“Oh, what’s that? You can’t. What a shame.” Jesstin pinched his shoulders, twisting, but he wouldn’t get a decent stretch until he was off the bench.
“I can see your dreams, you know.”
Jesstin adjusted his aching hands, lifting them from the reins one at a time. His fingers were bone white from the cold, but as soon as he flexed them, they filled with blood again. “You also like to watch me polish my sword late at night. Your lack of respect for privacy isn’t a secret.”
“It’s a nice sword, even if it is attached to a miscreant,” Gennady said with a cool shrug. “I watch because I love how much it frustrates you. The best is when you give up with a little groan and flop over onto your side like a child nursing a tantrum.”
Jesstin narrowed his eyes and focused on the road. The slow elevation change had left his head full of light, building pressure, which was getting worse. The ruts in the path were shallower, some filled with compressed rock, jerky and stomach-turning, which didn’t help.
It was so long until Gennady spoke again, he’d forgotten about him. “Jesstin.”
Jesstin turned his rein-wrapped hands out to say you’re still here?
“You can’t let her die.”
“Your sister?”
“Either break the bond or fulfill it, but do not let Ellie die. You owe?—”
“You? Not a bloody thing.” He felt the words as a scream, but anytime he conversed with Gennady, they were more of a whisper. If he could hear the conversation inside the carriage, they could hear him.
“My mother. You owe my mother, who was practically yours for most of your childhood, because you didn’t have one. She raised you, loved you, trusted you, and still, now, turns to you when she’s desperate. If you think I want your hands or your sword anywhere near my sister—the disgust I feel... but she’s been through more in ten years than most people will endure in a lifetime, and she has to survive this. I need your promise.”
“Need? From me? You’ve got some fucking balls for a dead man.” Jesstin tightened as the path steepened again, the force of the incline pinning him to the back of the bench. They were nearing a tense switchback ahead. “And about your sister?—”
Gennady vanished.
Taven’s taunting voice drifted up to the bench. “Have you ever had hair, eunuch?”
Time to stop. Stop now. Stop!
Jesstin couldn’t say where the warning had come from, but he heeded it. He was done anyway. The stable hand could take over for a few hours.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled the carriage to a rough halt. He turned in his seat and craned down toward the small open window. He caught Elloven’s gaze briefly, then let it travel to the man who was so insecure, he’d tried to have Jesstin executed. “His name is Sesto, stable hand.”
Sesto sniggered.
“You call him eunuch,” Taven retorted. He looked at Elloven for agreement, but she was focused on the trees outside.
“His name is Sesto to you.” Jesstin clarified himself with a brief, disdainful smile. He didn’t miss Elloven’s hidden one afterward either. “And I’m done driving. Where the fuck are we?”
Taven rolled the lever on his window. It squeaked open, and he leaned his head out. “Ah... well...” He sat back, pale and nervous. “We’re at the point in our journey where we wait for them to come to us.” He cleared his throat and swallowed. “And pray they don’t kill us before authorizing passage.”
Elloven tried to make out what Taven and the two men in the road were saying, but they were too far away.
The sentries wore suits of burnt-red leather that looked nothing like anything she’d seen in Riverchapel or Whitechurch. The sleeve of one blinded her when he raised his arm, revealing a series of glittering gold and silver bands along his bicep, spun from something other than traditional thread. The midday sun held the gleam. They had axes crossed and strapped to their backs, something she hadn’t seen before, though Fabrien had once bragged to his friends about besting an axe-wielding madman, which even they didn’t believe. He’d been an effusive bully but a cowardly warrior.
“Seven stripes,” Sesto said quietly. “How curious.” Taven had demanded Sesto and Jesstin remain out of sight until he finished speaking with the guards. Neither had argued, but Jesstin’s hand hadn’t left the clip on his sword belt.
He’d been aching to greet death from the moment his sentence had come down. His recklessness was apt to become self-fulfilling, and she couldn’t guess what awaited them in Rivenholde.
“The stripes seem to indicate some sort of hierarchy. See, the left one has all silver on his, save a single gold one, but the one beside him, who has that air of authority?” Sesto pointed. “He has four gold stripes, the rest silver.”
“Wow, that explained nothing,” Jesstin said. “Can either of you read lips?”
Elloven and Sesto shook their heads.
“Brilliant.” Jesstin laid his sword across his lap, spread his arms along the back of the bench, and inclined with a long sigh.
