The Lost Reavers

by Mike Truk

  “Yes, Captain,” said Hugh.

  She stood. Good. Who knew death could prove entertaining at last? But a word of warning, Hugh. We are inside you. We catch glimpses of what you do, what you say, what you think. Don’t believe you can betray us. That you can turn fae sympathizer without our knowing. We will turn a blind eye to your fox fucking, nauseating as it is, but this Vispathia. You shall destroy her, or I shall call you on your oath.

  “Agreed,” said Hugh, voice leaden.

  See you around, Hugh. Dark amusement in her voice. Don’t disappoint me.

  “Thank you.” And he meant it. “Thank you, Jacinia. This… all of this. It’s fucked. But without you and the Reavers…”

  Her smile was cruel. Don’t thank us. Just kill, Hugh. Slaughter. Without discrimination. And I shall declare ourselves content.

  And then she was gone.

  Hugh dropped his head back on his pillow. To think that she was within the recesses of his mind even now. Her and the others, waiting, watching. Biding their time.

  He draped his arm over his eyes and bit back a groan.

  “Hugh?” Morwyn ducked into the tent, her tone guarded. “You’re awake?”

  “Yes,” said Hugh, dropping his arm to his side.

  “I heard you speaking…” She trailed off. Sat awkwardly on Jacinia’s stool, as if unsure she was welcome. “The Reavers?”

  “The Reavers,” he said, tone wry. “They’re always up for a chat.”

  “Do they… hate you?”

  “Yes. And no. I’m still one of them. But.” He paused, considering. How much to tell her? He wished he could make out her features in the gloom. “I made them a promise. In exchange for their help with Aleksandr and Katharzina. I thought they were going to collect tonight, but… well. They’ve decided to delay till I destroy Vispathia’s court.”

  “Collect,” said Morwyn. “Collect what?”

  Hugh didn’t answer.

  “Oh,” said Morwyn. Even in the gloom he could see the deeper darkness of her hair slide forward to cover her face.

  They sat in silence for a spell. Then Morwyn shifted, sat upright once more. “Thank you.” Her tone had turned brisk. “For saving me. At such expense to yourself. Though, of course, I don’t presume you did it just for me.” Something bleak entered her voice, a grim humor he didn’t believe. “I got lucky there, having Zarja and Anastasia trapped alongside me.”

  Hugh forced himself up onto one elbow. “I’d have come for you regardless.”

  A snort. “We’re past needing to lie to each other, Hugh.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Right. You’re saying you’d have done all this - for me?” Skepticism.

  “Yes.”

  Bewildered silence.

  Then: “Why?”

  “You’re my captain, Morwyn. You represent Stasiek. Your loss would have reflected badly on both my command, my brother, and the duchy.”

  “Oh,” she said, confused and relieved and distraught somehow all at once.

  But before she could speak, he continued. “But that’s the least of it. We’re connected, you and I. I’ve always felt it. Since I was young. Since you trounced me in that training yard. I’ve been fascinated by you.”

  She scoffed, but he spoke over her. “And since leaving Stasiek together, I’ve felt that feeling grow. That fascination, that attraction. Can you not feel it?”

  “I -” She looked down, cutting herself off. In a more composed tone, “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I care for you, Morwyn. Laugh if you wish. And it’s not just because you’re a startlingly beautiful woman. I care for you, the Morwyn behind the walls.”

  “You don’t know who I am.”

  “No, not really.” He lay back, the pain too great to remain propped up. “But I’ve caught glimpses. And I want to know more. To understand your pain. To help you, if I can.”

  “I don’t need your fucking charity.”

  “Not charity.” He thought of Zarja. “Because I love you.”

  He might as well have slapped her. Morwyn gave a startled laugh, rose to her feet. “That’s the most ridiculous bullshit -”

  Hugh spoke over her again. “A friend of ours once said that one’s capacity for love is limited only by one’s tolerance for pain.”

  Morwyn stilled.

