“We’re nearly there. It won’t be much longer.”
Whythe nodded. He hadn’t been allowed to sleep in two and a half days; they could not expect much more from him. But if he were to nod off, even for a moment, their captives would have their gifts back. Kelarre would disappear in a flash, off to warn Quade that they were coming.
“Anything I can be doing to help?” Peer asked.
Whythe arched a fair brow and smiled slyly. “I can think of a few ways you might keep me up.”
Peer laughed. He had not been angling for that, but if it would aid their cause, he was willing to do his part. He hooked a finger around Whythe’s jaw and turned his head. Their mouths crashed together, and Whythe woke up.
I’ll never tire of this, Peer thought. A smile tugged at his lips, despite the fact that they were busy.
They did not pull apart until they felt the coach draw to a stop. Peer, panting slightly, took in their surroundings. A small town was just visible through a copse of trees.
Bray spilled out of the carriage, where she had been watching their three captives. They might be gagged, bound, and stripped of gifts, but Peer wouldn’t put it past Arlow Bowlerham to find some way to make trouble.
She stretched, but stopped herself halfway, wincing. Her arm was bandaged and strapped to her chest, and though she did not complain of the pain, Peer suspected it was severe. She had not been able to sleep.
Ko-Jin hopped down from the driver’s seat. Whythe, who had the steadiest hands of their group, had stitched the gash in his cheek, but it was still vicious-looking—stark and livid against his golden skin. He’d been having trouble eating.
Of course, they were all lucky compared to poor Tae-Young, now buried in an unmarked grave outside Greystone. The boy had been so young, only just coming into himself. But perhaps Peer had become inured to death, because this one failed to enrage him. It only made him feel sad and tired.
“Sure you don’t want me to come?” Ko-Jin asked.
“No,” Bray said. “Peer and I can handle it. You make sure these three don’t escape.”
“And help Whythe stay awake,” Peer said, jumping from the top of the coach. Based on Bray’s expression, he suspected she knew how he had been accomplishing that task. His ears turned hot, but he was more pleased than embarrassed.
“Some sparring ought to do the trick,” Ko-Jin said.
Whythe answered with a groan.
“We won’t be long,” Peer assured him.
He and Bray slipped away from the coach, stalking at a quick clip towards the town. It was a small speck of a place. Peer didn’t know its name, and it was possible it didn’t have one. He only hoped it would be large enough to have its own doctor’s office. Some villages relied on larger cities for medical care.
Bray took the lead, and he fell into step behind her. It was an arrangement that put him in mind of old times. It didn’t matter that most of the Chisanta looked to Peer for leadership; with Bray he would always be her right-hand. He couldn’t really imagine it the other way around. And what a relief, to not be the one making decisions for once.
They didn’t enter on the main road, as they couldn’t risk being seen. Quade was everywhere—he lingered in the eyes of common men all over Daland.
Within the village, there was little activity. Peer scanned the buildings anxiously. He dreaded the idea of returning to Whythe without the supplies they needed.
“There,” Bray whispered, pointing to a building. He squinted until he discerned the etching over the door—a bound wing, the traditional symbol of medicine—and he loosed a breath.
“Let’s go in through the back,” he whispered.
The street was vacant, so it was easy for them to dart across and slip around the corner.
Bray peeked into the window. “We’re in luck,” she said. “Empty.”
She held out her hand. Peer took hold, and the two of them passed through the wall.
“If I were sedatives, where would I be…” Bray murmured, looking around the office.
Peer opened a drawer and found a collection of phials. He recognized one as pain medication, the same pills Adearre had been given after he was shot. Peer slipped the container into his pocket, for Bray.
“Found it,” she whispered, holding up a syringe and a clear phial.
“Good,” Peer said.
He searched a second drawer and nabbed paper and a pencil. When he looked up, Bray was frowning at him with arms crossed.
“You’re stealing.”
Peer snorted. “We’ve stolen a coach, four horses, the clothes we’re wearin’, that sedative in your hand—but you’re drawing the line at paper?”
