Considering she’d only recently survived a knife attack from said friend, it was hard for Disaris to recall any such childhood connection. Her memory of interactions with Ceybold were far less nostalgic than Bron’s. Ceybold had first bullied her, then tolerated her presence for Bron’s sake. Then he’d used her for nefarious purposes and as a weapon against Bron. Bron might have been a true friend to Ceybold at one time, but she never believed that friendship to be equally returned. Nor had it lasted. As for her and Ceybold, he was never her friend, only her husband.
There was no purpose in contradicting Bron’s recollections about Ceybold. What once existed between the two men had long been replaced by enmity. Whatever good memory remained wasn’t hers to besmirch.
“That was a long time ago,” she said. “A good memory for you to hold when others are less so.” She slid her fingers gently through his hair, careful not to pull any tangles. I’ve always felt safe with you.”
He allowed her affectionate caress, his gaze drifting down to her mouth. Disaris’s heart fluttered like a trapped bird in a cage. She held her breath, waiting, hoping.
“Why did you marry him, Disa?”
The fluttering heartbeat of anticipation changed to one of sorrow. Disaris closed her eyes at the quiet pain and confusion in Bron’s voice.
He’d asked her the same question before, when they’d stood together under the shade of an oak tree in the garden of a Daggermen supporter. Bron had come straight from a nearby skirmish between Daesin and Kefian forces, still armored, bloodied, and staggering from exhaustion. He’d stared at her, wide-eyed and baffled at news he’d just learned. “Why, Disa? Why did you marry him?”
Now, as then, she never got the chance to answer him. The whinny of a nearby horse and the shout of a soldier just outside the tent startled them apart. Disaris clambered off Bron and stood. He was slower to do the same. The shadow he cast over her as he rose loomed heavy.
“It’s close enough to dawn,” he said, expression shuttered. “I’ll fetch breakfast for both of us while you get ready. We’ll leave for the temple as soon as we’ve eaten.” He turned away without another word and swept out of the tent on silent feet.
Once he was gone, Disaris made use of the chamber pot in one corner of the tent as well as the bowl and pitcher of water on the table to wash her face and hands. A pair of chewsticks cut from the aromatic garberia tree lay next to the bowl. She left those for after breakfast was done.
He returned, carrying two bowls of hot porridge and a loaf of bread. He set one of the bowls next to where she sat on the floor near his pallet, rebraiding her hair. “Not a feast of kings,” he said. “We eat plain fare in the field.”
Her stomach answered him with a loud gurgle, and she happily abandoned the braiding in favor of scooping up the bowl and spoon. “It’s food,” she said, lifting the bowl to her nose to inhale its contents. The first bite was as divine this morning as it had been the night before when she’d been given supper.She closed her eyes, savoring the taste. When she opened them again, she discovered Bron watching her with a gleam of pity in his eyes.
She hated the look but didn’t admonish him for its presence. Instead, she spooned another heaping helping of porridge into her mouth and swallowed with gusto. “Golius keeps fine cooks in his ranks.”
Bron hadn’t touched his bowl yet. He tore the bread apart, passing her the larger piece. Coarse and dense, it was perfect for sopping. “When was the last time you ate before I found you?”
She accepted his offering with a quick thanks. “A few days, I guess.” That had been a regular occurrence as the last months of the siege bore down on them and the rations ran out. “I didn’t keep count.”
How different she must look to him now, haggard, scrawny, and weathered by the harsh plains sun. He had once called her beautiful. Those days were long past. She finished her last bite of porridge. It hung heavy in her throat for a moment, but she forced it down. Who knew when or where she’d get her next meal?
Bron didn’t say anything else, only wolfed down his food in a few bites and finished his share of the bread just as fast. He handed Disaris a waterskin. “Small ale to wash it all down,” he said. “We’ll pack water for the trip to the temple. Do you want more to eat before we go?”
Belly full and eager to reach the temple, she declined. “I’m ready to leave when you are.” If Ceybold was still alive, he was badly injured. With any luck, he’d succumbed to those injuries and died in the dark belly of Baelok fortress. Luck, however, had never been a friend to her. If he was still alive, then she was in a race with him to see who’d reach Luda first, and if she knew about the gate the temple, she had no doubt he did too.
