while longer, he might actually be able to share something important.
“She talked to me about her belief in peace and suggested we could work together. She wasn’t anything like I had always thought a fae would be.
Not cruel, not dangerous, but kind, and beautiful, and—”
“And perhaps a liar?” Javen interrupted. “You took her at her word and yet fail to take me at mine.”
“I am—”
“Easily swayed by a pretty face, it seems.” There was a smugness in Javen’s tone, almost a pettiness, that Tobias would have expected from one of his own peers, not the captain.
“What about you, though?” Tobias blurted out, thinking of the sketch he’d found that night. “Your wife. Wasn’t she beautiful?”
Javen’s hand hit the table hard enough to rattle the dishes and spill his untouched bowl of soup. The liquid oozed over the wooden table, chunks of potatoes sliding past like icebergs. “You mock me.”
“No. I don’t.” Not a good time to admit he’d seen a drawing of who he was pretty sure was Javen’s wife. There might never be a good time, in fact. He’d have to stall or distract Javen. “I just figured, a guy as good-looking as you, that you’d have a real stunner of a wife, you know?”
Cold blue eyes blinked at him. “What does my appearance have to do with this discussion, Lieutenant?”
“Attractive folks tend to find other pretty people. That’s all.” Tobias tried for his best, most cheerful grin. He’d rather have the captain think he was an idiot than have him find out Tobias had pried in his personal belongings.
“I see,” Javen said, in a way that clearly implied he didn’t at all.
“There’s even an old saying about it. Fine nets catch the—”
“Prettiest fish,” Javen finished the saying, and Tobias nearly fell out of his chair at the words. “Yes, I’ve heard that before.”
Like most Karsici sayings, it was playful, the sort of thing to be said with an elbow to the side and a wink in the eye. At least, that was always how he’d heard the line delivered. Javen, though, said it like a bitter curse.
Was his wife from Karsic? Maybe she was a poor fisherman’s daughter, and Javen, clearly an aristocrat, had been forbidden from marrying her.
Or perhaps, she’d rescued him when he’d been shipwrecked in some naval exercise on the coast, or…
a dozen more ideas, all inspired by his ma’s romance novels, danced in his head.
None of which were things he should say to Javen. In fact, while he’d daydreamed, the captain had cleaned up the spilled soup and started to tidy up. Somehow, Javen was the type who could make even dish washing look like the precursor to a painful interrogation session.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Tobias said, his throat tight. He shouldn’t have been so flippant, not when Javen grieved his wife so deeply. “I didn’t mean… I’m sure it’s not easy… living without her. My ma still misses my father, and it’s been, oh, eight years?”
“Eight years,” Javen said, sounding a little surprised. He set down the last of the now-clean dishes and dried his hands. “How old are you?”
Tobias swallowed, resisting the urge to mention that, just maybe, an officer ought to know the age of the only person under his command. “Eighteen, sir.” He’d been the youngest in his class at the Academy .
“Such a child,” Javen mused, shaking his head.