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For Raider’s part, he had only avoided speaking to Seth. He’d still been watching him. And over these last couple days, Raider had seen new sides of his Curator. Seth was so curious about everything: the Sudai’s stories, their gear, their language.
Seth had told Raider that he liked to read, liked to learn new things. Raider saw it now—and what a gorgeous picture it was: the tall, powerfully built Curator in his distinctive black clothing, white kaftan doing little to help him blend in, that sword jutting above his right shoulder, asking as many questions as Fahet.
Seth had plenty of teachers, because everyone was curious about him too. He was bigger than any of the Sudani men. His clothes were strange to them, and they wanted to know all about his arcane scope and lamp, the compact alembic, and his multi tool.
Raider loved watching Seth interact with his friends. He loved seeing Seth take their teasing in stride as he stumbled through the language. Seth wasn’t too prideful to try or even to laugh at himself when they explained his mistakes.
Raider had never really heard him laugh before. It was a deep, rich sound. Beautiful.
Apparently, it was only Raider’s teasing that put Seth in a state of combat. Raider didn’t know what to make of that.
There was, quite frankly, too much about Seth that Raider didn’t know what to make of. And as much as Raider enjoyed watching him, he hated being in such a turbulent state of mind.
Fortunately, a caravan of eighty people offered plenty of distractions. One was headed his way right now.
This particular distraction took the form of Fahet, circling back from his place near the front of the caravan on his fine black stallion, bedecked in red and green. All of the Sudai’s animals wore rich blankets with intricate trims and tassels. Such beauty traveling through the arid waste.
Fahet’s stallion pranced and snorted, showing off for Umae, who put a little dance into her own step. She nickered encouragingly.
Raider sighed.
“There’s a reason I’m riding back here,” Raider informed Fahet, who already knew this. “She’s in season, and you’re asking for trouble bringing that hothead near her.”
Fahet grinned. “She likes him.”
“Of course she likes him. He’s gorgeous. I like him too.”
“I knew your taste was for men, but I would never have guessed—”
“Oh, shut up.”
Fahet’s grin deepened, but it didn’t last long. He found himself quite busy with his horse’s wandering thoughts.
“Behave yourself, you child,” Fahet scolded, kneeing the stallion away from Umae.
“Maybe you should return to the front.”
“Stop trying to get rid of me. I want to talk to you.”
“You’ve had seven thousand chances to talk to me, but every time we stop, you’re busy trailing after Demia like a puppy.”
Fahet’s expression turned serious. “That is what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Ah.” Raider should have seen this coming. “I’m not very good at giving advice, especially about women. Your brother would be better—”
“No! Tulef would only tease me. Please, Nusuru.”
“Don’t call me that.”
Protector. It was ridiculous.
Ten years ago, not long after the Sudai had found Raider near death in the Kesh, a rival tribe had attacked. If Raider had been instrumental in defeating the assault, it was only because he was just that: an instrument. A weapon.
Besides, what had happened that night, the way he’d used the quicksilver inside him, he’d never been able to replicate.
The shoulder guard and armored left arm came easily enough. The rest had lain dormant for years.
“Please, Raider,” Fahet amended, looking at him with beseeching eyes.
