Blackwood Marauders

by K. S. Villoso

  “I’m trying to think of a word that describes both.” He sighed. “I don’t owe you an explanation. I’ll give you something else.” He straightened up. “If you’re not too ill to walk, then come with me.” He patted his arm, as if he was actually expecting her to take it.

  She didn’t. “I can walk by myself.” She dragged herself up, grabbing a cane the physician had given her late last night. He gave a small nod as he led the way out of her room.

  “You and your father seem to have come to an understanding,” he said as they strode through the hall.

  “I’d rather not speak about it.”

  Ylir laughed. “Always so closed, Roena. Yet you call me heartless? Let me guess.” He gave her a quick glance, cocking his head to the side. “You were afraid he was dying, and seeing the blood on you, he thought the same thing. For a moment there, you were both willing to let go and forgive every hurt you’ve done to each other.”

  She felt her cheeks burn. “We’ll be our old selves in no time.”

  “Of course.”

  “I mean, he already was early this morning. He still wants me to marry Draigar. ‘You dug your own grave, Roena,’ he told me. ‘We can’t lose face in front of the court. Think of your mother. Of your sisters and brother.’”

  “So will you?”

  “You should’ve been a lot more thorough with him. He’s expected to make a full recovery, too.” She grimaced. “I think I’d be a lot angrier with you if I didn’t have other things to worry about.”

  “Marry him,” Ylir said. “What’ve you got to lose? He’s still young. Of course, nowhere near as handsome as me—”

  “Ugh, don’t even start.”

  “But he’s easy enough on the eyes, under a certain light. In certain angles. The important part is that it could be so much worse and at the very least it’ll get your father off your back. I know it may not look like it, but you’re all the man ever talks about. It’s almost tiring, to be honest. Sometimes you have to let them win a little so you can reap the big rewards.” Roena realized they were standing in front of the dungeons. Ylir nodded at the guards, who pushed the doors open.

  “And this,” Ylir continued, leading her down the cells, “is me letting you win. A little.” He held his hand out. One of the guards reached out to give him a key before stepping back to leave them alone. He handed it to Roena.

  She scowled. “You’re toying with us.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because that’s what you do, you smug son of a bitch. About the only one who has anything to gain from associating with you is yourself.”

  He stayed perfectly still. After a moment, she groaned, grabbing the key from him and stomping towards Luc’s cell. He must’ve heard their voices, because he was already by the bars, looking up in anticipation.

  “Like an Agartes damned puppy,” she hissed as she turned the key in the lock. “Go on, then.”

  “What?” Luc asked.

  “Nothing,” she said, limping back as the cell door fell open. “You’re free. Apparently.”

  He staggered out, glancing at her and then Ylir, as if afraid it was another trick. She couldn’t blame him. “They didn’t even treat your wounds?” she asked, glancing at them. The blood had clotted against the tattered remains of his shirt. “Ugh. I told the bastards to get someone to look at them.”

  “How—” Luc began.

  “I did eventually convince Duke Iorwin that Tasha must’ve used you as a front to remove suspicions from her,” Ylir said. “You are, after all, a native of Crossfingers. You’ve even got a record in Skellcilan, and you’ve never been to Kago in your life. It helped a lot that Draigar vouched for you as soon as he woke up.”

  “The man’s good for something, at least,” Roena murmured.

  “I don’t know who to thank,” Luc said.

  “Thank no one,” Ylir suggested. “You’re alive of your own volition. Go to the guards and tell them we need you taken to the physician.”

  Luc’s face tightened, and he glanced at her, as if to say he was loathe to leave them alone together. She placed her hand on his arm. “Go,” she repeated.

  He made a small sound of protest before shuffling down the hall.

  “You do care,” Ylir mused as soon as Luc was gone from their sight. “Interesting. I’m almost jealous. What does a man have to do to get that kind of attention from a woman?”

  “What?” she asked. “After all your experiences, you’d still want more?”

