“Hard not to.”
Ylir tapped both of his sleeves for a moment before looking back at him. “It’s different. You’re a marked Gorenten. A Dageian mage can sniff you fifty paces away. But I suppose you’ve already learned that the hard way, haven’t you? But never mind. So you joined Tasha’s little band just as Oswyn died, and for some reason they’ve started to depend on you. I can see why.”
“I’m a foil to keep Jona away from Tasha.”
Ylir nodded. “I suppose. I’m convinced there’s one other thing. You’re not like the rest of that angry, embittered crew. She’s had a rough life, like most of them. Raped, used, beaten until she learned to fight back and stand amongst the rest of the rough men she’s had no choice but to live with.” He scratched his beard. “The small matter with her daughter. Has she told you that I intend to deliver her from Cairntown, where the Boarshind are holding her hostage, in exchange for the successful completion of this last job?”
He shook his head.
“I believe she intends for her daughter to join her in this life. The child wouldn’t last a day around some of these folk. But you…you’re not like that. With you as the leader, you’d change the way they see things. She’s too much like them—it wouldn’t work with her in charge. They’d resent her. With you? The crew would change the way it sees things. Her daughter could be safe.”
Ylir’s words left Luc feeling light-headed. He sat down at the edge of the mattress, digesting them.
“And now my problem,” Ylir continued. “This is all well and good for Tasha. I sympathize with her dilemma, I really do. But it’s not going to make my life any easier.”
“Because I wouldn’t want to kill someone in cold blood,” Luc said.
“Exactly.”
He licked his lips. “What do you want me to say?”
“You can’t have it both ways. You can’t maintain your unwillingness to get your hands dirty and still expect to get far in this life. But I’m not unreasonable. I don’t expect you to sink the dagger in yourself. This isn’t some magical monster who’s trying to kill you, and I can already see that you’re not the kind of man who’ll change just because I drop a few words. All I want is for you to promise that you’ll stay out of it.” Ylir’s face tightened. “Tasha’s daughter’s life depends on it.”
“You’re—are you threatening her?”
“I wouldn’t say that. But my options are limited, and I’ll do what I can to make sure this happens the way I want it to. Do you understand, Luc?”
He felt himself nod.
“Excellent. You can go, now.”
Luc started for the door. As he touched the handle, he heard Ylir clear his throat. “Roena,” Ylir said. “Do you care for her?”
“Is it another problem if I do?” he asked.
“It depends. I suppose it doesn’t matter, either way.” He laughed. “Funny how it all works out. She attempts to run from her fate and then, in the unlikeliest of places, barrels straight into the arms of an honourable man. Ah, well. Don’t tell her a damn thing if you want to keep her around.”
~~~
It was a quiet, dejected Luc that joined them later in the tavern that night. Roena started to wonder what Ylir had thought to speak to him about before deciding she probably needed to keep out of it. Ylir liked causing a stir. If she pretended not to care…and she really didn’t…
She returned to her ale. Beside her, Treda was laughing over something Caiso had said. On the other table, Hana was half-drunk and engaged in an arm-wrestling session with the men. She had admitted to Roena that she meant to take one of them to bed that night—the contest was probably her way of deciding which one. Hopefully she dumped her pick in a tub of hot water and scrubbed him from head to toe first. All of them stank after the journey, some more than others.
Her attention drifted back to Luc. He had picked up a tankard of ale from the bar and was now staring at it without drinking. She fought the urge to go up to him and push his face into it. He would probably take it the wrong way. He overthought things, that Luc.
She took her drink and went up to his table to join him. “Don’t let him get to your head,” she said before he could open his mouth. “That’s what he does. It entertains him, I think.”
“You know him that well?”
“Well enough,” she murmured.
He looked back down at his ale.
