Chapter 8
Slicing Through the Twilight
Jesstin’s left cheek felt raw to the bone. When he tried to touch it, he earned a light slap on his wrist and a very familiar tsk.
It was Sesto’s voice, which meant he wasn’t done dreaming. He’d been waiting for the Night Soul, for her, but got neither.
He opened his eyes in a half-squint and saw Sesto himself kneeling near the bench.
Not dreaming then.
“Merry noontide,” Sesto sang, beaming as he dipped a flannel into a bowl and wrung it. “Seems I’ve regrettably lost a bet to the stable hand. I put my gold on you waking much earlier. Between us, I think his wager was wishful thinking, even if he did win.”
Sesto’s jarring energy brought Jesstin back to the times Rhiain would cheerily storm into his bedchamber when he’d been a teenager, having slept only an hour or so after a drunken interlude in Riverchapel, and she’d recite her favorite passages from the chapter on Riverchapel’s riveting grain industry in The Book of All Things until his pounding head could handle no more.
“Why are you here?” Jesstin asked. He slid up to prop his stiff, aching back against the carriage wall.
“How lovely to see you as well, Jess!”
Jesstin grunted.
“I gave your letters to Rhiain, Asterin, and the children, as promised,” Sesto said.
He pursed his mouth as he leaned in for another round of fastidious cleaning, but Jesstin nudged him away.
With a whisper of insult, Sesto dramatically replaced the rag in the bowl with a tight, estimating grin.
“The children were excited for your adventure, of course. They only ask for their Uncle Brother to bring them back sweets aplenty, assuming such things exist where we’re going. ”
Jesstin’s left eye tugged, trying to close. The whole left side of his head was a mess, though he distantly recalled it being far worse. “And Rhiain?”
“Calmer than you’d expect. Said you knew what you were doing, then locked herself in the library until supper, where she passed the potatoes and meat around with tight blinks and asked the little ones about their day with their tutors.”
Frowning hurt too. “That worries me more than when she flies off the handle.”
“Much more,” Sesto agreed with a knowing nod. “It was Asterin who surprised me. He said he already guessed you would travel with Lady Elloven to the mountains, and he knew more about the Seven Sisters than he’d let on. It’s where you should go, he said, to break this bond of yours.”
“He said that? I should go?”
“Mhm.”
“So it’s not dangerous?”
Sesto laughed. “Your brother is a man who can put necessity ahead of fear. While no one trusts the stable hand, he will at least protect her, and she’s proven she’ll protect you.
So As asked me to come so you’d have another ally.
He gave his driver the path you’d take with the weather as it is, and off I went.
Now that I think about it, I should have asked the driver to stay. Hmm.”
It sounded like Asterin, but it made Jesstin even more uneasy. “Where’s Elloven?”
“At the river. With him.” Sesto grimaced like he’d tasted something unpleasant. “After spending the past day and a half with the man, I understand your aversion. The Guardians are deceptive, putting a man so foul in a body like...” He sighed, his eyes fluttering as he released a mm sound.
“You think he’s handsome?” Jesstin’s face pulled in horror.
“The heart knows no logic, Jess.” Sesto glanced up, clearly noting Jesstin’s shock, and blushed. “Wipe your thoughts from your face. Men like him are capable of anything because they are either desired or feared.”
“I don’t think Elloven fears or desires him.” The buzz was there again, vibrating between his shoulders, through to his fingers and toes, and on the end of it was a subtle but unquestionable need to be closer to her than he was now.
It was the bond. She’d gone far enough away for him to feel it. It wasn’t painful, more of a reminder it could be.
“Lady Elloven had been under the thumb of his skillful manipulation since you were crawling around in nappies.”
“She’s too smart for that now,” Jesstin said.
“The smartest person in the world couldn’t resist the perfect manipulation.”
Jesstin stretched and retracted his stiff limbs. “What are they doing at the river?”
“If you’re feeling healed enough, you might see for yourself.”
He intended to do exactly that. “Where are we?”
“We crossed into the Westerlands hours ago and should arrive at Rivenholde either later tomorrow or early the day following, if the stable hand can be trusted.”
“What? How far have we gone?”
“Since Riverchapel or since your lady love turned two bounty hunters into solid ice?”
Jesstin himself felt frozen at the jarring reminder. “Since the ice show, yes, Sesto.”
