“The raid on Willowmere this summer – you knew about it?”
Sebastian didn’t answer immediately. Eventually, he said, “I got the report on it.”
“There was a boy. Only about eighteen. He was killed.”
“Yes,” he said simply.
“I was there.”
He looked troubled. “I didn’t know that.”
“I tried to heal him. But it was too late.” Her hands tightened on the reins. “I still see him sometimes.”
Understanding crossed Sebastian’s expression. “I’m sorry for that. But from what I was told, they’d threatened the villagers.”
“He hadn’t drawn his dagger.”
“There are more ways to threaten someone, Kara,” he said, not unkindly. “In the field you have seconds to make a decision. Good people die if you get it wrong.”
She’d never thought about it like that. He wasn’t wrong. But she didn’t think she’d ever be able to make decisions like that.
“It sounds hard,” she said honestly.
“It is,” he admitted.
“Did you want to be a soldier?”
He looked surprised. “I didn’t have a choice. But... yes. I liked it.”
She nodded slowly. “The expectations on you must have been ridiculous. Your father’s only son.”
A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “Something like that.”
She had been raised with very little say in her own life – it appeared they had that in common.
Her eyes found Sebastian often as they rode, and she noticed more than once, to her great pleasure, that he’d already been looking at her. To save a half day’s ride, they passed through the largest village they’d seen so far. Ardentvale, a small sign read. It looked like a strange festival. The narrow streets were draped in multi-coloured silks and Fatàn houses of volcanic stone lined the street in dark rows, their walls threaded with veins of obsidian which sparkled in the sunlight. Kara slowed Whisper to take it all in. The scent of incense was strong in the air. Stalls of crystal balls and glass chimes threw rainbows across the pavement. A stallholder waved them over with a smile, and pushed a steaming cup of spiced tea into her hands despite her protests.
“For the journey, yes?” the woman said warmly, patting Kara’s hand. “You look tired, dear one.”
An older man at the neighbouring stall called out, “First time in Fatàn? You must try the braisetart!” He held up a wrapped golden pastry filled with dark berries, thrusting it towards Sebastian before they could decline.
“Thank you,” Kara managed. The warmth startled her; the friendliness seemed so at odds with their situation.
“Travellers?” The woman leaned forward. “Will you be staying the night? We have rooms–”
“No, just passing through with my wife,” Sebastian answered easily.
Kara nearly inhaled her tea.
“That – no, we’re not–” Kara started, but the woman was already waving them on with well-wishes.
They rode in silence for exactly three seconds. “Your what?” she hissed.
He gave her the faintest sideways smirk. “What? It sounded better than ‘accomplice’.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” she muttered.
“I just enjoy watching you try not to explode.” He laughed. The sound of it made her stomach somersault and a red-hot flush crept up her face.
