(Chapter 12: The Chief, cont)

  “No!” Leo yelled, scrambling to his feet.

  Asali and Chadwick reached him first, pulling him back from the ledge, and then Ean finally caught up, skidding to a stop at the edge of the cliff. The water was turbulent below, white-capped and churning. Ean couldn’t see Roarke or the chief, not even the ripples from their fall. He tracked the current south, trying to spot them in the water. He saw nothing, but that didn’t stop Leo from sprinting away, chasing the river downstream. Chadwick and Asali followed at his heels.

  Ean moved slower because, well, he’d seen the knife hit Roarke’s chest. It’d been a brutal blow. It might have been survivable if they’d been in a city with Healers, but not out here, in the wilderness, no matter how many foul potions Flora managed to brew. And it certainly wasn’t survivable paired with a fall off a cliff into a raging river.

  Ean stopped his chase. And then he swore, loudly and extensively, because he’d been napping in the tent while the Wildmen chief had gotten free. He should have checked his bindings. He should have killed him that morning. He should have—

  He sat down on the grass and watched the others, still running, still shouting. He wondered how far Leo would run on his search for Roarke. How far would Chadwick and Asali let him go? How long would it take for him to realize that Roarke was dead?

  Ean swore again and dropped his head into his hands. He’d promised Leo he’d protect the party. He’d certainly fucked that up rather quickly. But as much guilt he felt for disappointing Leo, he felt none for Roarke’s death. The general had seen the threat to Flora—her back turned to the chief as she tried to run, and beyond that, the threat to Leo, who was intent on taking her place. Roarke had made his decision. It was the same decision Ean would have made if their positions had been reversed. Ean just would have done a better job defending himself.

  He muttered one last curse, then followed it with a quick benediction for Roarke’s soul. He pushed himself to his feet and headed back to camp. Flora was on the ground, still at the edge of the cliff, weeping like she already knew the truth. Ean knelt beside her, not sure what to say. She threw herself at him, her arms wrapping around his neck. She sobbed out disjointed words, something about how Roarke couldn’t be dead, he couldn’t, and she was sorry, so sorry. She cried for so long that Ean began to get concerned for her health. He carried her back to the fire, stoked up the flames, and retrieved her medical bag. She calmed enough to help him clean and tend to the cut on her neck. It was deep, but it had missed all the important veins and tendons. When it was wrapped, she curled up into a ball of silent misery.

  The others didn’t return until sunset, their faces grim with the truth: Roarke was dead, and his body had been lost to the river. Flora burst into fresh sobs and ran into the tent. Leo dropped beside the fire, looking stunned and hollow-eyed. Chadwick sat next to him and put an arm around his shoulders. Asali grabbed his hand. Leo collapsed at the touch. He covered his face with his free hand as he wept. He didn’t sob like Flora; his were silent tears. Ean looked away.

  Flora didn’t move from the tent, not even for dinner. Chadwick was the one to make the meal, though no one had much of an appetite. Ean decided that he’d wash the cookware, restless and wanting something productive to do, but Chadwick packed them up too quickly and headed to the river alone. Leo sat by the fire late into the night, and Asali kept vigil with him. Ean turned in, feeling awkward and useless, and even though he knew Roarke’s death wasn’t his fault, he fell asleep counting all the ways he might have prevented it.

  He slept fitfully and woke early. Chadwick was on watch, looking haggard and drawn in a way he’d never looked before, not even during their three-day race to the pass. Ean started the tea, and Chadwick took a tin without saying a word. Ean didn’t mind the silence. Leo and Asali were next to get up. Leo immediately started breakfast, even though the sun hadn’t fully risen. Asali looked like she wanted to take over for him, but after a moment of hesitation, she sat down beside Ean and simply watched. Flora was the last to emerge. Her face was white; her eyes were swollen.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice cracking. “I didn’t realize he had gotten free. I didn’t… I was standing, looking at the river, and all of a sudden—”

  “None of us saw him,” Chadwick said. “None of us knew until he had you.”

  “But I should have gotten away faster,” Flora protested. “I should have burned him, or pushed him backwards, or—”

  Asali stepped over to Flora and put both hands on her shoulders. “No one saw him get free. Any one of us could have been taken hostage. You were just the unlucky one closest to him. You have nothing to apologize for, do you understand?”

  Asali’s voice was strong and sure, and Ean nearly believed her himself. He watched Flora struggle with the information before nodding, accepting Asali’s words.

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  Asali nodded back at her. “Now, how about we go down to the river and have a bath? You’ll feel better.”

  Flora swallowed. “Okay.” Her voice was small, and Asali had to give her a nudge to get her moving. They gathered their bathing kits and started down the hill together.

  Ean turned back to the fire, relieved that Flora had believed Asali’s lie. In truth, the Wildmen chief must have studied the party while plotting his escape. He would have recognized that Flora was the weak link of the group. She was powerful, yes, but obviously untrained in matters of self-defense. Going after her had been a tactical choice on his part, but there was no reason for Flora to feel guilty for his good battle strategy.

