“Because he needs him.” Sesto ground out the words, holding as much pleasantness in his eyes as his anger allowed.
Daire nodded.
“And you? What would you say?”
Daire shook his head and shrugged.
“It’s all right, Daire. I’m not Ryquin. I would never punish you for speaking true, and I am excellent at holding my tongue.”
“It’s not Ryquin who worries me... It’s the other one. Acheron. He’s...”
“He’s what?” Sesto asked.
Daire nursed his mug to his mouth with a scattered look at the table. “Only rumor, you know...”
“Please. You can tell me.”
He looked around and leaned in. “I’ve heard he plans to... have Jesstin killed.”
Sesto reared up. “What? Why?” Of course there were a dozen reasons that any of the powerful in Rivenholde might want Jesstin, an outsider bonded to one of their own, dead, but if he couldn’t home in on a motive, he had nothing.
“He thinks the bond has taken too deep of a root, that even if they remove it, it won’t be enough. It was Jesstin’s fault she fell from the sky, people are saying, and...” Daire gripped his mug tighter. “It’s only something I’ve heard.”
That was all Sesto was getting. Daire needed to feel valued, not pressured. “What would you do, Daire, were you me? How would you proceed if your friend was in a predicament like this?”
“Ryquin would implore you to convince Jesstin to stay.”
It wasn’t an answer, and Daire’s strained expression indicated he knew it wasn’t.
“But?”
“I don’t have any friends, Sesto.”
“Yes, Daire, you do.” He stretched his arm out, surprising even himself when his fingers wrapped around the other man’s wrist. Daire looked up with a start, but his eyes... Ahh, his eyes were so full of hunger, so desperate for genuine connection that Sesto nearly crawled across the table and hugged him.
“Are we? Friends?” Daire’s voice was as soft as a light breeze.
Sesto nodded, his throat stuffed. “We are.”
Daire’s gaze fixed to Sesto’s hand. “As a friend, I would tell you to get him as far from this place as you can and never, ever return.”
Sesto sighed through his nose. His instincts were sacrosanct, but the confirmation was the final piece. “Then, as your friend, I need your help now.” He almost left out the next part, but it was Daire’s choice whether it was an offer worth accepting. Sesto would never challenge his agency the way his own world had. “And in return, I think I can help you too.”
Oh, she could hear Jesstin now. You stupid bitch. You always run right back to him, don’t you?
It wasn’t what Elloven was doing at all, but he’d never see it that way. He was so fatigued of her, he’d hardly made it into the loft before he was snoring.
His criticism was an unwelcome guest even when he wasn’t there. You don’t know where the fuck you’re going, do you? They had been in Rivenholde for—well, how long had it been? Cirque Calliope was purportedly only one night, but it had been the longest night she’d ever endured. In that time, she hadn’t seen where Taven and Sesto were staying, but it couldn’t have been far, and she had nowhere else to go. She couldn’t stay in that smothering space with Jesstin a moment longer.
Ghoulish lumens lit the row of crofts, all the way down to the village. She hadn’t had a chance to consider the fundamental structure of the place, the ins and outs of how people lived, worked, or played. The four of them had been fed, rested, and thrown into a tornado of activities designed to distract. But from what?
She found Taven sitting in a rocking chair on a porch a hundred yards downhill. He perked with surprise to see her, but she lifted a hand.
“Goodness, Ellie. I haven’t seen you since I watched you...” His hair was mussed, and he had a strong-scented drink in hand, some sort of spirit. He wasn’t drunk, but from the flush in his cheeks, he was on the way. “I tried to come to your croft, but one of those esguards stopped me. I don’t even know where he came from, he just appeared from... Wait, are you all right?”
Elloven nodded, though she was not all right, not at all. But he was asking about her fall, and that pain had nearly subsided.
“Come in, I’ll heal you.”
