Chapter 37
Folami
Peytor and Torin spoke in hushed whispers that they quickly quieted when they saw me walk through the door.
Their heads were bent together, faces masked in stern lines as they spoke feverishly.
Torin was impassioned about whatever they were discussing—the slight redness creeping up his neck and the flourishing of his hands was a dead giveaway—and Peytor seemed to fare no better.
His right hand was propped on his knee, gesturing slightly as he spoke, while the other hung loose at his side, his fist clenching and unclenching.
They’d both discarded their fancier attire—what I called “lord clothes”—in favor of loose pants and cream tunics.
From this angle, they almost looked like brothers.
Acted like it, too, once I walked in.
Peytor was the first to notice me, his eyes widening slightly as he gently knocked Torin’s leg with his hand. Torin, still deep in his statement, glanced at me once, then a second time once he realized that it was indeed me standing in the doorway.
Both men straightened in their seats, Torin on the bed and Peytor in the desk chair, before fixing me with guarded stares.
“What?” I sighed, already exhausted with this conversation and it hadn’t even begun.
I knew, or could at least speculate, what they were talking about.
It really wasn’t a tough jump to make after Lord d’Leocopus more than insinuated that not only was I no longer welcome here, but he also would use me as a bargaining chip with the Warlord if things did not work out with the rebellion.
Needless to say, I was certain Torin and Peytor were just as frustrated—just as concerned—as I was.
At least I hoped.
They wouldn’t bargain you away.
I told myself confidently.
They’re not your parents.
I shook my head slightly, the beads in my hair clicking with the movement, as I crossed the room and sank onto the small rug that dominated the floor space.
Somehow, Torin found the one rug in this manor that was not red. I absently picked at the fibers while studying each of their expressions.
Who was going to break first . . .
“Apparently Lord d’Leocopus’ fourth wife preferred blue accessories and accents,” Peytor said with a nod to the rug beneath me.
I hummed thoughtfully, continually stroking the fibers.
Peytor was like this—would lead with some innocuous statement before getting to the heart of what was bothering him.
“He’d stashed all of her choices away in one of the closets down here, and I helped Torin raid it earlier this morning. ”
That would explain why I’d never seen it before, even though we spent a decent amount of our free time together in this room.
I still kept my mouth shut, my face carefully blank, as I waited for Peytor to crack. Torin was just as stoic as ever, watching the whole interaction with a sort of guarded curiosity.
Peytor began to fidget with his hands, running them through his hair and across his pants as if he didn’t quite know what to do with them. He breathed deeply once before finally breaking.
“Fo, what he said . . .” Peytor trailed off for a moment, his grey eyes searching in the air above his head for the words he wanted, “we know why you did what you did. After talking with some of the trainees, I actually think you went easy on him. But—”
“But it can’t happen again, I understand. There’s so much more at stake here than just my own freedom,” I finished for him, my voice soft and understanding. Peytor sagged as he released the remainder of the air in his lungs, the worry lines relaxing.
“Which is why I need to leave Lishahl, take a mission elsewhere. Perhaps accompany Torin to Vespera,” I said quickly, my voice soft but hard. Unyielding yet pleading.
As much as I wanted to stay here to protect Itanya and bask in the burgeoning relationship between Peytor and me, remaining in Lishahl would be a death sentence for all three of us. Better if I were out of sight of Lord d’Leocopus and somewhere else, productively serving the rebellion.
I hated Vespera and everything it stood for; the beauty of the city tainted forevermore, but I would go if Torin requested.
I’d walk to the ends of Elyria for him.
Both men were silent for a beat, emotions flitting quickly across Peytor’s face as Torin stared in stony silence.
“I agree,” Torin finally said, and Peytor turned shocked eyes on his friend.
“You agree?” he said incredulously. “I thought we just discussed that Folami going to Vespera was not in anyone’s best interest.”
I bristled at his insinuation and tone, even though I agreed with him.
“Just because we’re sleeping together does not give you the right to dictate where I go and what I do,” I said with deadly calm.
Peytor ran a hand through his hair, leaving the ends sticking up.
“That’s—Fo, that’s not how I meant it,” he sighed, exhaustion creeping into the edges of his voice.
“No? Then how did you mean it?” I challenged.
“Please don’t make me choose between you and what’s right for the realm, not again,” Peytor mumbled, and I could barely comprehend what he was saying.
Torin held a hand between us before I could question Peytor, effectively silencing our debate.