  “I’m learning that I have an immense capacity for pain.” He smiled grimly. “And not just physical. When the world is this dark, this fraught, and when our lives could be ended at any moment, I think it’s bullshit to hold back. So, I won’t. Laugh. Mock me. But I love you, Morwyn. I have since I first saw you. I know that now, just as I know I don’t understand you. Know I don’t understand your secrets. But I don’t have to. I love you, even if it hurts me. If you hurt me.”

  His words hung in the darkness between them. He could hear her breathing, rapid and shallow.

  “Take that back,” she whispered.

  “No,” he said. Then, almost as an afterthought, “sorry.”

  “You don’t know a single thing about me. You’re just like a young boy, infatuated. You want to fix me. To feel better about yourself. A pity project.”

  “No,” said Hugh, gazing up at the ceiling of the tent. “It’s much more than that. I want to help you because I love you. I want to see you happy. To hear you laugh. A good laugh. A joyous laugh.”

  Helpless confusion. “But why?” Heartbreaking vulnerability in her voice. “What about me is there to love?”

  “I don’t know.” He sighed. “But there you have it. Some strange alchemy has worked its magic on me, Morwyn. Some fatal combination of your wit and strength, your beauty and mystery, your pain and allure. I’d risk my life for you. Actually, technically, I have risked my life for you.”

  “Fuck,” whispered Morwyn, lowering back onto the stool.

  “Yeah,” said Hugh.

  Again they sat in silence. Despite the pain, Hugh’s mind felt clear. He felt at peace. He’d spoken his truth. A truth he’d wrestled with since Morwyn had nearly broken his bones so many years ago. A truth he couldn’t explain, and, finally, no longer needed to. He accepted his passion for her. His love. For Anastasia and Zarja as well. His heart, battered by loss and pain, had grown sufficiently large to encompass them all.

  “I don’t love you,” she said, voice hard.

  “All right.”

  “All right?” Anger. “What is wrong with you?”

  “I mean, that’s a long list. But in regards to you? Not much.”

  “I don’t want your love.”

  “I don’t particularly want to love you either. It’s clearly a dangerous proposition. But I don’t have much say in the matter.”

  “How can you be so matter of fact about it?” Wonder and fury in her voice. “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Nothing, I guess. Maybe understand why I did what I did, and why I’d do it again. And maybe stop insisting on my calling you ‘captain.’”

  She laughed, surprised. “Fine. I guess you’ve earned it.”

  “I love you, Morwyn.” He said it softly, to the ceiling of the tent, fingers interlaced behind his head.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “But it’s true, and it’s good to say out loud. Liberating. And fucked up. But true. I love you.”

  “For fuck’s sake!” He sensed her stiffen, felt her shudder. “Stop. That… that hurts me to hear.”

  “Hurts?” Surprise. He forced himself to sit up, sheet puddling around his waist. He was bare-chested, the blood washed away. “Seriously?”

  She’d raised a hand to cradle her head, as if against a blow. “Like twisting a dagger.”

  He thought of her in that pantry, legs spread, wet to his touch, waiting to be used. The words he’d hurled at her. The truth he’d sensed then. Sensed now.

  “Then I’ll stop,” he said, voice soft. Hesitated. Took the plunge. “There are… other ways for me to show my affection.”

  She stiffened. “You�
�re serious? Now? With you near dead?”

  “No!” He laughed. “I mean, well - probably better not. What I meant was…” Damn. How to put it? Again, he wished Zarja was here to whisper words in his ear. “I would like you to trust me. I want to earn that trust. I know I’ve been a complete ass so far -”

  “You just saved my life,” said Morwyn quietly. “That’s not completely reprehensible behavior.”

  “Well. Maybe. But I want to earn your trust. And then see where that takes us.”

  “Takes us?”

  She sounded curious. Open. Hugh sensed she was really listening. “I don’t know what happened to you, Morwyn. You don’t have to tell me. Ever. But I want you to trust me, right down to your bones. To know I’m on your side. Absolutely. And then. If we can get there. Maybe we can go places. Maybe we can… explore… what it might take for you to feel better. For my words to not feel like the twisting of a dagger. Or.”

  His throat was dry. Felt as if he were walking on thin, cracking ice. Could feel her gaze upon him, the sheer intensity of it.

  Fortuna, please don’t let me fuck this up.

