The next members of their party arrive together. Another paladin, a little too blond for Evain’s tastes, but a nice set of shoulders. Sir Arthur Davorin is the very picture of the Varan golden boy; Evain can practically see the morality glistening along his chiseled jaw. Beside him rides a dark-haired young man carrying a power far crueler than Evain’s. Not all demonic contracts are alike, and death itself sits in the depths of the necromancer’s soul.
Shae Nightven seems to have his power well under control, though.
Evain already knew Arthur by reputation—and his history with Ronan—but he officially met the paladin two days ago at Karis’s introduction. Shae was busy elsewhere at the time. The pair are to be Evain’s guides past the border and into the Lanwatch Riverswords troop.
Arthur rides his impressive chestnut mare over to talk to Freya first, while Shae nudges his dark bay towards Evain. “Is this everyone?”
His gaze is unsettling. None of the paladins have sensed anything awry with Evain’s demonic nature, but Shae looks like he’s staring straight into Evain’s soul.
Any demon-bound human carries a mark in their aura, for those sensitive enough to feel it, just like Evain can sense Shae’s own necromancy. But it would take a truly sensitive mage to tell that Evain’s aura is innate to him, rather than contracted power, when Evain is as well-shielded as he is.
“We’re still waiting on one more,” Evain says with confidence, though he’s not actually certain the pretty sword-witch will come. Most people don’t reject Evain’s offers—but Leth isn’t most people.
“All right.” Brow furrowing briefly, Shae twists one of the rings off his right hand and pockets it. When he speaks again, it’s in a language Evain hasn’t heard in quite a few years. “Marha, like the flower? Where in Lyrisenia are you from?”
“The east,” Evain answers in Lyrisenian as well. “Near the ruins of Aliso. I crossed the border through Etenia, and you could say I’m returning the long way around.” Almost true, except Aliso wasn’t a ruin when Evain first prowled its streets.
“We’ve never been neighbors, then.” Shae glances at the sky and switches back to Charaini. “It’s getting late.”
“My little friend may have slept in,” Evain says, though the thought of regimented, stickler Leth sleeping in is ludicrous.
He sighs in relief when Shae rides back to Arthur’s side. The necromancer doesn’t seem to have identified him.
The sun creeps higher above the horizon. Idly unbuttoning his long coat—he’ll warm up as he rides—Evain watches slow merchant carts roll past them into the city. A rare emotion wells inside him: disappointment. Which is puzzling. He never thought Leth would agree to this journey in the first place, so why should he be disappointed to be correct?
He’s still mulling over this peculiar emotion when trotting hooves catch his ears. A small figure on a pale gray horse approaches. Wrapped from his fingertips to his neck in his usual black, Leth reins in at the edge of the group.
The bruise around his eye has mostly faded.
Evain beams and claps his hands. Daziroth’s ears flick towards the sound. “All right, this is everyone. Leth, these are Haldis and Marta. You may have met Freya already, and this is Arthur and Shae.” He points to each person in turn, and his grin deepens as he gestures towards Leth. “Everyone, this is Leth ka Tariel, my charming—”
“Finish that sentence and I walk.”
“Suit yourself,” Evain says. “But whatever they imagine now will be worse than whatever I would say.”
Leth glares. “Somehow I doubt it.”
As expected, Leth is no fun at all. But Evain’s disappointment is entirely gone.
?
CHAPTER FIVE
LETH
Leth doesn’t know if this journey is the right decision, but it has to be better than losing himself in the shadow of Fort Tarhaeg. And he talked with Ronan and Karis to confirm Evain isn’t secretly leading everyone into some sort of evil demonic ritual. Karis said Radiant Vara approves, and that’s not an opinion Leth takes lightly.
He’s not exactly thrilled to be traveling with a necromancer, but at least Shae is quiet. No constant flirting and teasing and unbuttoning the top buttons of his shirt as he—
Leth relaxes his hands on the reins when his new horse tugs at the bit. She’s a steady, sturdy horse, with a wiry winter coat. Her name at the stable was Star.
At least Evain has the decency to leave Leth alone for the rest of the morning. Leth tunes out his inane banter with Freya. They seem to be getting along well.
“Riders ahead,” Marta says near noon, her voice thin as a harp string. Leth’s ears are a moment slower to pick up the approaching hoofbeats. He doesn’t think much of it; they’ve passed a number of merchant carts, messengers, and pilgrims already. The roads in and out of Ostaris are busy even as winter deepens.
Then soldiers ride into view, and Leth flinches inside at the gray uniforms. The bronze badges glinting on their chests. A dozen Dravan soldiers, led by a captain with green braid at her shoulders.
Just when I was feeling good about getting out of town.