They left the encampment just as the sun crested the horizon, traveling by horseback instead of wagon. Disaris’s mount was tethered to Bron’s in case she entertained any ideas of escaping. Golius might have agreed to this foray readily enough, but he didn’t trust her. Rightfully so. An escort of a half dozen Daesin soldiers rode with them as they cantered east toward the rising sun and the broken temple of a mostly forgotten god.
Disaris adjusted the satchel she carried, keeping it close. Bron had eyed it and her with a measuring regard as they readied to depart. “You can leave that here if you want. No one will dare to steal something from my quarters, and I can ward it as well.”
She’d clutched the satchel even tighter. “I want to keep it with me if it’s all the same to you.”
It was true that small, precious keepsakes, irreplaceable if lost, were in there, but so was the means to open the portal gate at the temple and slip through to the other side. The idea of doing such a thing made her faintly nauseated, but the Daggermen had used the gate to ferry messages between Baelok and the Hierarch’s sanctuary somewhere in Kefian territory. For reasons unknown, the messengers had stopped arriving two months prior to Baelok’s fall, but not before Disaris got her hands on the instructions for using the gate and copied them. She’d secreted them away within the folds of the ragged frock folded in her satchel. Not a keepsake, but a means of escape.
Bron didn’t argue. He simply ushered her out of the tent toward a group of men and horses waiting not far from his quarters. He stopped before reaching them. “Wait here for a moment,” he said. “This won’t take long.”
She did as he instructed, waiting impatiently while he spoke with another man among the group. Like Bron, he wore a matching insignia on the right sleeve of his outer tunic. She remembered him from her interrogation in Golius’s tent. He’dbeen one of the commanders standing behind the general. Almost as tall as Bron and of a similar physique, he was fine-featured with dark brown hair and equally dark eyes. He might have been handsome except for a certain coldness etched into his face and eyes. It lent a harshness to his appearance worthy of the most merciless justiciar. The way he glanced at her while he spoke to Bron only enhanced the look and sent shivers down her back.
He watched when Bron returned to her and when their party rode away. Bron nodded a farewell to him as they passed. The other man didn’t return the gesture, his focus unwavering on Disaris. She was relieved when they put the camp behind them.
Once they were well onto the lonelier stretch of plain, Bron ordered the horses brought to a walk from a canter to preserve their strength. He must have seen something in Disaris’s expression that warned him she was about to argue. “The god won’t hold it against you if don’t run your horse into the ground just to send up a prayer to him before noon.” One snowy eyebrow rose. “Unless there’s something else you need to do there more urgent than praying?”
“YES!”She wanted to yell.“I need to save my sister!”But she kept the words and her frustration behind her teeth. Bron had always been able to decipher her thoughts, her plans, and her emotions better than anyone else, and he didn’t need to always watch her eyelashes. Only once had he failed spectacularly at the endeavor, and she’d been soaked with sweat with the effort to fool him. That connection had been maddening at times, comforting at others. At the moment it was a detriment. She gave him what she hoped was a careless shrug. “No, nothing urgent,” she said., smiling when his eyes narrowed within the shadows of the hood he wore.
While their escort surrounded them in a semi-circle, they kept enough distance not to overhear the discussion betweenher and Bron. She’d sworn to herself she wouldn’t ask about the man with the dour face, but curiosity got the best of her, and it would serve to distract Bron. “Who’s the man you were speaking with earlier? I saw him in the general’s tent last night. Is he your superior?”
His huff of amusement made his mount’s ears swivel back. “It depends on who you ask.” He twitched the edge of his hood forward to ward off the brightening sunlight. “That was Cimejen jin Orune. Officially, we’re of equal rank. Both battle mages, both reporting directly to Golius. He is, however, in most others’ opinions, the unofficial second to the general. His right hand and most trusted and devoted commander.”
Disaris frowned. That was a worrisome set of revelations, especially in light of how Cimejen watched her as they left the camp. “Is he as good with his magic as you are?”
