by Megan Derr
Cos looked wobbly as they walked from the clearing, but Roark ignored that—he'd pick Cos up if he fell, but coddling him wouldn't make him any tougher.
Lehan was holding a conference with his men, looking full of it, and Roark hoped he'd say something stupid so Roark could break his nose. He didn't though, merely asked what they'd found.
"Graves," Roark said, much more shortly than Cos had. Staring bleakly at the ruins of the fortress, he debated whether it was worth it to continue to search. Kiran was dead—what chance was there that anyone else, anyone taken earlier, had survived?
Lehan's expression darkened and he headed the way Roark had come without a word. His cohorts hesitated briefly, but then followed after him.
Roark still wanted to hit someone, to drive his fist into someone's face and feel the bones crack or the satisfying thump of hitting somewhere fleshier. However, Lehan hadn't given him an opening, and he wasn't going hit Cos, not when the idiot was beating himself up well enough. It wasn't like Cos could've done anything about it, not as weak as he so obviously was.
"How did the wizard get into the tower?" Roark growled at Cos, belatedly remembering that Cos probably couldn't tell him if he knew.
"He climbed," Cos said, whisper-soft, staring at the tower distantly.
There was something different about Cos, Roark decided, heading towards the tower again. Why had he been taken, when the rest of the men had been strong and healthy and worth something? Why hadn't he been killed? What made him useful enough to be kept alive?
Roark circled the tower, frowning up at the windows. The wizard had climbed? Why would he bother? Why would he lock the daughter away in the first place? Did it have anything to do with why he kidnapped and killed so many of the villagers?
There were too many unanswered questions, and too few people with answers. Cos was probably the best bet for the latter; terrified as he obviously was, he was still able to function and he had the knowledge to answer Roark's questions.
Roark just needed to get a curse breaker here. It could be his last request as a member of the King's army. He'd have to resign now; there was no way he could leave Amara on her own out here. Not with the morons that made up the village and not with Harro less than a year old.
"No one else lived in the tower?" Roark asked, loathe to leave it unexplored, but not really seeing any other option.
"No," Cos said, frowning at the tower. He didn't appear to be paying Roark much attention, which was a little annoying. "No one but the wizard was allowed up."
Roark snorted, turning away. The tower could wait until they hand a curse breaker on hand. A curse breaker could probably handle creating a small ladder or something, as well as breaking whatever spell impeded Cos from saying anything.
"Let's go," Roark said, striding quickly away from the tower and back towards his horse. They could search some of the surrounding woods, make sure everyone who'd gotten out had made it back to the village.
Cos trailed after him slowly, not dragging his eyes from the ruins of the fortress until he absolutely had to. Roark rolled his eyes, wondering again where he'd had come from, if he wasn't a villager and no one recognized him.
That wasn't a big problem though, since he was obviously not a threat. It was just another question that wouldn't be answered until Cos could talk freely again.
Roark untied his mare, and contemplated being incredibly mean and setting free the horses Lehan and his men had rode on. But that would be more trouble than it was worth, especially since it seemed Roark was going to be living closely with them from now on.
At least they were still occupied at the graveyard, Roark thought with a fair amount of annoyance, absently helping Cos mount. He led the horse off to the east of the fortress, away from the village. They could do a wide sweep of the woods for the survivors Roark bet they wouldn't find before they headed back home.
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Part Three
A fire burned in the stone-lined pit at the center of the gathering. Most of the assembled people held burning candles as well, long, thin tapers or thick, chunky bits of wax. The pastor's memorial service, a speech that was more a sermon about avoiding the evils of life than about the people who'd died, droned on in the background.
Roark didn't have a candle. He stood, staring at the pit fire, tuning out the pastor's words with an ease borne of ignoring his supervisor's rants and admonitions. Not that he'd gotten many of the second, but there'd been many a time when he'd been forced to listen to his colleagues drone on about one thing or another.