  “I mean, I can imagine that one probably has to get hurt in order to appeal to your sex’s nurturing sensibilities—”

  “Me, nurturing? You’re out of your mind, Ylir.”

  “—but getting hurt really isn’t in my forte. I suppose I’ll just leave it up to imagination.” He gave a small shrug. “In any case, have you forgiven me?”

  “I’m still trying to decide if this night will end without my dagger in your ribs. We’re not even close to such words, Ylir.”

  He grinned. “I suppose not. I will need your friend’s cooperation from here on out. He has proven to be trustworthy and level-headed, two things not easily found in his line of work. You have seen the decrepit pool of low-lifes I have to pick from? I could use someone like him right now.”

  “That’s supposing he still wants to work with you after all that you’ve done,” Roena said.

  “You let me worry about that,” Ylir said. “You decide what to do. I’m not your enemy, Roena. Try to remember that once in a while.” He reached out for her and she stiffened, thinking he was going to try to kiss her again. But instead, he drew her in for a brief embrace before walking away. She wasn’t quite sure why, but she felt like it was his way of saying goodbye.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Luc stayed a few days in the guest chambers of the castle, doted on by servants provided by Lord Draigar himself.

  He wasn’t sure how Ylir had been able to weasel his way out of that one. He had time to try to piece together what he could from his conversations with Roena and Draigar. Tasha herself had been the one who tried to “take care” of Draigar, ambushing him in the stables right before he had the chance to ride out after them and stabbing him enough times to kill a lesser man. Before he lost consciousness, she let it slip that Baeddan had wanted to frame Ylir and his master for the deed.

  And then of course, there was the matter of Roena and Ylir’s relations which—to Roena’s embarassment—was enough to convince Draigar that Ylir had nothing to do with the mess. No one who truly wanted Duke Iorwin’s death would’ve been so careless as to let the woman he was sleeping with, who would then become Duchess, find out. He should’ve at the very least tried to kill her, too. A deliberate mistake. Ylir would’ve never counted on either Luc or Roena’s involvement with the group, but once he saw them there, he took full advantage and came out looking cleaner.

  Thinking about all of it made him want to throw up. All those men dead, and Tasha, too, and all because of someone’s lofty ambitions. And his father, the one man he could rightly call innocent, his father who could never hurt a fly…

  He didn’t know if he should blame Ylir for his father. Every time his thoughts drifted towards it, he felt only exhaustion, one that seemed to resonate from within his very bones. Tasha’s words rang in his head. Not until Cate’s safe with you. Damn woman. But she was right. If anyone would be able to hold back until the right moment, it would be Luc.

  He heard the door click and turned just in time to see Roena walk in.

  “You can make your way to the courtyard when you’re ready,” she said. “The horses are all saddled up for you. Stormcloud—I still can’t believe it. Draigar really takes this whole gratitude thing seriously. It’s not like you would’ve known the difference between him and some beaten-up nag from one of the farms.”

  He smiled as he got up. “What about you?” he asked. “Are you firm on your decision?”

  She made a face. “Firm. Right. Badgered into it, more like.
But Ylir’s right about this one. Marrying Draigar isn’t the worst thing in the world, especially not if it means my father can start obsessing about something else for a change and leave me alone. And he doesn’t like Draigar, which was really surprising to find out. Makes this all the more amusing for me.”

  Luc forced himself to smile. “Well, I’m happy for you.”

  “Stop that. You know you’re not.”

  “No, really, Roena—”

  She punched his arm. “You’re not,” she repeated.

  “Well,” Luc said. “Can’t I be both?” He sighed. “I mean, you’d be his wife. You’d be someone’s wife.”

  “I’m nobody’s, Luc,” she whispered. “Just so you know.”

  “I think I knew that from the beginning,” he murmured.

  Laughing, she cupped her hands around his face and pulled him in for a long kiss. Even knowing what was waiting for them, he couldn’t help his body from hungering after her. Well. His father had warned him.