Roena sighed. She really wasn’t used to dealing with men who sulked. But if this was to be her life now, she needed to get used to it fast. Needed to get used to Luc. She glanced back at the others. Demon was throwing daggers on the dart board and swearing every time they struck the wall handle-first. One of Isobel’s men was giggling helplessly behind him. Jona…
Jona was nowhere to be seen. Neither was Tasha, but Jona was always a cause for concern. He had started drinking early and was probably passed out in the street somewhere.
“I mean—” Luc began.
She stifled another sigh. “You did. You listened to him. Don’t. Drink until the voice disappears.”
“Does that even work?”
“Worked well enough with my father. Watch.” She finished her tankard in one gulp. He stared at her, wide-eyed. “What did he want, anyway?” she asked as she thumped the bottom of the mug against the table.
“Seems like your way doesn’t work all that well.”
“Shut up.”
“Does it bother you that he wants us to kill someone?”
It was a strange question. “We’re mercenaries,” she said. “Isn’t that the whole point? We get paid to do things.”
“But we’re not assassins.”
“You’ve listened to too many bedtime stories. Do you really think there’s a difference? Or that you can find an assassin’s guild somewhere in Hafod, advertising their services just like that? The king’s men would be all over it in an instant.”
“He wants us to break the law.”
“Obviously.”
“That doesn’t bother you?”
“You keep asking me that. If it bothers me? It doesn’t bother me, Luc,” she said, glaring at him. “If it comes down to it, it’s not really me doing the killing. It’s Ylir yn Garr. I always knew his company did shady things, but that’s not on me.”
“Whatever you left behind can’t be so bad that you’d sink to this, can it?”
“You know what I’ve left behind. Don’t play the noble priest, Luc. This is—”
She heard a scream. A woman.
Her life now. Unsaid, the words echoed in the back of her head anyway. She got up. Something told her she needed to. Something about that cry, and the men’s laughter.
No one else seemed to have heard the cry except Luc, who pushed his mug away and turned to follow her. She came up to the path leading to the tavern. The only light was coming from the moon, but even then, the street was empty.
“You heard it too,” Luc murmured. “Can’t just be our imagination.”
She felt something prickle the back of her neck. Jona—Jona wasn’t in the tavern. From the corner of her eyes, she saw movement in the bushes. She sucked in her breath and raced down towards it. She was barely around the corner when she saw his huge form straddling a villager, her head to the wall. His trousers were around his ankles.
Roena grabbed his arm to drag him away from the woman. Snarling, he smashed his fist into the back of the woman’s skull. “Mind your own damn business!” His breath reeked of wine. The woman whimpered and tried to sink her teeth into his hand. He twisted her arm, forcing her back to the ground as he moaned into her hair.
Realizing she had left her sword back in the tavern, Roena picked up a rock and struck him on the head.
He spun, his hips quivering as he let the woman go. She sprinted down the street. “You bitch,” Jona roared, liquid dripping down his thighs as he wiped saliva from his mouth. “I paid her. The fuck do you think you’re doing?” He scrabbled to lace his trousers together while he pointed at Luc. “You be
tter control your woman before I do it for you. You—”
“Get the hell out, Jona,” Luc said.
“Get the hell out of what?”
“Leave. Now.”
Jona grinned. “Or what?”
“Or I stick a sword in you when you least expect it,” Roena thundered.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
She smiled. “I’m sorry—did you mistake me for Luc? I’m Roena Blackwood. I don’t make empty threats.”
People appeared to stare at them from the street, including what seemed like most of the mercenaries. Tasha strode up to them, a confused expression on her face. “Tell these fuckers to lay off me, Tasha,” Jona hissed.
“We shouldn’t have men like him in the group,” Luc said. “I know you have a history, Tasha, but we both know we don’t want him here.”
Jona spat. “The fuck is he going on about?”
“We’ve got enough men now,” Luc continued. “Ston and a couple of his have talked about staying with us. Do we really need this…this piece of shit?”
The question resounded through the night. Tasha’s eyes widened.
