“What will you do without me when you’re gone?” she asked and nudged Gandrett’s side.
Gandrett had to agree. Who would calm her when she was internally storming? Who would make her smile? Who would she confide in—if Surel and Kaleb were no longer available?
Chapter Four
The first light of dawn and a rumbling stomach had Nehelon sitting upright in his bed—a bed. How many days since he had slept in a bed? The softness of it was almost wrong in its feel after a long journey on horseback and sleeping under the stars.
There were no servants in Everrun, so he rolled out of the linens and folded them before he headed for the bathing room and got dressed. The night before, he had spent an hour in the bathtub, scrubbing off the dirt of his journey, and had ended up laying down in bed without dinner. A decision he now regretted.
His morning routine was simple: the same exercise every day to keep his body toned and breakfast after so he would function for the day. Today, the routine had to wait. He tied his leathers on the side, flung the Brenheran coat of arms into the basin to wash later, then picked up his sword from beside the pillow where he had stowed it the night before. On his way out, he glanced at the sky—the storm and rain had made way for a bright, orange sunrise—then snuck down the one flight of stairs and made his way to the back door, Unlike when exiting at the residential building’s front, this way no one would notice him slipping away.
The priory was just waking up when he made his way past the back of the citadel and through the lines of side buildings where Gandrett had locked him in a cell. The eastern gate lay just behind those, but he didn’t risk sneaking around them, instead hoisting himself up at a window to climb up the second floor with nothing but his fingers holding onto the small gaps between the stones. Years. It had been years since he had done that here in Everrun, but his hands seemed to remember as if it were yesterday.
It didn’t cost him much effort to reach the roof and the tiles, shabby as they were, held fast as he set one cautious foot after the other, ducking over the rooftops and toward the wall. The biting wind hit his face at almost the exact moment he reached his goal. Far enough from the eastern gate, Nehelon leaped over the gap between the last house and the wall and flung himself over so he hung from the top of the wall, just out of sight of the guard towers overseeing the ghost city at his feet. The drop to the ground let his blood heat. It was—as always—a combination of skill and luck that he didn’t break any bones and that he wasn’t discovered before he could make it to the safety of the withered buildings beyond the wall. A town once—a city with the priory adjacent in the west. He could almost hear the merchants in the ruins of the market he sought cover in, could almost smell the fruit and vegetables that had once been sold here. But even if it broke his heart to see this town—his town—in ruins, he didn’t let it slow him down.
On and on he moved, through the blacksmith quarter, toward the north-eastern end, the rising sun mercifully casting shadows over him as he made progress, keeping him hidden from the guards on the wall.
There, just before the last scattered ruins, he had left his two horses and his pack. He had made it to this shelter three nights ago and decided to stay in the ghost city of Everrun before he would seek out the Meister and find Gandrett. He wanted to take his time, learn about what had changed around the priory, how many people entered or left the wall these days—not many, he’d notice—before he came to claim what the Meister had promised: his best fighter to assist in the mission that lay ahead of him. A reliable fighter, bound to a code of silence just like him, and with no connection to the outside world. Someone uncorrupted.
The thought hurt as he became fully aware that bringing Gandrett back to Sives, bringing her into Lord Tyrem’s court would corrupt her in no time, and if he didn’t manage to secure her trust and her loyalty by then, she might as well become a liability. He shuddered.
Stomping hooves greeted him as he entered the centuries abandoned stables, and his black mare gave a grumpy huff as he came to her empty-handed.
“If it makes you feel any better, I haven’t eaten since I headed out yesterday, either.”
The horse gave him a disdainful look then gnawed on the mane of the slightly smaller bay gelding, who seemed marginally happier to see Nehelon and whinnied softly as if voicing a question.
“Yes,” he nodded at the horses, “I found her.”
The mare paused the social fur-gnawing to give him a warning look.
“And, yes, we can stay in proper accommodations for a couple of days.”
The mare blinked her depthless eyes before she shook her head, then her neck, followed by her whole body like a wet dog, making the gelding buck.
With quick fingers, Nehelon gathered his pack. Then, he rubbed the horses down with a fist-full of leftover hay before he threw on bridle and saddle and led them out the half- caved-in building. Thank Vala, what was left of the roof had provided enough shelter that neither horses nor belongings had gotten wet during the storm.
The sun had climbed the horizon in the east where far beyond the desert, the ocean seamed the continent when Nehelon hoisted himself into the saddle.
“Not far,” he announced and kicked the mare’s flank who, with the gelding in tow, fell into a steady trot.
Gandrett couldn’t remember when she had fallen asleep.
After what had felt like hours of tossing, Surel had tiptoed across the room and laid down beside her, putting one arm around Gandrett’s shoulders. It had always been like that. Since they had both been brought to the priory, they had watched out for each other. They had comforted each other. Even if emotions had no place in their daily training or during their chores, if it hadn’t been for Surel, Gandrett didn’t know if she would still be sane. She was the bubbly well where Gandrett was the fierce storm. And Kaleb—
Kaleb was the brother she had left behind in Alencourt when Lord Tyrem Brenheran’s men had come to tear her from her home. When she looked at Kaleb, she saw her brother’s gray eyes, his blond, curly hair, his freckles. Andrew probably didn’t even remember he had a sister. He had been too young, only four short years.
Beside her, Surel stirred then yawned and rolled to her side.
“You look like the dead.” She raised an eyebrow, her black eyes blinking against the morning sun.
Gandrett climbed out of bed with a frown. “I feel like the dead.” She didn’t stop at the small mirror in the corner next to the plain, wooden desk but scooped up two fresh sets of clothes from the chair by the door where Nahir dropped them every night.
Surel had made it to an upright position, her eyebrow still arched toward her hairline as she observed. “Do you want to talk about it today?”
She hadn’t last night. She hadn’t wanted to spill every thought, her anger, everything. And even though she had shared about the offer Nehelon had presented, her mind was still in too much turmoil to verbalize her thoughts. “Thanks for the offer.” She tossed Surel a set of clothes and forced a smile. “But the only thing that will help is Nahir’s special recipe.”
Surel bobbed her head. When they had arrived that spring ten years ago, Nahir had heard them weep through the night, and in the morning, she had been waiting at their door with a tray of cookies. Plain raisin and oatmeal cookies. And they had tasted as if Vala herself had made them.