  Later, he found himself limping out to the courtyard. Treda and Hana were waiting with the horses. Hana was the first to reach out to hug him. “You little bastard,” she said. She looked like she wanted to tweak his cheek and then decided against it at the last minute.

  “I’m sorry about Tasha,” he whispered.

  “We all are,” she replied. “It was kind of Roena to try and get her buried properly. Mustn’t have been easy hiding it from her father. It’s done, now, at least. Tomorrow awaits.”

  “Demon went ahead to Crossfingers,” Treda added. “Ditched by Caiso at the last minute. He asked me to come back for you himself. Said we’ve never been luckier than when you were at the helm, so there.”

  “Anyone else?” Luc asked as he clambered into the saddle, Stormcloud dancing like mad under him.

  “Pol’s there, and a few friends who decided they’ve had enough of baking and swindling or whatever it is you folk do for fun out here. Recruits, I guess you’d call them now. We’ll have to look them over before we start taking jobs, of course. Couple don’t look like they can hold a sword the right way up.” He grinned. “But then again, you didn’t, either, and yet here you are.”

  “Here I am,” Luc murmured.

  They cantered down the road. On horseback, Crossfingers was only a few hours’ travel away, especially at the speed Stormcloud preferred to take. Just as they came within sight of the town, Hana veered away, clicking her tongue. “An errand, first,” she said, reining her horse around.

  Luc thought he knew what she meant, but he didn’t say anything. He followed her down the dirt road, Stormcloud puffing under him. They reached the meadows and then not long after, the old barn where Luc had given Hana and Tasha shelter that first day. So long ago, now.

  Treda took the horses. On foot, Luc tried his hardest to keep his hammering heart still. He breathed, tried to count the dandelions as they walked up the path, and then…

  He felt Hana’s hand on his shoulder. “Up there,” she said.

  He lifted his head. Even from where he was standing, he could read his father’s name on the tombstone underneath his favourite willow tree. Everything else seemed to fade around him as he made his way towards it and sat down. The grave dirt was still fresh. Jak must’ve been laid to rest not too long ago, after the required amount of days of mourning.

  Hana left him with his thoughts. He stared at the grave for a long time. Grief had squeezed the last of the tears from him, settling into his life like an unwanted dog. But it belonged there now, another truth he had chosen for himself. If the pain would always remind him of the love that once was, he wouldn’t be rid of it for the world.

  The afternoon sun was just beginning to make its way to the western mountain ridge when he heard the shuffling, uneven footsteps of his brother Alun. He turned to greet him. “So,” Alun said, the bitterness still thick in his voice. “The weary warrior comes home at last.”

  “Not for long,” Luc replied. “We’ll be travelling to Port Bluetree tomorrow. Taking a ship to Lionstown.” He placed his hand on the grave. “I’m glad you picked a good spot. He always loved it here.”

  Alun sucked in his breath. “Well. Ma picked it.” He stood there awkwardly, leaning on his stick.

  “Sit beside me, Alun.”

  Perhaps if he had phrased it as a request, Alun would’ve refused. But his brother dropped down at the foot of the grave, grunting as he arranged his legs in front of him. His attention was on the field of wilted dandelions up ahead.

  “How’s Skellcilan?”

  “I’m managing,” Alun said.

  “That’s good.”

  “Professor Mila is a nightmare,” he grumbled.

  Without intending it, Luc laughed.

  Alun turned to him with a scowl. “She is, though. Everyone says it. She’s decided to pick on me just because she felt like it. Says if I can get through her, I’ll be the best damn builder this side of Hafod. Can you believe the nerve of the woman?”

  “I can,” Luc said with a smile.

  “I’m glad my pain is amusing to you.” Alun rubbed the side of his head. He was growing his hair. What used to be a dark and bristly brush was now tied at the nape of his neck. He also looked like he had started shaving more often, leaving only a small patch underneath his lower lip. “What are you doing in Lionstown, anyway?”

  “Our last job…we were paid quite generously,” he replied. “Enough to set up a small office there.”