No more, not now. He'd sent his letter of resignation out that very morning. Unfortunately, that had brought him back into direct contact with Lehan, as he was the postmaster for the village. At least the encounter had been brief, Roark groused, even if he'd have preferred to have dealt with any other villager.
Amara stood next to him. She held a short, thick candle cupped in her hands. Her somber face was focused intently on the pastor, but she wasn't crying—Roark hadn't see her cry yet, though he was sure she had right after he'd broken the news and she'd disappeared into her bedroom with Harro.
There were people crying, most of them quietly, and Roark wanted to be anywhere but here. He didn't need the reminder that Kiran was dead. He knew it, there was no changing it, and he didn't want to dwell on it, because if he did so, he'd probably do something violent.
Except he couldn't stop thinking about it. Kiran was gone. He'd never see Kiran again, never get another letter describing in far too much detail how the crops were doing. He'd never get another niece or nephew, or get Kiran to visit him in the city, so they could go out and behave like they were a decade younger and rasher than they actually were.
He was trying his best to be there for Amara, but she was distant and he wasn't much better himself. What he really needed to do was work out some of his frustration. Unfortunately, the local branch of the army consisted of three men—one too old to lift a sword, one too young and inexperienced to wield his sword properly, and the last man, purportedly imported from the capital and the best among them, had been the man taken before Kiran, after he'd started making noises about doing a proper assault on the fortress or going for help.
Shifting impatiently, Roark frowned around the gathering. A few of the faces looked familiar, but he couldn't place names to anyone except Lehan and Ejoc, and neither of them inspired much sympathy from him.
Roark wondered if anyone would throw a ruckus if he left. He should never have agreed to join Amara for this—the pastor's memorial eulogy was emotionless and impersonal, half the grievers appeared bored and inattentive, and even the fire burning at the center of the gathering seemed lifeless and dull.
The pastor finally wound down, but then another of the villagers—possibly the mayor—stepped up to take his place. "A great tragedy has befallen us all," the man began, but Roark couldn't take anymore.
Touching Amara's arm to draw her attention, Roark leaned close and muttered, "I'm going to wait over there." He nodded his head in the direction they'd come from.
Amara just nodded, looking completely miserable and lost. Roark felt a little guilty about leaving her, but she wanted to be here and he wasn't sure how many more speeches he could take before he did something disruptive.
Turning away from the fire and the mayor, Roark made his way slowly through the crowd of mourners. He stopped only once the mayor's voice faded enough that he could easily tune it out. Leaning against a nearby maple tree, he fixed a scowl onto his face, determined to scare off anyone who tried to approach him. He couldn't deal with attempts to comfort him or solicit comfort. He really wished he'd been smart enough to volunteer to watch over Harro, like Ejoc's sister, or enough of a coward to disappear without a trace, like Cos.
Pressing back against the tree, Roark surveyed the villagers. There were many people here, but that didn't reconcile Roark to them at all. He wasn't going to pretend and play nice with people who had let their love
d ones be taken away and murdered without so much as a word of protest. Not even if it would help Amara move on. And he'd help with her farm, but he'd be damned if he helped anyone else. He also wasn't going to join the soldiers stationed here and he wasn't going to socialize with any of the villagers any more than was necessary to keep the farm running well.
The mayor finally finished his speech, but thankfully he seemed to be the last man to give one. The gathered villagers began to disperse, heading home or lingering to converse with the pastor or their neighbors.
Amara didn't linger, to Roark's relief, just doused her candle and headed towards him. Roark straightened as she neared, letting his scowl slide off his face. "Home?" he asked, hoping she'd say yes and make his goal of not speaking to the villagers easier.
Amara hesitated, but then she nodded. "I need to check on Harro," she said, tucking the half-melted candle into the small bag she carried. Roark nodded, waiting for Amara to precede him before following her back towards the farm.
The trip home was quiet, and though Roark half-wanted to break the silence, he couldn't come up with a topic safe enough to broach. Everything led back to Kiran or the wizard, and he didn't want to make Amara's grief any worse by dragging up either.
