The horses were tied close, untacked and grazing on the plants around the base of the trees.
Killian had taken the first opportunity to rest, laying his bedroll down on the soft dirt and quickly passing out while Hokda and Fyar perched on the tree roots around a fire brewing tea. He was loathe to give them time alone without him, time to discuss what they were hiding from him, but he hadn’t slept in nearly two days and the elixir he’d chugged could only do so much.
After a few hours, Hokda had woken Killian up with a booted foot nudging at his shoulder, and grunted, telling him to switch.
The afternoon hours were spent silently in that fashion. Fyarnapping against roots, his eyes closed and his face tilted back, just breathing in time with nature. At peace.
Killian was sent out to collect more branches as sky darkened. The fire for light over warmth.
Tucking his legs under him, Killian settled on the ground. They picked at the supply of bread and meats and cheese they had brought.
“Drink this,” said Hokda, handing Fyar a vial from his bag.
Fyar’s face spasmed. The smallest groan slipping out.
Killian snorted.
Hokda pursed his lips in annoyance. “You’re not well, yet. This will help.”
“I’m well enough to not be babied like this,” retorted Fyar. “This isn’t the first brush with death I’ve had in my life.”
“I did the same with you then, too.” Hokda all but shoved the vial into Fyar’s hand. “Bottoms up.”
“To be king is to be babied, no?” Killian smirked. “We are to bend to your every whim, Your Majesty.”
Fyar shot Killian a wry smile and downed the vial in one gulp. He grimaced. “That’s disgusting. You couldn’t have improved the flavor at least?”
“To what end?” Hokda asked. “It’s medicine. It’s not meant to taste good.”
“Your poor patients,” snickered Killian.
“Sadistic,” agreed Fyar fondly.
Hokda kept his face impassive and turned away, huffing and puffing, but Killian could see that his lips were turned up in a smile.
It was easy. Light and comfortable.
Killian could even admit he was having fun. It was the smallmoments that he’d missed in the commotion of it all. The laughs and the fun, shared amongst close friends and confidants.
Smile fading, Killian looked between Fyar and Hokda. The two he was meant to trust the most—and he did—though it seemed to not be reciprocated as of late.
A twig snapped in the distance.
Killian whirled around, his hands curled around the twin hilts of his swords, his ears pricked and alert. After a moment, he met Fyar’s eyes over the fire, and shook his head.
“It’s nothing,” Killian said quietly. “We should turn in for the night. I’ll take the first watch.”
There was something incredibly eerie about camping in the woods, the dim fire was the only source of light for miles in any direction. They were alone in their little bubble.
Killian’s mind wandered in the darkness.
From anafei to Lyra, Killian went over everything he knew as he sat, his swords in his lap, watching over Hokda and Fyar as they slept.
Poison was risky for an assassin. A fickle mistress. Never quite willing to let you have your way.
The only way to ever be sure that someone you want dead is dead, was to be there when their heart stops beating and their body goes cold.
Killian would know.
