The single, drab building sat adjacent to the fueling tank stand, its roof arched like a barrel and all gutters leading to a water reclamation tank. The filters and purifiers looked to be mostly up-to-date, which had prompted Soren to buy a travel bottle of water for Vanya after paying for the fuel. Soren could drink off the land and survive the impurities. Unfiltered water would sicken or kill pretty much anyone else, and they’d come too far for him to let Vanya die because he was thirsty.
Soren removed the nozzle from the velocycle’s gas tank and twisted the cap over it until it made a satisfyingclicknoise and locked in place. He shoved the pump back into its cradle before turning to face his charge.
Vanya looked better, but that wasn’t saying much. His trousers were stained and dirty, though he’d removed his outer robe with its stark embroidery and tied it over the travel compartment. The gold ranking medallion was tucked beneath one of Soren’s undershirts that Vanya now wore, the gray fabric stretched obscenely tight across the other man’s chest and shoulders. It clearly did not fit. Soren tried not to dwell on how that wasn’t necessarily a terrible thing.
Bruises had come up on Vanya’s dark skin as they rode, and he moved with a stiffness that not even Soren’s bruise balm could fix. His stride, when he walked, had a faint hitch to it as he tried to hide the limp from his wrenched ankle. A magician who could mend bone would be of far better help than Soren’s meager offerings, but they wouldn’t get that until they reached Bellingham.
They were less than a day’s ride from that city, but the sun was dropping lower in the sky, far past its zenith. If they continued, it would be another night ride, and Soren was tired enough to know that wouldn’t be a smart move. His eyes burned from exhaustion, the dry grittiness on every eyeblink a warning that he needed sleep.
He’d never thought twice about camping out in the open, but it had been a headache to do so ever since he’d picked up Vanya from the wreck. Vanya could sleep; Soren had to stand watch. The stimulants he’d taken to stay awake for the last few days were beginning to wear off. He needed to rest in a place that was marginally defensible, at least for Vanya’s safety.
Soren looked back at the way station building, knowing it had one or two guest rooms available for travelers to rent. He also knew Vanya was opposed to staying anywhere public. Soren didn’t see how a single clerk waspublic, not when they could hide away in a room, but arguing with Vanya only produced a headache.
It seemed Soren didn’t mind the pain.
“We should stay here for the night,” Soren said.
“Absolutely not. You said we were close to Bellingham,” Vanya said, frowning at him.
“Half a day isn’t exactly close. It’d be a night ride if we continue.”
“So we continue.”
Soren scoffed tiredly. “You’re not the one driving. I am, and it’s getting to the point my eyes are crossing.”
“Then I’ll drive.”
“Have you ever even driven yourself before? Don’t you have servants for that?”
He couldn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice. Vanya didn’t seem exceptionally pleased about his tone, judging by the icy look he shot at Soren.
“I was trained alongside Legion officers growing up when it came to my military education. That included learning how to drive,” Vanya bit out.
Soren flicked his fingers at the velocycle Vanya sat on. “That is not a steam tank.”
“Of course not. It lacks the weaponry that would be found on one of ours.”
The scorn in his voice made Soren scowl. “That’s my velocycle you’re disparaging.”
Vanya waved off his words. “I’d add a mini-Zip gun to it if I thought you’d let me. We could consider it payment for your actions.”
“I didn’t save your damn life because I wantedpayment.”
Something like surprise flickered across Vanya’s eyes before it disappeared. Soren couldn’t even be sure that was the emotion he’d seen. Vanya was ever the politician, with an expressionless mask for a face. It hadn’t cracked much, if at all, since they’d started north.
“I could see if they have a telegraph machine inside. You could contact your House in Bellingham,” Soren said, unbending enough to offer up a possible compromise. They were too remote to hope for access to a telephone, as those devices were generally accessible only by the ruling class, merchants, politicians, or the military.
Vanya’s mouth settled into a hard line. “No.”
“Do you even know how to use a telegraph machine?”
The look Vanya shot him was incendiary, shoulders stiffening. “Bellingham is under the governorship of the House of Kimathi. I wouldn’t trust their clerks to receive a private message meant for the empress.”
Soren never understood the power plays between the Houses and had no desire to. “Then why are you going there if you don’t trust them?”
“There’s a marriage contract in play.”
Soren knew enough about the politics between the Houses to understand the headache that was. “In that case, don’t you think it’s important the Houses know you’re alive?”