“You wouldn’t,” Jona laughed. “After all we’ve been through, you’d just kick me to the side, you fucking wench? What would Oswyn say?”
“Oswyn’s dead,” Roena broke in.
“You need me,” Jona replied, a trickle of blood pouring down his forehead. “I leave, half the fucking group leaves. Isn’t that right? Men? Caiso?”
The mercenaries began to murmur amongst themselves.
“I don’t think—” Caiso began.
“You asslicker,” Jona snarled. “What about the rest of you louts? You’d really let the farmboy and his princess push you around? You saw what they just did to me. I fucking paid the whore. One step over the line and they’ll be patting themselves on the back while watching you swing from the gallows.”
One of the mercenaries started walking up to him. Jona gave a smug grin as others from his original group followed.
“Caiso,” Jona said, cocking his head to the side. “I’ve been waiting for the day you betrayed me.”
“I have to admit, Jona, it’s the idea of having paid work that appeals to me,” Caiso replied. “Try not to take it personally.”
Jona snorted. “You fucking idiot. Choke on your fucking job when you realize you don’t have the men to finish it. Why do you think he wants enough? He’s planning an assault. He’s planning to split you up and throw you at armed guards, probably. That’s how these jobs always go.”
“There’s still ten of us left,” Roena said. “You can leave. We won’t miss you.”
“Ten? I see a pretty farmboy and girls who wouldn’t know how to hold a sword if their lives depended on it. Good riddance. Wouldn’t want to die with the the goatfucker in charge, anyway.” He turned on his heel, clouting the man next to him before they stumbled down the street.
“Why did you do that?” Tasha breathed.
Luc scratched his head. “We can do the job without him. You wanted this, right? Did you want that monster around after this is all over?”
She grabbed him by the collar. “You had no right,” she hissed. “You—”
“Tasha,” Roena warned.
“I would’ve taken care of him myself. You’ve risked everything…for what? A fucking whore? Principles? You fucking children.” She threw Luc aside and marched back into the tavern. One by one, the mercenaries turned to follow her, leaving Roena and Luc alone on the street.
“Shit,” Luc murmured, tugging at his shirt.
She didn’t say anything. From the window, she caught sight of Ylir staring down at her. Their eyes locked for a moment. His mouth was a thin line. She felt like screaming at him, that she’d finish his damn job and then she wanted nothing to do with him again, ever. The anger ebbed. He pulled the curtains down just as a cloud came up to cover the moon, leaving them in darkness.
~~~
Spring in Crossfingers was a flurry of activity, due in part to the flock of students—many coming in from villages all over Hafod—beginning the year at Skellcilan Academy. After paying for the inn and allowing the men to do what they pleased for the rest of the evening, Luc found himself leaving the town square and wandering off to the massive stone steps at the academy entrance. It was late afternoon and more than a few vendors had made their way to the street, offering meat buns, pies, and fried sausages for hungry students eager to get back to their dormitories.
The memory of him guiding Alun up those steps came to him, unbidden. Months ago, now. It felt like years. The journey back south had been exhausting enough. Even with spring bursting into fullness around them, the mercenaries lacked the energy of when they first begun. Luc didn’t know why, but Jona and his men’s departure had fractured the group in a way he didn’t expect.
Honourable, Ylir had called him. A lie if there ever was one. What honour had there been in leaving his family for this? He had been glad to throw Jona out because it was one less reminder of the depravity of this life. He thought that those that remained would’ve agreed. But even Tasha, who was the one who wanted him to be leader in the first place, refused to talk to him now. He had expected her to be pleased that he’d gotten rid of Jona at last.
The bells chimed. He watched the students leave in droves, chatting and laughing as they headed for the food carts. He knew he was only looking for Alun, but that still didn’t stop the seed of envy from sprouting in his heart. You want what you cannot have even when they tell you why it isn’t for you, why it could never be. He understood all the reasons for his rejection, but it didn’t take away the sting.
