“Master Tessarion is a great man,” Alwyn snapped. “He took me in when no one else would. What would you have given,Krujha? When you were left alone in this world, to be taken in—given a home, food, and safety—the power to make sure you would never be helpless again. I’d have been nothing without him.”
His words hung heavily in the air. Alwyn clamped his mouth shut—he’d only meant to share some of his worry, but the conversation was only making him more frustrated.
“I don’t believe that,” Krujha said at last, frowning. Alwyn wanted to protest—wanted to defend his master against these accusations from someone who had never even met him—but Krujha’s expression allowed no argument. He looked deadly serious when he spoke again. “He may have guided you down this path, but you wouldn’t have beennothing. You would have still been you, just on a different path.”
Alwyn turned away, his heart punching against his ribs. He rarely thought of what his life might have been had he not been recruited into the Order—only to be glad that it was a life Tessarion had saved him from. But he had already been attending school at the Library when the Mage Princeps recruited him. He might have gone down any number of tracks of study.
But what would that person even look like? Whatever else Krujha might say, Alwyn was skilled and powerful, and he took pride in being a High Sorcerer. Without Tessarion’s influence, he wouldn’t have that—wouldn’t be himself—and so it was the same as being nothing.
“Be that as it may,” he mumbled. He was tired of trying to explain, knowing how few details he could share, and he didn’t want to fight with the orc, knowing they would be sharing a tent tonight. “Tessarion is the closest thing to family I have. I don’t want to disappoint him again, regardless of whether you think that disappointment is warranted.”
Krujha was silent for a moment, the soft crackle of the campfire filling the space between them. Finally, he heard the orc shift uncomfortably where he was sitting, then let out a long, slow sigh.
“You’re right,” he said, his voice less forceful now. “I don’t mean to overstep. I just don’t want to see you throw your life away for someone who sees you as disposable.”
“I won’t,” Alwyn assured him. And before he could stop himself, added, “He doesn’t.”
That was the truth, wasn’t it? He thought so, but it was hard to reconcile that with the matter-of-fact way that Tessarion had informed Alwyn that the three elves from the Library had died. It was only because they had to conserve their enchanted parchment, he told himself—that didn’t mean Tessarion thought they were disposable. He was pragmatic, but not cruel.
Hewasn’tcruel, Alwyn told himself, over and over later that night, as he lay in the dark, enclosed space of their tent, hyper-aware of the soft sound of Krujha sleeping beside him. Tessarion had never physically struck him—had never so much as raised his voice or said anything to him that was needless in its severity. He was training an elite group of elven assassins, and on any given day, held the safety of the kingdom in his hands. How could he afford to be anything but detached? Anyone who needed to hold the bigger picture in their mind and work tirelessly toward the highest goals would be the same. Alwyn might have sometimes been hurt by the things he’d said—or didn’t say—but that was when he’d been young and soft. And if the thought of disappointing Tessarion was hurting him now, it was only because Alwyn held himself to that same high standard. He wanted to exceed his mentor’s expectations and reach the level that they both knew he was capable of.
He wanted to say all of those things now, finally formulating a rebuttal to Krujha’s accusations. But the orc was sound asleep beside him, and he should have been sleeping, too.
He rolled over, pushing any further thoughts from his mind, and the effort of the day soon took hold, carrying him to sleep—to dream again of the waterfall house, and faces still covered in the mist of memory.
Chapter Sixteen
Krujha
Alwyn was quiet the next morning, not that Krujha could blame him. He still thought there was more to be said on the matter of Alwyn’s so-called mentor, but it was clearly a sore spot for the elf. And right now, it was more important that they were working together without conflict, so he didn’t broach the topic again. Besides, he was too tired to rehash the argument—he’d woken at some point in the night, feeling the warm press of Alwyn’s smaller body against his own, and his awareness of their close quarters had kept him awake until sunrise.
“I’ll teleport us today,” Alwyn said, as they broke camp after a quiet breakfast. “I probably won’t be able to do it again. And it will be tiring, so I might not be much help the rest of the day.”
“How close do you think we’ll end up?” Krujha asked. Alwyn bit his lip, considering. The morning air was cold enough that it made his nose and cheeks a rosy pink, which Krujha found entirely too distracting.
“It’ll shave off at least two days of travel,” he finally said. “It’s hard to say more than that. We might not be exactly on-course, but I can at least get us further east.”
“I can figure out where we are once we’re there,” Krujha said, offering him a smile. “You just worry about getting us there in one piece. Deal?”
Alwyn shot him a tiny, chagrined smile. “Deal.”
When they finished packing, Alwyn arranged them in a careful circle with their horses beside them.
“We all need to be touching for this to work, skin to skin,” he said. Krujha stifled a smile at the color that rose in the elf’s cheeks. “Make sure your hand is on the horse itself—not the reins, or saddle, or anything else.”
“Touch the horse. Got it,” Krujha said, nodding as he placed a hand on his stallion’s broad neck. The horse whickered softly at the touch, but didn’t pull away.
“Okay,” Alwyn sighed. His small hand rested along the snout of his own gelding, which nudged into his hand as if searching for a treat. Alwyn offered his other hand to Krujha, and after a beat, he took it.
His hand was so small that Krujha barely closed his fingers for fear of breaking those delicate bones. His skin was cold to the touch as Alwyn tightened his grip around Krujha’s palm.
“Ready?” he asked, and Krujha nodded. He watched as Alwyn took in another deep, slow breath. As he exhaled, Krujha could feel the swell of something around them. It reminded him of swimming in the ocean as a child, being lifted off his feet by a wave before it crashed down around him. He braced himself for the impact that he somehow knew was coming—
It came as more of a lurching sensation—like he’d missed a step on a staircase and was now falling freely, but only for a brief instant. The horses let out cries of alarm, bucking away from them, but they’d already landed somewhere new. In the blink of an eye, they were halfway to their destination.
“Shit,” Krujha hissed, scrambling to seize his horse’s reins before it could get too far. He felt dizzy, though, and it was astruggle to stay on his feet. When he turned back to Alwyn, he saw the elf had grabbed his own horse. He sagged against it, clinging to the saddle as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. “Alwyn? You alright?”
“Y-Yes,” he stammered. When he stepped away from his horse, however, he immediately sank to the ground—clearly unable to support his own weight. “I just, uh, I just need a second.”
