Jekha grimaced. As Krujha watched him, he could see the conflict in the orc’s features. There was some obvious pride, but he also seemed self-conscious and, perhaps, as unsettled as Krujha was.
“I commend that,” Jekha finally said. “And I wish you well in your endeavors.”
“Isn’t that something you would want to do, too?” Krujha pressed. “To make sure no one suffers your same fate?”
“Krujha, that’s enough,” he heard Alwyn whisper in elvish from beside him.
He hadn’t thought of what he was feeling asanger, but he could feel the heat of it coursing through him when the slight weight of Alwyn’s hand landed on his forearm—the contact was so unexpected it finally snapped the rest of his emotions into focus. The last thing he wanted was to part in anger from a man who had been family—whom he once had thought was dead and gone forever—so he closed his eyes and sucked in a sharp breath.
“I understand where you’re coming from, cousin. Truly. I don’t know what led you to this conviction, the same way you could never know mine,” Jekha said. His voice was as gentle as it had been the whole time. The man rubbed his eyes wearily; his knuckles were littered with scars that caught the flickering firelight with the motion. When he spoke next, he somehow looked a decade older. “The warlord’s men, the ones who took us from our clan, they all died, too, in one battle or another. But that didn’t end the war. Others took their place, some willingly, some conscripted like I was. I remember looking up one day and seeing no one I knew around me. No one whose name I could tell you now. And still I marched, and fought, and died. For what?”
Krujha’s throat tightened. Jekha waited, as if expecting him to respond, but he had no answer. Finally, though, the older man sighed, shaking his head.
“You’re trying to stop a war, I see that. A noble pursuit. I commend you for it, Krujha. I hope you can believe that,” Jekha said. “But I gave my life to a war already. I might have lived, but some part of me died and was reborn then. I won’t waste what time I have left doing anything less than what Iwantto do.”
“And what is it that you want?” Krujha asked softly. Some part of him was cowed by Jekha’s words, but he still couldn’t quite wrap his mind around it all.
“To be happy. To minimize my own suffering,” Jekha finally said. “I think I’ve suffered enough for one lifetime. Traveling like this, seeing the world. Knowing I’m still alive: that is enough to keep me going. And sometimes I even feel happy. Never like before. But close, sometimes.”
Krujha was silent. Some part of him could understand it. For all that Hrul’s unending war had shaped his life, he had never been a warrior—never been forced to witness the front lines of it all—only the devastation left in its wake.
“Of course,” Krujha finally replied, his voice coming out stilted. “Thank you for sharing this with me, Jekha. Truly, I’m glad we crossed paths like this. Had we dallied at all, or if you’d taken a different route, we both might still believe every other member of our clan was dead. I’m glad to know that isn’t the case.”
“I am too,” Jekha said, softer this time. And all at once Krujha felt as if he were a child again, being spoken to by a clan elder. “Your life is your own, Krujha. I can see you live with pride, and it makes me proud. I genuinely wish for your success. I just hope you can understand why it’s something I could never be a part of. I never wanted to go down that path, and I never will again.”
He didn’t understand. He didn’t think he ever could. How could the same event that had radicalized him enough to become a spy, actively working against the interests of his own nation for so long, lead Jekha to a life of complete avoidance and inaction? But he forced himself to smile at the older orc. And after a beat, the other orc smiled back at him, looking relieved.
From the other campfire, the sounds of a lute drifted over. It was a far cry from the musicians they’d traveled with before,the strings faltering and just slightly out of tune, but it was a welcome distraction all the same.
Chapter Seventeen
Alwyn
The fatigue from teleportation finally started wearing off late in the night, leaving Alwyn to lie in his bedroll and stare up at the canvas of their tent as the rest of the camp slept around him. The soft sounds of sheep in the pen the merchants had set up for them, and the occasional crunch of boots on dirt as the guard keeping watch made his rounds, kept pulling him back to wakefulness. Krujha was beside him, lying in his own bedroll, and Alwyn felt acutely aware of the sound of his breathing, slow and deep.
By the time the sun rose, Alwyn had managed a few hours of rest, not quite falling into a deep sleep. When the camp came to life around them, Alwyn rolled over to look at Krujha to find the orc’s eyes open, staring into nothing with a pensive expression. When he noticed Alwyn, he turned his head and forced a small smile.
They soon had all their things packed and were ready to set out long before the merchants. Their horses were untethered, but Alwyn could tell that Krujha was still hesitant to leave.
“Did you want to say goodbye?” Alwyn asked, and Krujha gave a start. “To Jekha?”
“I did, last night,” Krujha said, that same pensive expression on his face. “No, let’s go.”
They headed north along the road, leaving the camp behind. This time Krujha was quiet, instead of humming and singing as he had done the days before.
The conversation with Jekha was a bit hazy in Alwyn’s memory, but he remembered most of it well enough. Clearly, Krujha was unhappy with how the reunion had gone—but as towhy,Alwyn couldn’t say. It seemed like it should have been a joyous occasion, yet he was more morose now than Alwyn had ever seen him, even during their brush with the rebel camp.
Not that it was any of his business. All he needed to do was give him space and remain silent—two things he had years of practice at.
The road was empty for the first half of the day, and the cold wind whistling past was the only sound between them. It should have been calming, but Alwyn found himself more and more unsettled as the day went on. He would have much rather been listening to Krujha sing one of the silly, bawdy orcish songs than continue in silence.
“Krujha,” he finally said. The orc turned to look back at him in surprise. “What are you so unhappy about?”
“Unhappy?” Krujha said, raising an eyebrow. But Alwyn held his gaze, and after a moment, the orc’s face fell. “I suppose it’s harder to hide when we spend all our time together, hm?”
“Was this about Jekha?” Alwyn asked. Krujha grimaced, all but confirming. “Shouldn’t you be glad? Someone you thought was dead is alive.”
“I am glad, of course,” Krujha said, though his troubled expression remained. “But... it’s more complicated than that, I suppose.”
