Aaron stared at her, stunned. He knew that he should be angry, furious, in fact. May had manipulated him and used him to further her own agenda with no care to what she was getting him into. But that hadn’t been enough. She’d gone a step farther, maneuvering him into working for the princess and effectively putting him in opposition to the most powerful man in the kingdom, a man who had armies at his command and who wiped his ass with rich silks and the hopes and dreams of commoners like Aaron. He knew he should be angry. But he wasn’t.
Later, he would have some very pointed words for the meddlesome club owner but not here, not with Adina so close, with the memory of her kiss still fresh on his lips, and not with Leomin and the others down below. They’d manipulated him, there was no arguing that, but they’d also risked their lives to save him and the others, and in the end there was no harm done. True, he’d been a puppet and very nearly a dead one but somehow, as unlikely as it was, he’d survived. Even more amazing, he’d found something he’d thought he’d never have or want again—friends. “We’re going to have a long talk about this later,” he said, and the club owner winced, nodding. Then Aaron took a deep breath and smiled at the two women, “So what now?”
“Well,” May said, relieved, “we’re going to have to talk about that, but not yet. In another day or two, perhaps, but for now you need your rest. You’ve got a bad habit of almost getting yourself killed.”
He managed a stiff shrug, “There are worse things than almost.”
The club owner made a sound of agreement, “Well, we’ll let you rest.” She turned a meaningful stare on the princess, and Adina rose reluctantly, kissed him lightly on the lips, and followed her out the door.
Aaron watched them go, and when the door shut behind them, he found that he was grinning. Despite the pain, despite their failure, or the fact that he had no idea what they were going to do next, he felt good. His only regret was that Co wouldn’t be able to share it; Co who had been patient with him even when he’d been a pain in the ass, Co who’d saved his and the others’ lives more than once. If not for her, he never would have made it out of The Downs alive. He thought of the scout camp where he’d almost died and how the Virtue had used his memories to pull him back to life. The truth was, she’d saved more than just his life, and he felt a pang of desperate sadness at the fact that he would never be able to tell her that.
It’s good to be appreciated.
“Co!” Aaron said, “Thank the gods; I thought you were dead. Is it really you?”
It’s me, the Virtue assured him in a voice that was at once weary and cheerful, Now. You were saying?
Drop me a line!
I hope you’ve enjoyed A Sellsword’s Compassion. You can read more of Aaron, Adina, and the rest in The Silent Blade: A Seven Virtue’s Novella.
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About the Author
Jacob Peppers lives in Georgia with his wife and three dogs. He is an avid reader and writer and when he’s not exploring the worlds of others, he’s creating his own. His short fiction has been published in various markets, and his short story, “The Lies of Autumn,” was a finalist for the 2013 Eric Hoffer Award for Short Prose.
Note from the Author
Although a lot of the actual production of a book is done alone, the final product is one in which many people have had their hands.
I would like to take the time to thank those people now, including the many who took the time to beta read A Sellsword’s Compassion. This book would have been a much different (and much worse) one without their critiques and their help along the way. So thank you, to all of you—you know who you are.
I would like to thank my mom, dad, and brothers who were there for support and advice whenever I needed it (which was often; we writers are a needy breed). Also, thanks to BJ and Tim, two close friends of mine who spent many hours listening to me go on and on about the book and never complained (aloud, at least).
Huge shout to D.W Hawkins, a friend of mine who is a great author in his own right. If you haven’t started reading his series, The Seven Signs, you really should. They’re great books, and he’s a stand up guy, another who helped me immensely, sharing his knowledge and showing me how to navigate the intricacies of formatting and publishing this book, again without complaint.
I would also like to thank my incredibly patient and supportive wife who has endured a distracted husband during the writing of this book and made sure that I didn’t succumb to starvation by reminding me that feeding the dream is good but feeding yourself is necessary.
And the last thanks? Well, that goes to you, dear reader. After all, without you, the rest is just a magic show without an audience, isn’t it? I may bring the props and the stage, I might even hire a good-looking assistant (not too good looking, mind you, I’m married, and I’d like to stay that way) but you? Well, you bring the magic—and without that none of the rest is possible. Thanks, and hey, I’ll see you soon.
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