“Only things we need,” Bray said. “What do we need that for?”
“Sketching will help Whythe keep alert,” Peer said. And it will make him happy, he didn’t add.
She exhaled through her nose. “Fine. Let’s go.”
They passed back through the wall, then carefully made their way along the perimeter of town. A few children played in a yard, and Bray pulled Peer deeper into the brush to avoid detection. They took a longer route, to circumvent the town center.
When they returned to the carriage, Whythe was hunched and wheezing, his face flushed. He looked adorable.
“Good,” Whythe gasped. “I was about to die.”
“We can’t stop here,” Bray said. “We need to get a little farther away from this town first.”
Bray moved to climb back into the coach, and Peer stopped her, slipping the bottle of pain meds into her hand. She looked at the label, then up at him, shaking her head. “Such a thief.”
“Pot, kettle.” Bray had been a light-fingered youth. She’d stolen as an act of rebellion, at a time when life threatened to suffocate her. He knew her all too well. That was the problem with co-dependent friendships—there were no secrets to allow for undue superiority.
She smiled, her eyes crinkling like they used to. “Thanks.”
Peer and Whythe clambered onto the roof again. Below, he could hear Arlow, Malc, and Kelarre grunting and thrashing against their bindings.
Everything would be easier once they’d snapped out of Quade’s spell, but that would take a few more days. In the meantime, they had to be careful. If one of them slipped their gag, they’d all be lost.
Ko-Jin snapped the leads, and they rode on. Whythe, grateful for the ability to draw, immediately began a fresh portrait of Peer. He still looked tired, but he didn’t seem in danger of keeling over.
Two hours later, they stopped to make camp. Peer always liked traveling during the warm months. He and Bray had slept out-of-doors more often than not during their late teens and early twenties. Those had been happy days.
He built the fire. Ko-Jin disappeared for a short time and returned with three rabbits. After living off a diet of potato and fish, the smell of roasting meat made Peer’s mouth salivate.
Even Whythe came wholly awake to eat. The boy had an unparalleled love of food.
The sun set earlier than he’d expected, reminding him that summer was waning. The night was cool and, so far from the lights of a town, the sky was ablaze with stars.
Bray drugged their prisoners. They slumped to the ground around the fire, and Peer relaxed as soon as they were unconscious.
“Sleep,” he said to Whythe, but his bevolder was already halfway there. He curled into the grass, his face resting upon his hands. Peer smiled down at him fondly.
“Who has the first watch?” Bray asked.
“Me,” Peer said. He still felt alert, and all of his companions appeared to be flagging.
“You can wake me next,” Ko-Jin said. He moved to the other side of the fire, near to Arlow, and lay down with a grunt.
Bray stretched out on the grass just beside Peer, her eyes gazing up at the stars. He had the sense that she wanted to talk but was struggling to begin, so he remained quiet and waited. He sat on a log, elbows braced on his knees, and watched the fire burn low.
“I’m sorry,” Bray whispered, the words spoken to the sky, though they were clearly meant for him. “I’m sorry I’ve been so awful to you. I’m sorry things have been so strained between us.”
“I understand,” he said. And he did—he had Whythe, now. He understood what Bray and Yarrow had shared, and what it must have cost her to lose him. He wished he had not played a part in it. “You’re angry with me. You’ve a right to be.”
She sniffled. He saw the tears glinting, unshed, in her emerald eyes. “No. It’s not your fault. I know that. I always did.” She stifled a sob, and it turned into a choking laugh. “He was blighting persuasive when he wanted to be. He had that trick where he’d act as though you’d agreed to something before you actually had. That’s how he got me to learn the Ada Chae.” She wiped at her cheeks. “Point is, he was going to do what he was going to do. He probably thought it would be better coming from you.”
Peer found that his own throat was tight. “He actually knew that you would hit me. It’s like he saw it all ahead of time.”
“I think he did,” she whispered. “Sorry, again. About that.”
He smiled. “Eh, don’t be. You’ve always hit like a Cosanta.”
