Chapter Thirteen
Tor
Before they left, Tor checked with Pel’s mother to make sure that the exiles could still govern themselves while he was gone.
“I mean—” He made a face. “We didn’t actually talk about very many details of what me having most of the exiles’ Fealty actually means.
I suspect I need to be involved in the leadership if your theory is correct, but I’m definitely open to coming up with something that makes everyone feel comfortable. ”
Tor might be a prince, but he hadn’t actually been raised to rule. He’d been raised to support Varex, and then he hadn’t even been permitted to do that. Now, he felt a lot like a thirty-five-year-old novice who’d just been handed an entire realm.
“I feel like there should be more consultation with the citizens,” Tor told Istila.
“I know rulers often have advisors, but those feel like very specific positions—and honestly, at the moment, I’m leaning heavily against them thanks to Yomil, though I realize that’s probably not the position’s fault.
But what if we had something more like a voting body with representatives from the community? ”
She blinked at him, looking taken aback.
“It’s just an idea,” he said hurriedly.
A slow smile spread across her face. “I think we’ll be just fine, Prince Torex, and we look forward to discussing this with you when you return.”
Consulting the experts in their fields who actually lived in this realm seemed like a smart move to Tor, anyway, and he trusted that Istila would pass the word around and start getting more ideas from people.
He didn’t want to repeat what had led to the war and the exiles.
“I’m sorry I have to rush off like this,” Tor told her.
She waved this aside. “Your commitment to those you care about is one of the things we most like about you, Prince. We’ll be here when you get back.”
Bavil stepped in. “And if it’s safer for you to wait on this side of the mountain, you can do that. We can work it out, even if I have to send guards house to house in the outlying villages to make sure no one panics.”
She smiled gratefully at him. “Thank you. I think we’ll be all right. I hope so, anyway. It stopped raining, after all.”
Tor looked around. It had stopped raining, and he’d noticed the actual sun rise, though he hadn’t thought too much about it.
“As you were accepting Fealty,” Istila observed.
“That could be a coincidence.”
She shrugged. “It could be.”
Or it could be the land already noticing that these people had someone to pledge their Fealty to.
A thread of unease wound its way through Tor. What if his leaving at this point messed everything up?
“We’ll be fine,” Istila told him, like she could read his mind. “We’ve lasted this long, and Bavil has agreed to help if needed. We are much further ahead than we were even a couple of days ago.”
That was true enough. He felt much the same way about his own part in this.
“I’ll come back as soon as I can,” Tor promised. “But I’m not at all sure how long this will take.”
Either he’d die in the attempt, or there was probably a lot that was going to need to be sorted out.
“Understood,” Istila said simply. “We’ll be here.”
She turned back to her people, who Tor realized were already gathering up their belongings and clearly preparing to head back over the mountain to their land.
Goddess, protect them and look after them until I can return. Please.
He hadn’t taken captaining the guard as seriously as he could have, but that was nothing to being responsible for an entire realm. Determination to do better filled him.
But first things first.
“Come back to the castle,” Bavil suggested. “It’s the closest option with the most supplies—and your horses.”
Tor closed his mouth on his instinctive objection.
They needed to go practically to Baless to get to the Great Road.
Being well provisioned and having horses Tor was prepared to ride into battle was a wise idea.
The Great Road would allow them to travel quickly, and it kept them out of Filon for the initial stages of the journey, giving them more time to plan.
“All right.”
It happened very quickly after that. They were a small group, and they were traveling light.
Pel and Bavil both hugged their mother before they left.
Bavil and Tama still conspicuously ignored one another—and Tor was polite enough not to mention all the staring when the other person wasn’t looking.
And then they were mounting up, and Tor was delighted by how well he felt compared to when he’d made his way to the exiles to accept the Fealty.
His horse was… solid, more than built for speed, but he picked his way cleanly back down the mountain, and then they cut across country for the most direct route to Baless.
They had to stop for the night, and Tor felt antsy about not moving, but he recognized that they couldn’t actually keep traveling non-stop until Tor saw Ada again. Even if he really wanted to. But no, Pel was determined to see that Tor took care of himself.
He grinned at the other man once it became clear that they’d been put as far away from the others as possible.
“Try not to keep us up all night, all right?” Beluna said. “We’ll take care of the watch.”
