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“I am loath to say it, but you are truly ugly when you cry, my darling,” Garion said, his form blurring.
He isn’t real, he’s already fading, a dream within a dream.
It only made the tears come faster, until even the moon drowned.
But Garion remained. Charlie felt the warmth of him, and the rough swipe of a gloved hand upon his cheeks. Without thought, Charlie caught one of the hands in his own. It felt familiar even beneath layers of fine leather and fur.
Blinking slowly, Charlie looked on Garion again. Pale in the moonlight, his eyes dark but brilliantly alive. Andreal. For a moment, the realm was still. Even the wind in the trees stopped and the ghosts in their minds lay quiet.
It did not last long.
“Where have you been?” Charlie said roughly, dropping Garion’s hand. He stepped back and stifled a very undignified sniffle.
“Today?” Garion shrugged. “Well, first I waited to see if you were going to run into a burning city. I’m very grateful you did not.” He grinned. “At least becoming a hero hasn’t knocked the sense out of you.”
“Hero,” Charlie spat. He felt like crying again. “A hero would have gone into Gidastern.”
Garion’s smile disappeared like a slate wiped clean. “A hero would be dead.”
Dead like all the rest.Charlie winced, his shame like a knife in his gut.
“And where were you before today?” Charlie demanded. “Where were you fortwo years?”
Garion flushed but did not move. “Maybe I grew tired of saving you from the gallows?”
“As if it was ever difficult.”
Charlie remembered the last time all too well. The feel of coarse rope against his neck, his toes scraping the wood of the gallows platform. The trapdoor beneath him, ready to be sprung. And Garion in the crowd, waiting to rescue him.
“The last one was just a shitwater outpost with a garrison dumber than donkeys,” Charlie muttered. “You didn’t even break a sweat.”
The assassin shrugged, looking proud of himself.
It only incensed Charlie.
“Where were you?”
His plea hung in the freezing air.
Garion finally dropped his gaze, looking down at his polished boots.
“I watched Adira whenever I could,” he said in a low, sullen voice. “Between contracts, when the winds and weather allowed. Made it as far as the causeway so many times. And Ialwayslistened for news. I was not... I was not gone.”
Charlie sucked down a cold gasp of air. “You were goneto me.”
Garion met his eyes again, his face suddenly tight. “Mercury warned me. He only does that once.”
Mention of the lord of the Amhara, one of the deadliest men in the realm, sobered them both. It was Charlie’s turn to look at his shoes, and he toed the dirt awkwardly. Even he knew better than to cross Lord Mercury, or tempt his anger. Garion had told him enough stories about Amhara fallen. And Sorasa was proof of them. Her fate was merciful, by all accounts. Only cast out, shamed and exiled. Not tortured and killed.
“I’m here now,” Garion murmured, taking a halting step forward.
The distance between them suddenly felt too far, and also too close.
“So I won’t wake tomorrow to find you gone?” Charlie said, near to breathless. “To find this all—”
“A dream?” Garion offered, amused. “I’ll say it again. This is not a dream.”
The wretched hope flared again, dogged and stubborn.