  He took a deep breath. “Or. If it’s a dagger you need twisted, maybe you could show me how to twist it just right.”

  Again his words hung between them. He could barely hear anything over the thudding of his heart. Had what he said even made sense?

  Morwyn sat in silence. The longer it drew out, the more excruciating it became. Hugh was about to apologize, to take it all back, when she stirred.

  “I think I understand.” Her tone guarded. Pensive. “And I do trust you. But you’re talking about a different kind of trust.”

  “Different how?”

  She shifted on her stool. “You’d risk your life for me, wouldn’t you, Hugh?”

  “Yes.”

  “But the ‘me’ you’d risk it for is the one you understand and see sitting before you. If I were to trust you, as you ask, and let you in - share what I’m… what I’m concealing, then I would change in your eyes. I’d be a different person. And you can’t promise you’d feel the same way about that Morwyn. You can’t know.”

  Hugh absorbed this. Considered.

  “So I can’t trust you, not down to my bones, as you said.” She sounded miserable. “Your love is contingent on who you think I am. I change that at my peril.”

  Hugh bit back a curse. Felt as if he’d waded into a swamp of metaphysical arguments he couldn’t parse. Instead, he struck out for solid ground. “Fuck that. I’m not some fickle boy. I’m a man grown, Morwyn. I’ve seen death, I’ve seen horror, I’ve seen…” Bloody fingers closing around my living bones. “I’ve seen enough to know my own mind. And I tell you straight. Count on me. Take that risk. I’m reaching out my hand to you, Morwyn. Enough of being alone. Enough of fear and misery. Take my hand. It might still be a gamble, to trust a man who’d risk certain life for you, but by Fortuna it’s a wager worth the making.”

  Silence.

  The darkness between them seemed to ache. He could sense how she strained, fought herself. Wrestled with fear, doubt, and perhaps something even worse.

  His relief, when she spoke, was total. “Very well,” she whispered. “I’ll trust you. A little.”

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “Doesn’t mean I’ll tell you everything,” she said quickly. “But… perhaps we can… explore. What works for me. What I need. What I’ve never dared ask for.”

  “Ask it of me,” said Hugh. “I’ll not judge. And this time ‘round, whatever it is I do to you, I’ll do it with love.”

  He heard her swallow, saw her shadow stand. “We’ll see. Words are but words. When you’re healed. When you’re whole. Then perhaps we’ll find a moment. And in that darkness, together, I’ll whisper what I need in your ear, and see if you don’t turn away in disgust.”

  “One way to find out,” said Hugh.

  She stepped over to the side of his cot. Leaned down, her hair brushing against his cheeks, her smell about him, her lips pausing but an inch from his own, her eyes two dark glimmering pools that collected what little light there was and set it afire in their depths.

  “Thank you, Lord Hugh of Stasiek.”

  “You’re welcome, Captain.”

  She hesitated, breath coming quickly once more, then leaned down an inch further, pressing her lips to his own, a chaste kiss, yet a lingering one. Before he could even think of raising his hands to her shoulders, to pull her closer, she drew back.

  “Rest. We head down to Erro at dawn.”

  “After that kiss? I’ll be up all night.”

  “Then suffer,” she said with a dark laugh, and strode toward the tent entrance. Paused. Looked back at him over her shoulder. “Who would have thought. That you would be the man I opened myself to. What a strange, strange world.”

  “Strange indeed,” he said.

  He thought she smiled. Couldn’t be sure. Then she pulled the tent flap aside and stepped back out into the night.

  * * *

  Hugh awoke at dawn and found himself sufficiently recovered to rise from his cot. Legs shaky, body a tapestry of purple and green bruises, he staggered out into the frigid mountain air and saw that they’d made camp just inside the tree line beyond the smuggler’s base.

  The three women were already up, sitting beside each other on a fallen log as they warmed a small pot of coffee over a tiny campfire.

  “Hugh,” said Zarja. She was still in her true form, tufted fox ears and swishing tail, her eyes glowing golden in the pale, pewter gray morning air. “Why am I not surprised that you’re already up?”

  “Zarja. Anastasia. Morwyn.” He sank into an easy crouch across the fire from them, arms looped around his knees. “Anything I should know?”

