“I’m fine.” Leth’s tired enough he feels half-drunk already. He still hasn’t slept, and alcohol won’t ease the tension building behind his eyes. After breakfast, he spent the day riding north with the Dravans—on an unfamiliar horse. Daziroth broke free from Anton’s soldiers, and by the time Leth found out, the horse was long gone. Leth could only take a spare horse from Anton and move on.
At least the Dravans move more slowly than Leth’s flight the night before, and his new horse easily follows the group. Leth doesn’t have to focus on anything besides staying in the saddle. Wherever they’re heading, the Dravans take a longer route than Leth and Evain would have; their supply wagon-sleds can’t cut through the trees.
Now, they’ve camped in a broad pass between two mountains. Old mile markers stick up through the snow at either side of the pass—once a wide road, now a rough field. Two mages in the troop cleared the snow from around the fires, and everyone sits on the ground. Even Anton, though his show of bonding with his troops falls a little flat, with the way everyone still calls himsirand laughs too hard at his slightest jest.
The general’s fire is also set away from the rest, with only Leth, Javius, and two other soldiers gathered with Anton. Six years ago, Leth would have been thrilled to be set apart with his brother. Now, whether it’s exhaustion, heartache, or just the slow erosion of all the years in between, Leth just feels numb.
“You never change, do you?” Anton takes a swig from his own flask. “Don’t waste the stew, at least.”
Leth scrapes his wooden spoon into the bowl. The broth tastes sour, and he misses Evain’s cooking. The man had a knack for it, unlike Leth, who was banned from the Locksmiths’ kitchen after a week.
Leth would probably be a better cook too, if he had centuries to practice.
Aevendaris. Leth has to remember the demon’s true nature, not his cooking. Not his wicked smile and magic kisses, not the feel of his breath on Leth’s neck and firm hands on Leth’s waist.
Running away was the right decision. If he sees Evain again, Leth doesn’t know if he’ll have the willpower to kill or banish him. Evain was right too. He didn’t need to bespell Leth at all.
Better to make a clean break, Leth tells himself for the hundredth time that day, while Anton jokes with the soldiers across the fire. Only Javius is as silent as Leth tonight, a frown on his haggard face. His gaze keeps drifting towards Leth, and Leth’s too tired to figure out why.
At least Javius wouldn’t dare do anything in front of Anton.
Leth finishes his stew quickly, forcing down the unpleasant taste. After setting the bowl aside, he wraps his arms around his knees. He doesn’t want to socialize, but he doesn’t want to head to his empty tent yet either. His maudlin thoughts are bad enough by firelight, surrounded by people. They’ll only get louder when he’s alone, and despite his exhaustion, Leth doesn’t know if he’ll be able to sleep.
Except a sudden lethargy wells up inside him. An unnatural fog unravels his thoughts and weighs down his limbs. The campfire swims black before his eyes.
Something’s wrong, but Leth is too dazed and tired to do anything about it. As unconsciousness envelops him, the last thing he hears is his brother chuckling.
“Looks like it’s kicking in.”
***
Movement tugs Leth into awareness. Steady, gentle pulling in his hair. For a dazed moment, happiness bubbles inside him, with the memory of Evain stroking his head. But it can’t be Evain. He left Evain. A dim light swings overhead, appearing and disappearing like the moon behind clouds. Except it’s not swinging—that’s just his head spinning and spinning. His shoulders ache, and his eyelids are so heavy, it’s hard to keep them open.
He recognizes the lamp. He’s in Anton’s tent.
The light disappears again as Anton leans over. His fingers rub against Leth’s scalp, and for a dazed insane moment, Leth thinks his brother is brushing his hair. Then Anton sets something down on the table, with the barely audible click of onyx on wood.
Anton is unbraiding the spell beads from his hair.
“Stop,” Leth tries to say, but the sound halts in his throat, muffled by the cloth gag between his teeth.
Ignoring his whimper, Anton continues unbraiding Leth’s hair. With deceptively gentle movements, he slowly and surely strips away each of Leth’s defenses.
The tent darkens. Leth tries to open his eyes again, but they’re too heavy. His head is too heavy. He needs to fight back. Needs to mobilize his cotton-soft limbs, activate any spells remaining to him.
But he’s too weak from whatever Anton drugged him with. As Anton takes away another onyx bead, Leth passes out again.
***
When Leth wakes again, the tent is lighter, and his head is clearer. However long he’s been asleep, it’s long enough for day to ascend and most of the drug to leave his system. Leth forces himself to relax and feign sleep as he assesses his predicament. He’s on his side, with his wrists bound behind his back. The strain on his shoulders is a dull, steady ache. Smaller aches radiate throughout his body, like he’s been tossed in a sack of rocks.
Something shifts nearby. He isn’t alone.
Cracking open his eyes, Leth finds himself in Anton’s tent again. Daylight through the canvas illuminates the figure crouched beside him, too thin and gangly to be Leth’s brother.
“You awake?” Javius whispers.
Leth doesn’t try to answer. The gag’s still between his teeth, drying out his mouth.