  Chadwick stood suddenly. “I’m going hunting.” He turned on his heel and strode away.

  Ean watched him leave, startled at his abrupt departure, but Chadwick had been so attentive to everyone else last night, that maybe he needed some time to himself.

  Ean glanced over at Leo, the only one left at camp. He’d put a pan over the fire, but he was making no other move to cook. He stared into the flames, completely still, not even blinking. Ean wondered if he should put a hand on his shoulder, like Chadwick had done last night, but that seemed too presumptuous.

  “I’m sorry,” Ean said instead. Leo looked up at him, confused. Ean shrugged. “I swore no harm would come to the party.”

  Leo shook his head. “You couldn’t have done anything.”

  “He’s still dead,” Ean said, because bodyguards had been executed for less. He knew Leo wasn’t the type though. He knew that deep down with an assurance that he’d rarely felt with anyone else. But he still felt the need to say it.

  Leo sighed. “It’s not on you.” He pulled the pan out of the fire and dropped it on the ground. He sat on one of the logs, far enough to one side that it was an invitation to join him. Ean did so, hesitantly. Leo was silent for a moment, then spoke, “Roarke was one of my father’s best friends. He was a constant presence at the palace. He was the one who taught me sword fighting.”

  “He did a good job of it.”

  “I was terrible at first,” Leo admitted. “And my father was frustrated. But Roarke was never impatient. He never made me feel stupid or clumsy. He took the time to understand how I learned and then adjusted his instruction to suit, even though it was different from how he taught his soldiers. I always appreciated that about him.”

  “Having a bad teacher can ruin a subject,” Ean agreed. “It’s good that you had him.”

  Leo licked his lips. “I’m devastated that he’s dead, I well-and-truly mourn him, but right now, the thing that terrifies me the most, is the thought of telling my father. I know that sounds horrible, but I just cost him his best friend. He’s going to hate me for it.”

  Ean shook his head. “Your father sent him on this quest. Both of them knew the risk going into it.”

  “That doesn’t make it any better. I’ve always been…,” Leo trailed off, like he was afraid of saying anything more.

  Ean was surprised he’d told him this much. He’d thought this was something Leo would confide to Asali or Chadwick, his actual friends, not the assassin who’d tried to kill him. But maybe Ean’s past crimes made it easier for Leo to confess his own failings.

  Ean nudged his shoulder. “I tried to kill you not too long ago. I’m pretty sure that whatever you’re going to say can’t be worse than that.”

  Leo let out a breath of surprised laughter but sobered quickly. “I’ve always been afraid of disappointing my father. I try so hard to make him proud, but I feel like I’m always coming up short. Now Roarke’s death is another mark against me.”

  Ean didn’t know what to say to that. He wanted to say something reassuring, something kind, something that would alleviate Leo’s guilt, but the words eluded him. He was out of his depth.

  “What about you?” Leo asked suddenly. “What was your father like?”

  The change of subject caught Ean off-guard. “I’m not sure,” he said honestly. “I never knew him. Never even knew his name, so that means I’m likely a bastard.”

  “Your mother didn’t say anything?”

  “She said that he was kind and handsome, but that they weren’t a feasible match.”

  “Why not?”

  “She was a bard-singer,” Ean explained. “And I think he might have come from a wealthy family or held a minor title. That sort of match wouldn’t have been accepted.”

  Leo nodded in understanding. Bards didn’t make respectable wives or husbands. They might be sought after for dalliances and affairs, and sometimes paid to be a kept companion, but they weren’t considered sophisticated company. Many of them relied on revealing costumes and heavy cosmetics to gather a crowd, or to distract the audience from a mediocre singing voice.

  Ean’s mother never had to rely on her looks, even though she’d been a beautiful woman. Her voice alone had drawn crowds larger than taverns could hold. It was strong, full, and round, and she could change her tone faster than a bird could beat its wings, from smoky-husk to silky-smooth, honey-sweet to wine-rich. She’d been the rare balance of raw talent and good training, and she’d been well-respected, both in the bard-circles and outside of them.

  “Do you sing?” Leo asked.

  “No,” Ean lied. He’d quickly learned that answering in the affirmative meant he’d be pestered with requests for songs.

  “Do you think you’ll ever find him? Your father?”

  “I’ve never really thought about it,” Ean said. “Felix, my teacher, was always like a father to me.”

  Leo’s face twisted. “But he—”

  Ean was pretty sure the rest of his sentence was going to be “killed your mother”, but he stopped himself. He stared at the fire for a moment, then gave a heavy sigh. “I wish I had double-checked the ropes.”

  “Yeah,” said Ean. “Me too.”

  Leo sighed again and said nothing more.

  Ean retrieved the pan and began making breakfast.