It was mid-afternoon by the time they reached the farm again. The ceremony had lasted most of the morning and lingered into the afternoon. It also wasn't at all a fitting memorial, in Roark's opinion. But then, he planned to give proper respect to Kiran as soon as he could get away from the farm without Amara noticing.
Amara led the way around to the back of the house, her steps quickening as she went. Probably anxious to see Harro, Roark decided, lagging behind until he heard it too. Someone was singing, and singing quite well. Roark frowned, confused because it was obviously a man singing, his voice low and melodic as he sang a slow lullaby.
Roark moved more quickly, because they'd only left Harro with Ejoc's sister, and she most certainly wasn't male. The voice abruptly stopped as Amara rounded the side of the house ahead of him, and Roark hurried his steps to catch up, even as Harro started to scream in protest.
When Roark turned the corner, Amara had made it over to the side of Harro's bassinet. It had been dragged outside, into the sunlight. Amara cooed down at Harro as his cries began to subside. Ejoc's sister was nowhere in sight, and Roark made a mental note to not let her watch after Harro again.
Cos had apparently been the singer, since he was the only other person present. He looked wary and shy as he stepped away from the bassinet, leaving Amara to fuss with Harro's coverings.
"Your voice is lovely," Amara complimented, giving Cos a rare smile. Harro gurgled in agreement, or just happiness that his mother was back. Roark relaxed a little—Cos was, if not trustworthy, then no real threat. "You should sing more often."
Roark raised his eyebrows at Cos in sympathy as he made his way around the bassinet towards the kitchen door. Cos's pale cheeks flushed a bit and he shrugged, looking away from them.
Roark rolled his eyes, wondering briefly if Cos would ever grow a backbone as he pushed into the house. The woman was inside, her hair pulled back and a sheen of sweat on her face as she stirred something on the stove. The entire kitchen smelled wonderful, but she still should've been outside, watching Harro. Or, better yet, watching Harro inside while she cooked.
Glowering at her, Roark ignored her greeting as he dropped Amara's bag on the table. She wilted a little, but before Roark could begin to yell at her even a bit, Amara was pulling the bassinet back inside. Cos was nowhere to be seen, so he'd probably crawled back to whatever hole he'd hidden in to avoid the memorial service.
"However did you convince Cos to sing for you, Gaima?" Amara asked, sounding delighted. Probably thrilled that Cos spoke more than one- or two-word answers.
"I asked," Gaima said, giving the pot on the stove a last stir before turning around. She whipped her hands on the apron strapped over her shapeless dress, nodding at Harro. "He kicked up a fuss once he realized you were gone. Nothing I tried worked to get him calmed down and then Cos wandered past."
Roark snorted, tugging the bassinet from Amara, who'd stilled in the doorway with it. Harro gurgled at him, showing off the single front tooth he'd grown so far. Roark made a silly face at him and waved his fingers in front of Harro's face, much to the baby's delight.
"...but he still wouldn't come inside," Gaima was saying as Roark tucked Harro's bassinet back into the safe corner by the door to the hallway.
"You should just leave him alone," Roark grumbled, wondering why women always thought they knew best and that they had license to meddle to their heart's content.
"He needs a bit of pushing to get him out of his shell," Amara said, smiling conspiratorially at Gaima. Roark rolled his eyes but let it be, heading outside. He could look in on the animals and get away from Amara's plotting.
At least plotting distracted her somewhat, he thought grumpily, grumbling under his breath about women and meddling and how glad he was that he'd never marry.
He fed the pigs and the chickens before heading into the stable. Everything was neat and tidy, the horses' stalls mucked out and fresh hay laid down. Probably Cos did it, since he lived out here. Both the plow horses were dozing, clean buckets of water set in the corners of their stalls.
Roark's mare was settled equally well, but she was awake and apparently enjoying the brushing Cos was giving her. Cos was humming softly, and it really was a marvel how different he looked relaxed and calm.