Tor briefly considered arguing—he was actually conscious and felt energized—but he was going to take this gift for what it was.
Grinning at her, Tor said, “We make no promises.”
She rolled her eyes and said without taking her eyes off them, “Prince Bavil, you’d better make sure your mother knows to give these two plenty of room to be loud and ridiculous.”
Bavil snorted. “Duly noted.”
Pel’s ears went red, but he didn’t actually object, which told Tor everything he needed to know.
“Good night, everyone!”
There was a chorus of good nights, and then he and Pel were ducking into the tent together.
Without thought, Tor flung up a few lights, which stuck to the fabric of the tent walls just as they normally did, until the space was lit with a soft white glow—no hint of pink in sight, because Tor’s magic wasn’t bound anymore, because he’d been healed and filled with Fealty magic, and everything was fine.
He blew out a shuddering breath.
Pel pulled him into his arms, and Tor clung to him for a long moment, just breathing him in.
And then he cleared his throat and said hopefully, “Alone at last.”
“And conscious,” Pel said with some asperity, even as he pulled back to gaze quizzically at Tor, like he was trying to gauge his mood. “You seem to have trouble with that part.”
“I will definitely work on it,” Tor promised.
If he drained himself so badly again with the Fealty of the exiles, then they would probably have bigger problems, and Tor was unwilling to think about that right now.
Pel slipped his arms around Tor’s neck. “It’s nice to see you like this.”
“Like what?” Tor asked.
“Filled with energy. With purpose. And not looking like you’re about to fall over. Did you know that you recently had wounds in your leg and side?”
Tor blinked at Pel, letting those words roll over him. He’d… definitely had multiple wounds, ones that had made it hard to walk and ride and sometimes stay upright… and they’d just ridden for the entire day without Tor noticing.
“Huh.”
“Let’s take a look.”
Tor leered. “You just had to say that you wanted me out of my hose, you know.”
Pel rolled his eyes, but a smile was peeking out at the corner of his mouth.
The bandages were still there, but when they removed them, it was to find that the wound on his leg had closed completely. The skin was still extra pink, but it looked mostly healed.
They stared at it, then at one another.
“Huh,” Tor said again.
“I will never, ever complain about this,” Pel said emphatically. “But I didn’t know it worked like that. There were stitches!”
“Me, either,” Tor agreed. “But maybe it’s actually a bit like how healing works.
A healer loans you magic that accelerates your own natural healing.
They’re normally the only ones who can loan magic.
But I actually received lots of tiny bits of magic from thousands of people today.
So maybe that worked a bit like healing. ”
Pel considered this. “Yeah, that actually makes a lot of sense.”
Tor winked. “I can be full of sense occasionally.”
Pel looked exasperated—but also really fond. “Let’s check your side.” He winked at Tor. “And yes, I definitely want to get you completely naked.”
Tor happily tugged off his tunic, confirming that he had full range of motion again. He hadn’t been dizzy or tired or in pain since he’d accepted all that Fealty.
And sure enough, the side wound was as healed as the one on his leg. Pel ran his hand over the skin, and Tor shuddered. Pel raised an eyebrow.
“Little bit sensitive,” Tor gasped.
Pel promptly did it again, and Tor tugged him closer so that he could retaliate and get his hands up the back of Pel’s tunic.
He kissed him and then murmured against his mouth, “You’re wearing too much clothing.”
“Is it my fault that you’re slow?” Pel challenged.
Tor got Pel stripped so fast that Pel was giggling practically uncontrollably as they finally wound up rolling around on the bedroll naked together. The delightful sound made Tor grin hugely and then lean in to kiss the laughter from his lips.
Then he moved to kiss Pel’s jaw, his throat, his shoulder, his chest, glorying in every naked inch of him, in the warm, vital skin of the man who’d stuck by Tor, even when he’d been foolish and done dangerous things.
Pel believed in Tor enough to pledge his Fealty to him, to throw his lot in with Tor’s no matter what. Pel had seen Tor make big mistakes, had seen the worst of him, and he still believed in Tor, and that meant everything.
Wild hope, warm affection, and scorching arousal fizzed through Tor like a buzz under his skin.
He’d really had no idea that he could feel so much at once in intimate moments, and it made the previous encounters he’d had seem a bit empty in comparison.
They’d been fun, of course, but this was so much more.