  They exchanged a look that made them look complicit in some secret.

  “There’s a lot of gold in the camp below,” said Anastasia.

  “Little movement,” said Morwyn. “I’ve been keeping watch.” And indeed, she looked worn out, dark shadows beneath her eyes. “A few men crept in under the cover of darkness, but only to retrieve packs or personal goods. I didn’t think it worth killing them.”

  “The crows and vultures have kept their distance,” said Zarja, sitting back down. “Probably due to Aleksandr’s corpse. They’ll conquer their fear soon enough.”

  Hugh nodded, rubbing at his stubbled jaw. “I’m feeling fit enough to carry a chest or two of gold with us back down. Soon as we reach Erro, I’ll conscript a couple of men to come back up and fetch the rest.”

  “You’ll need a cart,” said Anastasia. “There’s a lot of gold.”

  “A cart it’ll be, then.”

  “We’ll need to send a report to your brother,” said Anastasia. “That’s his gold, technically.”

  “About that,” said Hugh. “I’m thinking of not telling him about it at all.”

  Anastasia raised an eyebrow and glanced at Morwyn. “Not telling him?”

  How she’d changed. There was no outrage there, no shock. Just curiosity.

  “We need that gold to repair the fort. And we need to start yesterday. If this queen decides to attack us, we’ll need a way to hold her off.”

  “It’ll take months to repair that fortress,” said Morwyn.

  “To make it habitable, sure. But we just need a new portcullis and to patch some holes in the walls. We can refurbish the rest at our leisure.”

  “There’s more gold here than is needed for a portcullis,” said Anastasia.

  “True. But that’s not where I plan to spend the bulk of it.”

  “Then?”

  Hugh stared into the flames, so clear as to be almost translucent. “We’re going to need our own armed force to garrison the fortress. Not in three months’ time, but tomorrow.”

  Morwyn frowned. “Our own army? What are you talking about?”

  “I mean to kill two birds with one stone. The north is being despoiled by bandits.”

  “You can’t be serious,” sa
id Morwyn, rising to her feet. “Recruit bandits?”

  “Who were once proud soldiers of Stasiek.”

  “Who have since turned to rape, pillaging, and raiding.”

  “My brother gave them a taste of violence and blood, then abandoned them on the field without pay. I aim to harness them to the yoke and put them to work once more.”

  “Your brother will have a conniption,” said Anastasia, shaking her head in dumb wonder.

  “Maybe. But his anger will ultimately be tempered by his gratitude.”

  “I think it a good plan,” said Zarja. “They were once soldiers and can be soldiers again.”

  “They’re rabid dogs,” said Morwyn. “And are led by the infamous Black Floriana herself. You don’t welcome a rabid dog back into your home. You kill it.”

  “No,” said Hugh. “I’m going to recruit them. Try to, at any rate. We need this fort garrisoned and ready for battle as quickly as possible. I’m also going to reach out to Baron Niestor and see if we can’t enter a truce while we both wage war against Vispathia.”

  It was Anastasia’s turn to stand. “Enter a truce? Without your brother’s permission?”

  “Annaro can hang me if he’s displeased. But yes. You saw what Aleksandr turned into. Heard what he and Apthelion promised. We need to marshal the forces of men if we are to defeat this fae court.” Hugh looked to Zarja, who was studying her hands. “Will you be able to see this through, Zarja?”

  “I don’t know.” She sighed. “I’ve been declared anathema by Vispathia’s court. It’s a verdict that won’t hold everywhere, but it carries weight. The local fae will try to kill me on sight. That doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll rejoice in their slaughter.”

  “Understood,” said Hugh.

  Anastasia sat down and slid an arm around Zarja’s shoulders.

  “Promise me this, Hugh.” The lisica raised her golden eyes. “We’ll try to learn more about Vispathia’s ambitions before destroying her. Fae courts are never monolithic entities. If there’s a chance of sparing innocents, we shall.”

  Hugh could almost feel Jacinia’s gaze upon the nape of his neck.

  “I promise we’ll learn what we can in the process of preparing for battle,” he said.