Roark just watched him for a moment, blankly wondering what had happened to him that he had become so terrified of people. Then Cos turned slightly to get the horse's flank better and caught sight of him. The brush clattered to the floor and Cos tensed right up, his normal wary, frightened expression falling into place.
Roark ignored it, picking up a second brush from the shelf outside the stall, and let himself inside. Cos stared at him wordlessly until Roark leaned down and picked up the dropped brush. He pushed it into Cos's hand before moving to the far side of his horse. She whickered in greeting and Roark rubbed her nose affectionately before getting down to business.
Cos returned to brushing at some point, presumably after he ascertained that Roark wasn't going to bite his head off or kill him for touching his horse. He didn't resume humming though, which was a pity even if Roark wasn't about to admit he liked Cos's voice. Let the women fawn over him—Roark would focus on the important things.
*~*~*
Roark was getting close to losing his temper in a violent way. It had only been three weeks since he'd arrived—three miserable, awful weeks that had stretched out into what seemed like months—but he wasn't settling, he wasn't calming down, and he still wanted to take out his frustrations on someone.
Unfortunately, the farm was short on people to beat up. Amara and Gaima were out. Ejoc and his cousins were too damn important to keeping the farm going, and beating on Cos would be like beating on the village idiot.
Cos was one of Roark's major irritations. He didn't understand the man. Cos still wouldn't set foot in the house, but he worked himself into exhaustion every day for Amara. He couldn't do half the work Roark and the hands did, but he tried to the point where Roark had to make him stop before he hurt himself. So Roark made Cos eat and kept an eye on him when they were working in the fields to make sure Cos wasn't over-exerting himself.
Still, between managing Cos, trying to keep Amara happy—well, as happy as a woman who'd just lost her husband could be—dealing with Ejoc's well-meaning but misplaced earnestness, and his own grief, Roark seriously wanted to do more than duel his own shadow in the backyard after dinner. He wanted a real fight.
At least Cos seemed to be doing better, Roark thought darkly, not bothering to glance over towards the far end of the field where he'd planted Cos and ordered him to drink. The plants seemed to be thriving as well; the wheat field they were working in today was knee-high already. The rest of the farm was doing equally well; all the plants were gro
wing fast and healthy, with little intervention.
Pushing his hair out of his face, Roark grimaced as he surveyed the many rows of plants that still needed tending. The fields were flourishing, but unfortunately so were the weeds.
Roark finished the rows he was working and then headed back down the field along the next rows over. Cos was singing quietly as Roark approached, digging his fingers into the dirt in front of him absently. Roark paused, reluctantly smiling as he recognized the tune as one Negan had taught him. It was bawdy and lascivious, but Cos sang it sweetly enough it sounded like a lullaby.
Roark paused a moment, leaning on his hoe and listening; Cos's voice was soothing, even if he drove Roark to distraction most of the time. He'd gotten less pale in the past few weeks, Roark noted. His hair had brightened, too, and Roark scowled, getting back to work because he had too little to do if he was focusing on Cos's looks again.
Again, because it seemed that every other day he noticed something else about Cos—like the way his hair shone in the sunlight or the faint, almost nonexistent way he smiled when Roark started grumbling complaints under his breath about this or that, or the way his pretty honey-gold eyes melted when he sang soft lullabies for Harro.
It was obnoxious and frustrating and completely stupid because he didn't even like Cos, not really, yet he kept noticing him.
Probably it was just being trapped on the farm in a village where Roark refused to talk to people—Cos was the only one who couldn't have prevented what had happened to Kiran. Perhaps that was why Roark kept noticing him—he was Roark's only real option.
Roark worked on steadily, ignoring the singing and then continuing to ignore Cos when he slunk away from his resting spot to begin working again.
The farm work was distracting at least, Roark thought grimly a few hours later as the dinner bell distracted him, its ringing echoing out over the fields. It was almost as good as losing himself in combat practice, though that tended to make him a hell of a lot happier and give him a greater feeling of satisfaction. It was easier to see the effects of his work when he was beating someone up, after all.