  “I didn’t know mercenaries did that.”

  “We’re not all criminals, Alun. I’ve secured the services of a client who insists he wants us to do things properly. We’re registering with the city and allowing the king’s men to conduct an inquiry on…recent events…in order to clear our name. The man who killed Da…” He saw Alun’s face tighten. “He’s dead, Alun.”

  “Won’t bring Da back.”

  “I know. But it makes a difference, hey?”

  Alun snorted. “Did you kill him?”

  “No.”

  “Who, then?”

  “They must’ve told you about a woman…”

  Alun’s lips quirked up, as if he was trying to stop himself from smiling. “They may have. What were the words Ceri used? Some harlot from the gutters of hell?”

  “I can’t believe Ceri said that.”

  “She was really mad, Luc.”

  “I figured.”

  “I’ve never seen her that mad before. If you’d been right in front of her, I think she would’ve strangled you with her bare hands. ‘If Luc’s out there because he’s getting some dirty whore sticking her tongue down his throat—’”

  “Oh gods, she saw us.”

  Alun’s eyes brightened. “So it is true.”

  Luc didn’t answer, but his smile must’ve given it away because Alun reached out to slap his knee. “You bastard.”

  “She must be in Tilarthan by now, isn’t she?”

  “Stomped off with a chip on her shoulder with every intention, I believe, to stick her tongue down some strapping young recruit’s throat.”

  “You’re not upset about that?”

  “I was,” Alun said, a faint blush appearing on his cheeks.

  “You bastard. You met someone else.”

  He grinned. “Maybe.”

  “Who is it?”

  “No one you know.”

  “You have to give me more than that.”

  “Fine, then. There’s this girl from Cape Beeching. We’re in the same class. Comes from a family of builders. Her father owns quite the company—nowhere near Bergram and Co., but they do all right. Mostly small houses within the city.”

  “Leave it to you to talk about buildings when we’re discussing women.”

  “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, Luc.”

  “No. Really? Really? Damn. It’s been a hell of a few months.” Luc shook his head. “Da’s probably rolling there now, hearing us talk like this.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he is. Like moths to a flame, these damn b
oys.” Alun finally laughed, tears in the corners of his eyes.

  Luc grew serious. “Are we all right, Alun?”

  “I don’t know,” Alun replied. “So much has happened. Loma and Ma…I can’t even talk about you without them bursting into tears.”

  “Are they up there now?”

  Alun shook his head. “They’re at Uncle Ian’s. Been there since after the funeral. Going to stay there until…maybe summer. Maybe longer. Not like there’s anything going out here in the farm. Da planted all these vegetables but nobody’s been watering them since he died. Rabbits probably got to them. We sold all the chickens and ducks, too.”

  “You’re all alone here, then.”

  He shrugged. “I got Shona.”

  “Should I visit them?”

  “Not for a while, Luc. Give them time. Agartes knows, I need it myself.”

  They fell into silence. It had faint echoes of that familiar silence of their boyhood, except now there was a wall between them. For two children who were once inseparable, it felt like a punch in the gut. Luc wondered if it would ever be the same again. Perhaps they all needed time. But a part of him knew that time would only dull the pain, never erase it completely. Whatever they had been in the past was dead in the grave with their father.

  ~~~

  They walked back to Crossfingers, a foot away from each other—a far cry from how they had been back when they were boys. But old habits die hard, and even though Alun never asked him to, Luc still accompanied him all the way to Skellcilan. “I’ll see you around, Luc,” Alun said at the bottom of the steps.

  “I’ll write,” Luc replied. “Will send money for the farm.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  “We’re still family, Alun,” Luc said. “No matter what happened.”

  Alun gave him the sort of smile that could mean anything and began to make his way up. Luc felt his chest tighten at the sight of him alone. But he had done well without him. Had done a lot better without him. Even now, his every step was confident, as if the last few months had done all they could to erase the uncertainty that used to plague his every move. It would take a while for Luc to get his head around that.