“I think something’s wrong,” Bellamy says. “We should look carefully.”
He expects to have to explain himself, but Rakos just nods. Hefts the hoe and creeps forward. Bellamy follows behind him, until they pause to peer around a craggy tree.
The ship from Tavoc bobs in the rough waters, right where Bellamy left it. Her sails are furled like a bird huddled to wait for clear weather. But the gravel shore now swarms with dark-liveried soldiers. Gregoire and the rest of the crew are nowhere in sight.
Bellamy’s plan shatters before his eyes.
“Are those Prince Vana’s people too?” he asks, trying not to panic. He met Vana Dire once, at a diplomatic function years ago. Vana seemed nice enough during the brief moments they spoke, but that was years ago. They were both much younger then.
“No.” Rakos grabs his shoulder, his hand hot through Bellamy’s damp clothes. “That’s the coast army, and they’re here for your smuggler friends.”
“They’re really not smugglers,” Bellamy protests on reflex.
Rakos’s only response is to drag Bellamy back into the depths of the forest.
Bellamy doesn’t know what he’s feeling. Panic again? Despair? It’s cold and relentless, worse than the rain, pummeling him from the inside out. The enormity of his predicament slams into him, rivaling the tense pain in his head.
When he trips over a root, only Rakos’s grip keeps him upright.
Bellamy was all right. Struggling, but coping. He just had to keep it together until he got back to the ship and his oathguards, and everything was going to be fine.
But he can’t go back to the ship now. He doesn’t even know where Gregoire is. The entire expanse of Draskora lies between him and his home. An enemy country, filled with blood mages and dragonriders and worse.
Bellamy inhales sharply, trying to think through his numb shock.
He’s not like Audric, who knows what to do in any situation. And he’s not like Julien, who could flirt his way across Draskora with ease. He’s the youngest, most useless prince of Silaise, and he’s all alone hundreds of miles from home. Bellamy always resented being babied by his family, but right now, all he wants is for someone to take care of him.
No, he’s not alone. He has Bastard.
And Rakos, the mysterious criminal farmer.
Rakos finally allows them to halt in a wildflower clearing. The forest canopy opens enough to reveal wisps of sky emerging from the clouds. Sunlight slants down in wavering red-gold prisms, and the dusky blue wildflowers glitter with raindrops. The day is nearly over.
A weight vanishes from Bellamy’s shoulder, and Bastard reappears amongst the flowers. Rakos releases Bellamy, which is when Bellamy realizes the man was still holding his arm. He looks up, and his breath catches.
Rakos is radiant in the sunlight, his hair vivid from the deep blue near the roots to the bright teal at the ends. Broad shoulders stretch beneath a black wyrmskin coat, perfectly tailored and soft with wear. His skin is golden tan, and his eyes aren’t black like Bellamy thought, but a deep, magnetic violet.
Farmers really don’t look like that in Silaise.
Rakos’s next words break Bellamy from his dazed appraisal. “Our debt is clear now. You freed me from the collar, and I freed you from the cell.”
“What debt?” Bellamy braces his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. “What are you saying?”
“If you have a prison fetish and want to join your companions, the shore is directly south. If you want to return to Silaise, head east. You’ll hit Orthin or Nirava soon enough.” Rakos cocks his head as if thinking. “Probably.”
Bellamy jolts upright. “What about you? Where are you going?”
Rakos’s violet eyes are unreadable. “None of your business.”
“Escort me to Silaise. Please.” Bellamy can’t keep the desperation from his voice. “I can pay you when we get there.” Bellamy slightly revises his family tree. He needs Rakos, but he can’t divulge his identity. “My brother’s patron is Prince Julien, in Greenhaven. He has a lot of money.”
“Greenhaven?” Rakos leans against a tree, crossing his arms. A hint of something like grief is gone from his face before Bellamy can understand it. “I don’t need your money. My… My sister’s in Parsk. I need to make sure she’s all right.”
“Where’s Parsk?” Bellamy bites his lip. The thought of heading far enough east to find the next town, much less crossing all of Draskora by himself, is terrifying. “What if I go with you to find your sister? Then you could take me to Silaise after.”
Rakos looks him up and down. “You’re cute, but no offense, you’re going to slow me down. And I pissed off a prince. You’ll be safer without me.”
If Bellamy could just reveal his magic, that would end the argument. Rakos seems nice. Aside from all the manhandling, and that time he tried to choke Bellamy. For all his talk about leaving Bellamy behind, hehasn’t. But if he knew Bellamy’s identity?
