He had lots of practice with his father saying cutting things while he was drunk. He wasn’t sure why this was bothering him so much. Scattered memories drifted through his mind. Princess Terila dismissing him after hearing his name, without even being willing to get to know him. Larexa saying that only someone Extraordinary would do for her, and their father agreeing that of course she deserved the very best. Bavil laughing with their father over the squandered courtship and Marwila and Gornexi “overreaction” to Bavil’s “misstep.” Torex, who wouldn’t have kissed Pel if he weren’t drunk.
Once his horse was saddled—he let someone who wasn’t having an emotional crisis do it—he mounted quickly and set off at a trot. Upon reaching the road, he nudged Extraordinary into a gallop.
His vision blurred. All Pel could think was that it would be safe if only he could get far enough away that no one could find him.
Maybe you couldn’t run away from yourself, but you could definitely run away from High Princes and all the absurd feelings they had no right to make you feel.
Chapter Thirteen
Tor
With an effort, Tor blinked open gummy eyes, squinting into the room and wincing at his head. He’d somehow forgotten all the ways that drinking wasn’t a good idea.
Maybe he should have forced himself to go off to training and then dinner with Pelun’s family, but the thought of being around so many people had made his stomach churn and his palms sweat.
He groaned as he remembered all his disastrous encounters with Pelun. Tor hadnevertold anyone what had happened by the mountain. From the moment when he’d woken up in the camp and found the letter on his little camp desk that ordered himnotto send the guards, through the agonizing wait until the scouts had come back with nothing to report, it had all been a nightmare scenario.
He’d reported back to Varex, of course, and been raked over the coals by him, by Fernila, by Yomil. He swallowed thickly, his throat parched and mouth vile.
Pelunhadn’t been impressed—obviously, since it was despicable—but he’d been unexpectedly kind. He’d said Tor had made a mistake. He’d even questioned where the guards had died, somethingno onehad ever asked before.
Their scouts hadn’t found any bodies, but even that wasn’t definitive proof, because the exiles could have removed them. He could already hear his brother scoffing in his mind, but if he’d been part of a raiding party that had just been routed, wouldhehave left obvious bodies that might result in a harsh response? Of course he wouldn’t.
He thought he could dismiss out of hand Pelun’s idea that they’d somehow died naturally, but just the fact that Pelun had thought of it… No one had ever proposed anything like that. Varex would doubtless have called it making excuses, and he wasn’t totally wrong, but… he wasn’t totally right, either.
Itwasunequivocally true that if they’d not been sent into the mountains, the guards wouldn’t have died, so Tor remained responsible regardless, but Pelun had a point. There was a balance of probability, certainly, that the exiles were involved, but… it really could have been on the Filon side of the mountain.
Tor groaned. No matter how kind Pelun had been, it had still been a disaster. Tor had spent weeks visiting farms and villages with Pelun, had been trying to show the best side of himself. How had it seemed like a good idea to tell him one of the most terrible, most irresponsible things Tor had ever done?
He would truly swear the letter had ordered him to do it—but it didn’t matter, because itwasn’twhat the letter had said. Varex had confirmed what he’d written, and the letter had been in Tor’s tent, stating in extremely clear black ink that under no circumstances was he to send anyone after the exiles.
And he’d been drunk, of course, demonstrating how unfit he was for command, and everything he’d said was taken as an excuse. No one had suggested any ways in which this might not be entirely his fault.
Until Pelun.
Varex had been infuriated and disappointed and horrified, and he’d gone on at length about how reckless and irresponsible and dangerous Tor had become.
It had made Tor feel about two inches tall. He could acknowledge now that it hadn’t helped that he’d kept stubbornly insisting that he knew what he’d seen and that he’d done what his king had ordered. Everyone had been attacking, and Tor had felt like he had to defend himself in the small ways that he could. Yes, he’d been drinking, but it was a celebration. He was hardly the first commanding officer to do that.
He’d done his duty and read the missive when the special messenger arrived—he’d just read it wrong, and there was no getting around that.
They’d been scathing, and Tor’s attempt to protect himself had just sounded like splitting hairs or not taking the situation seriously.
Varex had buried the fact that Tor had contravened his order, but everyone had read between the lines with the demotion. He wasn’t fit for command, and everyone knew it.
Tor wondered what would have happened if Pelun had been at that dressing down. Or Adexa. If there’d beensomeonewho was just a little more supportive, could it have been different? Might Tor have come across less as though he wasn’t taking responsibility for his actions? Hehadkilled those twelve guards. But he hadn’t lined them up and run them through himself, and it had begun to feel like that was what he’d been accused of.
Honestly, it had felt as though his fate had been decided before he even opened his mouth. And with no one listening to him, what was the point? Why try to live an exemplary life and do what you were told when it didn’t matter anyway?
But Pelun was probably right about the drinking. Tor had genuinely felt like he had nothing better to do, though he was so grateful for his own troop, the Prince’s guard which his brother had let him keep—probably more because Tor needed protection than because Varex thought he could manage them. They’d stuck with him no matter what, and it had bothered him on a level he’d never acknowledged that it hadn’t felt like his brother had done the same.
After all, it wasn’t like Pelun or Rinil or the rest of Tor’s troopapprovedof what had happened. But they’d somehow managed to condemn the action and still support Tor.
Instead, it had got to the point where his brother had now decided his life needed yet another correction and ordered him to bond. (Or, thankfully, not quite. But Tor knew that’s what he’dmeant.)
So here Tor was, executing his own plan to counteract his brother’s officiousness, only it wasn’t going at all how Tor had imagined. Pelun had finally started warming up to him… and Tor had told him about one of the most terrible things he’d ever done. And yet… Pelun had been upset but understanding. He’d offered Tor hope and possibilities while still deploring the harm that had been done.
And he’d acknowledged Tor’s drinking and just told Tor that he liked him better without it. Not that he was a disappointment. Not that he was letting people down. Not that he should be doing more with his life. He hadn’t asked or ordered him to stop. He’d just shared how he was feeling and then left Tor to make his own decision.
