After helping clean up, Leth sits by the fire again and watches as everyone settles for the night. Darren moves his bedroll to a tent, then climbs a little ways up the hill to get a better vantage for his watch shift. Bricks checks on the horses, then disappears into the same tent as Darren.
Tally disappears behind a wide-trunked tree, and after a subtle flux of magic, doesn’t emerge from the other side. Leth knows very little about Wild Edren, but disappearing into a tree seems like a plausible aspect of her jurisdiction. He’ll have to ask Tally about that later.
Marta giggles as Haldis half-pulls, half-carries her into their tent. The giggling continues after the tent flap closes, then ends abruptly. Leth looks away—and meets Evain’s eyes. Evain’s expression doesn’t change. He just holds Leth’s gaze a moment before disappearing into the third tent. The canvas illuminates faintly red.
A fact Leth has been skating around all night is manifestly clear: it’s far too cold to sleep outdoors, and there are only three tents. There’s no question of where he’s sleeping.
The thought of sharing an enclosed space with Evain makes Leth more nervous than throwing himself at a vaidkos. But he’s trained all his life to suppress unease and irrational fears; he gathers his bedroll and nerves, and slips into the tent.
Evain’s sitting on his own bedroll, rebraiding his long hair. He doesn’t look up from the steady movements of his long fingers. A coin-sized mote of light hovers at the apex of the tent, illuminating everything in soft, intimate red.
Silence hangs between them, taut as a bowstring.
Or maybe that’s just Leth, his shoulders tensing as he lays out his bedroll. Unbuttons his coat and unlaces his boots. Maybe Evain doesn’t notice how small the tent is, low enough that Leth almost has to duck. It’s wide enough for three people, but not wide enough for Leth to forget the steady sound of Evain’s breath.
Evain finally breaks the silence when Leth is halfway into his bedroll.
“I was wondering something.” Evain’s voice is low, his eyes dark and unreadable. They’re only two feet apart. If Leth leaned in, and Evain leaned in, they could touch.
Leth wrestles down his wayward thoughts. “What were you wondering?”
“Why didn’t you join the army?” Evain snaps his fingers, and the floating light dims. “I thought I knew you pretty well, but I realized when Darren asked that I don’t know that.”
Leth’s hard-won calm scatters. His fingernails dig into his thighs. “It wasn’t a good fit.”
“I don’t believe that.” Evain leans back on his arms. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, of course. I’m only curious. But rest assured, nothing you say could possibly scandalize me.”
“Can anything scandalize you?”
Evain grins. “I live in hope.”
Leth leans back on his hands, mirroring Evain. Something about the dim light and Evain’s careful interest, the lingering sense of security from their battle together, makes him feel safe enough to talk about this. Maybe it’s silly to hide it. Secrets can be a weakness too.
“I’ll have to disappoint you, because this isn’t scandalous at all.” Leth keeps his voice down, remembering how far Marta’s giggles carried. “I was due to enlist when I was eighteen. I’d completed almost all of the initial recruitment trials.”
“Recruitment trials? I assumed your family just lifted a finger and got in.”
Leth’s mouth ticks up in a wry smile. “Everyone has to serve one year as an ordinary soldier before being promoted, even legacy recruits, and everyone has to pass all the tests. Though you’re right, there’s not much suspense for ka Tariels.” His smile fades. “I suppose I’m truly exceptional in that regard. The last step is a swearing-in ceremony. It’s held twice a year, every summer and winter. You have to attend to formalize your enlistment, and if you miss the initiation, your enlistment is canceled.”
His was supposed to be midsummer. The sweltering, humid night only spiked his nausea, intensified the pounding in his head.
“I can’t imagine you being late for anything,” Evain says.
“I was careless.” Leth takes a few breaths and forces the emotion from his voice—but he can’t stop the twisting pain between his ribs. He hasn’t talked about this in years. “Some friends invited me out the night before. I didn’t drink much, but my wine was drugged. I didn’t realize in time, and I was too incapacitated to attend the ceremony the next day.”
“Who was it?”
The question startles Leth. Evain’s voice is colder than he’s ever heard it.
Who was it? Is that the problem? “It doesn’t matter.” Leth’s chest hurts. He shouldn’t have talked about this. “I shouldn’t have been out the night before the ceremony. The responsibility was—”
“I don’t care if you were responsible or not,” Evain says, still dangerously calm and cold. “I just want to know who it was.”
Assuming responsibility is simpler. But Leth should have known Evain wouldn’t let things stay simple. “Javius Orst. My brother’s adjutant.”.
Evain’s gaze glitters sharp in the red light. “Did he hurt you?”
Leth’s nails dig into his thighs again. “Nothing happened.”