He felt a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t tell me you still want to be one of those fuckers,” Hana said, squeezing him.
“In case you haven’t noticed, Hana, things aren’t working out so well for me right now, either.”
“Tasha will come around. She always does.”
“I still don’t understand why she was so angry about Jona.”
“He was the best sword arm,” Hana said with a shrug. “You made it a lot harder to finish this job. We don’t even know what we’ll be up against. Hamstrung before the hunt.”
“We’ve got enough men,” Luc murmured.
“Jona’s equal to five,” Hana replied. “You knew this. You saw how he was up at Windroost. But hey, it’s over now. Can’t dig yourself out of a hole, can you? So don’t even try.”
You can’t have it both ways. Against Roena’s warning, he was letting Ylir’s words sink in. So which way was he supposed to pick? He turned his attention back to the students, wondering if Alun had already made friends or if he was going to be in the dormitories, studying all through the night. He didn’t really know. The last remnants of their childhood had slipped from his grasp.
Hana shoved a sausage on a stick at him. “So which one’s your little brother?” she asked.
“I don’t see him,” he murmured, taking a bite that filled his mouth with the taste of garlic, sage, and hot chili oil. “He’s probably nose-deep in his books by now.”
“At this hour?”
He shrugged. “Alun likes his books.”
“Do you want to go up to visit?”
Luc felt his mouth dry up at the thought. His first instinct was to say yes. Alun—gods, he had never wanted so badly to see anyone in his life. He could talk to him now, too. Could ask him to forgive him for not knowing any better about Ceri, but that didn’t matter anymore because he didn’t love her, anyway. Had never loved her. And she hated him now after seeing him with Roena.
But the temptation left. “We’ve got the job to worry about,” he said, straightening himself up. He dropped the stick in the gutter, wiped his mouth, and turned away from the building.
They made their way back to the square. A man, the baker, noticed Luc and paused in the middle of the street to stare at him, mouth agape. Luc normally greeted him about his day and whether he had any moldy bread for Tom’s pigs. He didn’t, this time. H
e’d tried to keep away from the townsfolk as best as he could and they were starting to learn to do the same to him. The taint of his decisions clung to him like a stench he couldn’t wash off. Ylir may have spoken of how fondly they had regarded him, but it was clear enough that they considered that Luc dead. Every time they looked at him now, they only saw his shadow.
“Is it like this in Cairntown?” he asked. “Mercenaries are more common out there.”
“Oh, you mean how they turn their noses up on you like they just saw a dead rat? Not as bad, but also still the same. Depends on who you ask. Depends on who you are.”
“That doesn’t really tell me anything.”
“Well, my own mother still hasn’t spoken to me, for starters. And it’s been at least ten years. I wouldn’t know what to tell her if I saw her again.”
He imagined going ten years without speaking to his father. It was a painful thought. “I won’t do that,” he said. “I’m going to promise myself that when this is done, I’ll go back to them. Just for a day or so.”
Hana smiled. “Easier said than done.”
They walked into the tavern, just in time to hear Treda’s story about a bear he had killed with his bare hands, which always ended with a joke. Luc spotted Roena and was about to join her table when he saw Old Bokta burst from the kitchen doors. “I was looking for you!” he cried, reaching for both of his shoulders. “Those mercenaries!”
He was hysterical. Luc tried to pat his arms to calm him down. “I’ve got the mercenaries with me, Bokta. You’re looking right at them.”
Hana waved a tankard at him.
Bokta shook his head, his lips quivering. “No. There were others, came by this morning. Throwing tables around, causing a ruckus. Asking about you. We had to call the guards. They were in the cells the whole morning.”
“Jona,” Luc said. “Where is he now?”
“Saw them on my way to the walls.” Bokta dug his fingers into his shirt and shook him. “They’re headed to the village, Luc. I think they mean to go to your farm.”
Luc gave a nervous laugh. “They can’t. They’re probably headed to Blackwood.”
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