“I suggest you both air out your . . . grievances together in private,” Torin said, eyeing both of us.
“We’re on borrowed time right now—it’s evident our goodwill with Lord d’Leocopus is running thin.
I wanted to wait for further intelligence to move, but I fear we don’t have a choice at this point. ”
“I will go to Vespera alone. If Folami were to try to come with me, I fear that either Lord d’Leocopus would send a spy ahead with word of who was in my traveling party or you’d be recognized on sight”—he turned his hard hazel eyes to me—“additionally, I know what that place . . . means to you, and I refuse to put you in a painful situation if I can avoid it. Especially with the sensitivity of this mission.”
I paused before jerkily nodding my head in thanks.
“But, I agree, you need to leave Lishahl. If the Bondsmith has agreed to look after Itanya, then I need you as my eyes and ears in Samyr.”
“Why?” Peytor interjected sharply as he slowly rolled the cuffs of his shirtsleeves up his arms. My gaze instantly snapped to the movement, pulled in by the corded muscles on his forearms. Before his stint in the Crystal Mines, Peytor was a broad, hulking man.
Now, he was more finely honed, his muscles more chiseled and refined.
Peytor quirked his lips into a self-satisfied smirk when he caught me looking.
I barely restrained rolling my eyes with a huff before refocusing on Torin.
“Samyr has always been an odd territory. Rumor has it that they’re negotiating some sort of transfer of Vessels with the Warlord.
I need to know what is happening and what they’re planning.
It’s no secret that there’s no love lost between the Warlord and the current ruling faction—they overthrew the d’Refans from power, after all—but I need to know if there’s something there we can use.
Folami, as a Vessel, you have the highest chance of gaining access to their territory without much of a fight. ”
I nodded my head in acknowledgment.
To Samyr I go.
“You will need to stay here, Peytor,” Torin added gently, and Peytor rolled his eyes.
“No shit. Thank you for that reminder.” Peytor’s tone was caustic, but I knew the hurt came from feeling inadequate and unable to help.
“Folami and I will leave for Vespera and Samyr in the next few days. I will enroll in the Academy while Folami conducts reconnaissance on Samyr’s movements.
Once everything is in place, Folami, I’ll need you to come back to Lishahl and have a small task force of our troops ready for deployment.
Have the Bondsmith give you and Peytor a way to communicate, if possible.
I don’t want you in Samyr longer than necessary; find out what you can about the Vessel movement and Samyr’s allegiance to the Warlord, then get back here,” Torin clipped.
Torin’s plan seemed so . . . easy. Infiltrate Vespera and the Academy, conduct reconnaissance, report back findings, then . . . attack?
“What is the goal, Torin?” I asked, trying to piece it together in my mind, but drawing short. “This mission alone isn’t going to take down the Warlord.”
Peytor glanced at me before furrowing his eyebrows in thought, clearly drawing the same conclusion I was.
“No, it won’t. But we’re not attacking Vespera, not yet,” Torin said quietly as he and Peytor shared a look. “We’re going to get Ellowyn back.”
My mouth dropped in shock. I knew Ellowyn meant something to both of them, but was she really that important that we had to conduct an incredibly dangerous undercover mission just to retrieve her?
Something about it didn’t settle right in my gut.
“You’re going to risk yourself, some of your best Mages and Vessels . . . for one girl?” I asked dubiously. Torin’s eyes never left Peytor’s as he spoke.
“Yes. She’s more than worth it, Folami, you’ll see.”
I hummed noncommittally, doubts swirling in my mind.
Sighing, I pushed to stand and dusted the back of my pants. Peytor mirrored the motion, clearly meaning to follow and have our own conversation.
“Oh, Folami?” Torin called as I opened the door. I turned slightly to look at him, and saw his eyes track to where Peytor gently rested his hand on my lower back. If he was surprised or intrigued, his face gave nothing away.
“Maybe you should talk to someone about your past,” Torin said quietly.
“I know it’s . . . difficult, but, after today, it’s clear that you need to.
” When I went to brush off his words with a caustic remark, he hit me in the gut.
“If not for you, then for your daughter. She needs you to be whole and healed, Folami. Otherwise, what’s the point of everything we’re doing? ”
I sighed heavily, knowing that, ultimately, Torin was right.
“If not me, then . . . someone,” Torin mumbled, his eyes again tracing Peytor’s hand on my back.
I nodded mutely before shoving through the door.