She laughed wetly. “Ass.”
They lapsed into a moment of quiet, but Peer’s pulse began to throb in his ears. If they were finally having a heart-to-heart, he knew he must tell her about Dolla. But he was still terrified of what that information might do to her.
“Just tell me,” she whispered. “How did it happen?”
“What?” he asked, surprised. “Do you already know?”
She shrugged her shoulder and rolled to face him. “I guessed. What else would you be afraid to tell me?” She swallowed. “How did Dolla die?”
He lowered himself to the ground beside her, so they could speak more quietly. “It was my fault,” he said, blinking against hot eyes. “Quade knows it’s me who’s been taking his people. He learned that Dolla had been our mentor, and so he…”
“Was it quick?” Bray asked softly.
“Yeah,” Peer said. “That’s the best I can say; he was angry, so it was quick.”
She pressed her hand to her mouth, tears racing down her cheeks. Peer tried not to weep, but he couldn’t stop himself.
He had never had a mother; Bray could not remember hers. For both of them, their mentor Dolla had filled that role. Not that she had been maternal or particularly warm, but she’d cared. She’d taken them under wing—even Peer, who had no particular skills to offer.
Bray reached for his hand and squeezed. “It’s not your fault. The things that Quade does are his fault alone.” She hiccupped several times, and it sounded like gasping. “I saw her—Dolla. In Adourra, when I slipped into Quade’s camp to steal intel. And I left her there.”
“She’d have been peeved if you hadn’t. You couldn’t have gotten her out quietly. It would have been a scene. Dolla, of all people, would’ve wanted you to focus on the mission.”
“I know,” Bray said. “But that doesn’t make it hurt less.”
Peer couldn’t stand the sight of her so unhappy, curling into herself like she was trying to keep the heart in her chest. He slid closer, and to his surprise, she lay her head in his lap. She clutched the fabric of his trousers in a fist. “Of all the spirits still walking this world,” she said. “You, Peer Gelson, are my very favorite. Please don’t leave me, too.”
Peer’s face twisted, and tears raced down his cheeks. He ran his fingers through her copper hair—now grown so long—and she squeezed her eyes shut. “No fear, there. You’re my only family, Bray. You’re stuck with me.”
They wept, exchanging apologies and forgiveness, and then they spoke of days past and laughed and wept some more. Until, at length, Bray fell asleep with her head resting on Peer’s leg. He remained awake.
Ko-Jin roused a short time later and told Peer to get some shut eye. So he lay back, careful not to disturb Bray, and slipped into dreamless oblivion.
It was a sleep that lasted only a moment, and then Bray was shaking him and dawn-light was feathering on the horizon. He wiped drool from his face and blinked, feeling disoriented.
“Come on,” Whythe said to him. He appeared well-rested, his eyes alight. “Let’s take the driver’s seat. Ko-Jin says he’ll watch our hostages.”
“Alright…” Peer said. “If Bray sits up front with us too.”
After their emotional outpouring the night before, he didn’t want to be separated from her. And he did not want her riding alone, with the knowledge of Dolla’s death heavy on her heart.
Bray shrugged, as if she didn’t care either way, but he caught the grateful gleam in her eyes.
They climbed into the driver’s seat, having to press tightly together, as the bench was only designed for two. With Ko-Jin, Arlow, Malc, and Kelarre all secure within, Peer flicked the leads; they set off for Accord again.
The morning passed in companionable quiet. Whythe leaned his new paper against his leg, drawing, his gaze darting from the portrait in his lap to Peer’s face.
“Don’t you ever get tired of drawing me?” Peer asked. Whythe must have hundreds of portraits of him by now. He was little acquainted with the arts, but he didn’t think his face worthy of so much artistic attention. His features were all blocky, his frame overlarge, his nose crooked.
“Of course not,” Whythe said. “I like to draw faces, and I like your face best.”
Peer rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed. He had to admit, Whythe had a way of capturing him accurately, while making him look far more attractive than he actually was. These portraits were like love letters.