Sesto wobbled his head, thinking. “Oh... almost two days? We left straightaway. Taven drove first shift while I rested, then I took over while he rested. It was just the two of us trading off. Those men were after Lady Elloven, so we couldn’t risk having her visible, and you were.
..” He snorted and rolled his hands at Jesstin’s head.
“Though it’s a shame she couldn’t take a shift.
She was awake nearly the whole time, worried sick about you. I don’t think she’s slept since.”
“That long?” Jesstin cringed as he finally touched his head, expecting to feel open and angry flesh and slippery blood, but the skin was smooth. Only a throb remained of his injury, which should have killed him. But then... “Who healed me, Sesto? Elloven?”
“She would have, I presume, had she the skill,” Sesto said. He wrapped his words in caution. “It was the stable hand himself.”
Jesstin’s laugh exploded out of him. “You expect me to believe that?”
Sesto raised both brows toward the distance. “When you faded, so did she. A consequence of the bond, possibly. To save her, he saved you, and he’s been sour about it ever since.” His gaze moved to his lap.
“What?” Jesstin swung his feet off the bench and pulled straight. “What aren’t you saying? You want me to ask. I can see it. You’re not as clever as you think.”
Sesto didn’t grin, which put Jesstin further on edge. “Before he realized Elloven was also suffering, she offered anything he wanted in exchange for saving you... including the acceptance of his betrothal.”
Jesstin balked. “But he did it to save her, so what does it matter what she offered?”
“It seems to matter a great deal to Considine, who cannot stop running on about a springtide wedding.”
“Delusional twat.”
“Just the same, she says she will keep her word.” Sesto muttered the rest to himself. “Maybe she’s not so put off by him after all. Maybe he has a large, majestic—”
“Finish that thought and I’ll leave you on the side of the road.” Jesstin rubbed his aching head. She didn’t need him at the river. She’d handled both bounty hunters when he hadn’t even managed one.
The annoying buzz traveled to his ear. He smacked it, which made it worse. Whether she needed him or not, he needed the feeling to go away. She was welcome to tell him to fuck off from ten feet away.
“Jess, there’s something else.” Sesto’s earlier sassiness had evaporated. “Rhiain wanted to be the one to tell you, but she didn’t get the chance, and you should hear it from someone who loves you.”
Jesstin braced for something awful. “Out with it then.”
“Mathias.” Sesto cleared his throat. “I’m afraid to tell you he’s passed on to the Guardians.”
“Oh.” Of all the possibilities, he hadn’t expected that one. “How?”
“By his own hand, when he learned of your indictment. His guilt may have finally tired of chasing him.” Sesto sighed. “You will not blame yourself, Jesstin, not for any of it. Only Mathias could have made this choice, and he made it instead of even trying to intervene on your behalf.”
One of the great absurdities of Jesstin’s life was that he’d had two fathers and neither of them wanted him.
But of the two, Mathias had been at least somewhat paternal.
Jesstin’s early years had been a bedrock of privilege and safety, until the truth had come out, and the steward had given up any attempt at pretense.
In later years, Mathias occasionally sent him lavish, impersonal gifts to the Hermitage, but none had ever come with an invitation. An apology. Anything meaningful.
He grabbed both benches when he stood, but balance came easier than he’d expected.
“Where are you going?”
“The river.” Jesstin crouched and unlatched the door. Rhiain would tell him to address his solvable problems and ignore the rest. There was nothing to do about Mathias, but there were plenty of other troubles ahead. “It’s this way?”
“I’ve just told you Mathias is dead. Do you not want to talk?”
“About Mathias?” Jesstin snort-laughed. “Never. No.”
Sesto’s tenderness was edged with gentle disbelief. “Then let’s talk about this Rivenholde place. Are you nervous about what we might find?”
“Sesto, we don’t have to do this.” Jesstin sighed. “I’m not distraught about Mathias. I’m tired, and my head hurts. Nothing more.”
“And the frozen men?”
Jesstin’s hand eased on the door. “She didn’t seem to know how it happened, and I’m not sure I want to.”
“If nothing else, doesn’t that worry you? A witch who doesn’t understand her own power?”
It terrified him, but what could he do about it?
What could he do about Mathias spending his promise?
About the fact that he would probably lose the Azure, any semblance of personal accomplishment?
Rhiain would tell him he already had everything he needed, but there were times he wanted to tell her to take a glance in the damned mirror, look around at her perfect family.
She and he were not the same. They would never be the same. “I’ll be back.”
“Maybe you should rest a bit lo—”