Like a clockwork doll, Leth follows Anton into camp. Whether or not anyone stares at him, he doesn’t know; he doesn’t look up until he’s in Anton’s tent. The difference in temperature is startling, thanks to the heat charms stitched inside the reinforced canvas. The tent is large enough for four men, but there’s only one unmade bedroll. The rest of the space is taken up with a low table, a pile of saddlebags, and a wooden trunk. A yellow-white mage-lamp hangs from the center of the tent. There must be a few Dravans with inherent magic in the troop, who can still practice witchcraft after losing their divine contracts.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Anton says. “Take your coat off and warm up.” He squeezes Leth’s shoulder again, then ducks out of the tent.
Leth stands frozen for another moment, then mechanically pulls off his gloves and shoves them in the coat pocket. His joints feel like hinges in need of oil. He shrugs out of his coat and folds it neatly. Running his fingers over the stitching, the red lining, he lets a breath of a laugh escape his lips.
How eager he was to weaken himself for Evain. A child lured by pretty gifts.
The tent flap opens, and Leth turns, still holding the coat. His fingers tighten in the garment as Javius and another soldier step in. The other soldier sets a tray of food down on the low table, then exits, leaving Leth and Javius alone.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Javius says.
Leth has to look up at him. He has to look up at a lot of people, but it’s rarely this galling. “If I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it. But don’t hold your breath.” He’s too tired to be polite.
Javius looks thinner than when Leth last saw him at Fort Tarhaeg, not two months ago. Haggard. The northern weather must not agree with him. “I know you don’t like me, Leth.” Javius glances behind himself. “Find me later, all right? I need to tell you something.”
“You can tell me now.” Leth’s skin crawls. The last thing he wants to do is follow Javius somewhere alone. This is bad enough already, even knowing his brother and thirty other Dravans are just on the other side of the canvas.
Javius’s face twists in a deeper scowl. He steps forward, and says, “Listen.”
But the tent flap opens again. Leth’s hand falls from his sword hilt as Anton ducks inside. “Javius, the scouts are back. Take their report for me.”
“Yes, sir.” With a last scowl at Leth, he leaves the tent.
Anton unfastens his furred mantle and drops it on his bedroll. He’s too big for the space, like a caged wolf. Dropping to his knees beside the table, he gestures to Leth. “Sit down. We can eat and talk.”
Leth has to forcibly unlock his grip from the coat. He unhooks his sword from his belt and sets it down with the coat, then kneels across the table from Anton. The fact that he only wobbles slightly is a victory; his every muscle aches from riding all night without sleep.
Even through his exhaustion, he braces himself for confrontation—that never comes. Anton takes a portion of fruitbread and rabbit and pushes the rest to Leth. “Coffee?”
“Thanks,” Leth says. He barely tastes the food.
Anton doesn’t eat much. He sips his own coffee and asks, “What are you doing here, Leth?”
That’s a big question. Leth can answer the edges of it. “I’ve been working with a group of paladins to seal wild magic rifts.” That isn’t a secret. Hopefully mages throughout Lyrisenia and Charain will know how to seal rifts by spring. If any of what Evain said was true. “I was separated from my party in a storm, and I ran across one of your camps. I followed your trail here.”
“Sealing rifts?” Anton’s eyebrows lift. “I didn’t know that was possible.”
“I’ve sealed one myself,” Leth says, then looks down. He recognizes the tone in his own voice—that faint, hopeful boasting, as if this time he can finally make Anton acknowledge him. Old habits die hard. He had thought Anton finally struck that out of him last time in Fort Tarhaeg.
But instead of jeering, Anton gives a low whistle. “That’s damned impressive.”
Leth twists the mug in his hands. “If you have any mages in the troop, I can teach them how to do it too.” He’s not sure how to handle the praise. It doesn’t feel as good as he would have thought. “What areyoudoing in Lyrisenia?”
Again, Anton doesn’t snap. “Hunting demons,” he says easily. “The crown ordered us up here.”
Of course it’s an easy answer. Leth’s stomach twists in shame. Ka Tariels are supposed to hunt demons. Not work with them. Not fuck them. Notlikethem. Even if Evain seems different. Even if Evain seems kind. That just makes him even more dangerous than the rest.
Dangerous. But Leth still doesn’t want to mention Evain to Anton.
“Which order are you working with?” Anton asks. “Where are they?”
“The Varans and Sephinians are both involved. I don’t know where the closest group is.” Leth swallows another tasteless bite of rabbit. “I won’t bother you for long. If I can buy some supplies off you, I can head out for Lanwatch tomorrow.”
“Hey.” Anton reaches across the table and grabs Leth’s shoulder again. His smile is reassuring, if a little strained. “Stay here longer than that, all right? We have a spare tent you can use. I’m sending a party back to Lanwatch in a week, and you can ride with them. It’s too far to go by yourself.”
Leth can’t bring himself to care either way. He doesn’t feel anything when Anton claps his shoulder, or when he lets go. “All right.”
“Good.” Anton sits back on his heels and downs the rest of his coffee. “We’re family, you know. That still means something.”