“How did you learn to draw?” Bray asked.
Peer and Whythe both turned to her in surprise. She’d never once begun a conversation with Whythe; in fact, she’d seemed bent on avoiding him. This was clearly an olive branch, and Peer loved her for it.
“I don’t really know,” Whythe said. “I can’t remember beginning.”
“When all of this is over and we’ve won,” Bray said, her face turned to the sun and her eyes closed. “I want to go back to Jedoh, to that art school. You should come, both of you.”
Peer swallowed against a swell of emotion. “A good plan. Maybe we can be married there. It’s a beautiful place.”
“Sounds perfect,” Whythe said.
“Married?” Bray asked, russet brows shooting up.
Peer had forgotten he’d not told her this news, and he ducked his head guiltily. “Yeah. Whythe asked. I said yes.”
She smiled a sad smile. “If you’d like my opinion—which plainly you don’t, as you haven’t even told me about it,” she added in a tone of mock annoyance, “I’d tell you not to wait. You never know when everything might be taken from you. Better to say and do what you want while you can.”
“What?” Peer asked with a laugh. “Should we be married right now? On top of a stolen stagecoach?”
“We could tonight, after we make camp,” Whythe said in a soft voice. “If you want to marry me today, that is…”
Peer placed a hand on his knee. “I want to have married you yesterday.”
“Then let’s do it. Bray has a point.”
“Alright,” Peer said, giddiness rising in his chest. “Alright, then.”
If they’d wanted to wed officially in Trinitas, there would need to be banns, an officiant, some sense of ceremony. But then, two men could not legally marry in Trinitas, anyway.
It did not matter. They were Chisanta, and they were not subject to the laws of the crown. Traditionally, Chisanta married themselves, and there was plenty of precedent for same-sex unions.
Peer couldn’t stop grinning.
He was getting married. Here was a person who loved him so much, he wanted forever. It was a splendid notion, something he’d not imagined possible until recently.
Peer wondered if Adearre would be happy for him, but not for long. He knew the answer.
They rode through the day, Peer and Whyt
he exchanging secret looks of anticipation. They grazed hands and bumped knees as often as possible. Quade had Accord, and they were heading into dark days, but for this one afternoon everything was bliss.
When the sun began to set, they found a place to make camp behind the rise of a hill. Ko-Jin lined up their three prisoners, all still bound and gagged, as if they were an audience for the ceremony. The man had a peculiar sense of humor.
The sky was cloudless, the hill covered in wild heather. They were, all of them, far from fresh after days of travel. It little mattered. Whythe looked perfect, with his maple-brown eyes full of conviction, and moonlight in his dark-gold hair. They took each other’s hand.
“Here,” Bray said, stepping forward. “This was Yarrow’s. I think he’d like…” she cleared her throat. “I think he’d like to be represented here.”
She pulled a handkerchief from her satchel—an elegant, lacy piece of fabric, clearly an heirloom. Bray unfolded the creamy cloth and wrapped it around Peer and Whythe’s clasped hands, binding them. She popped to her tiptoes and darted a kiss on Peer’s cheek, then took her place at his side.
Peer cleared his throat, but all of his emotions seemed to have lodged around his voice box. “I’m no good with words,” he said with a shake of the head. He probably should have planned what he wanted to say. He’d had all afternoon. “You know, when I was a boy, I spent some time on the streets of New Brans. I remember lookin’ into windows at nights, spyin’ on families, and feeling like somewhere out there, I had people too. Like, if I just looked through the right window, maybe I’d see my family.” Whythe’s grip tightened around his hand. “I think maybe, even then, I was looking for you. I think I’ve always been looking for you. That’s why this is so easy for me to say.” He beamed as he said the customary words: “Until I find joy in the Company of the Spirits, I bind myself to you, Whythe Livington.”
Whythe’s cheeks were wet, but his mouth was split in a pure and brilliant smile. “I knew the first time I saw you. I’m glad you figured it out, eventually.”
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