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But now is fine. It’s the future that is uncertain. It’s the future, when the fight is over, and Kellyn has no reason to stick around that I have to worry about.
My thoughts string together. Another one starting before the last one has finished, each growing more and more dark.
I would never ask him to stay with me. Just as I wouldn’t ask it of Temra. They have to be free, not shackled to me. To do what makes them happy.
Why does what I want make no one else happy?
I cry then, doing my best not to make a sound, because I can’t handle talking about this with Kellyn right now. I don’t want things to end between us so soon. And that’s surely what wouldhappen once I point out to him how we want different things in our lives.
I will keep Kellyn close for now. Because if I die in the upcoming battle, I want to do so having spent what time I have with the ones I love.
But after that? It’s over.
I roll out of his arms, push my face into my pillow, and cry in earnest, getting it out of my system before pretending everything is fine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It will take some time for Marossa and her men to be ready to travel. They need to gather enough food and supplies, both for the soldiers and the horses. The princess asks all in the city to contribute what they can.
There’s no reason to wait for them to be ready, especially when there is much preparation to be done in Lirasu. It’s decided that the prince, his guards, Kellyn, Petrik, Temra, and I will start the journey ahead of Marossa and the rest of the army, who will follow as soon as they can.
I had become accustomed to sleeping in a bed again. The nights on the road are rougher than ever. Even though I know Kymora is far away, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m going to see her pelting through the trees. Or worse, find her slitting my sister’s throat in the dead of night.
Skiro, at least, has an uncanny ability to fill awkward silences with his chatter. “Tell me more about this tournament and the men we’re going to talk to,” he asks of me.
I find myself turning to Temra, but I stop myself. I don’t need her to speak for me. I know the answers to these questions. This isn’t a social conversation but a necessary one. I can do this.
“The local governor hosts the tournament every year,” I answer. “At first, it was a simple competition that he held to find new members for his personal guard.”
“And now?” the prince wants to know.
“Mercenaries who commissioned weapons from me started entering for the monetary reward, and the game changed. Obviously those with Zivan blades had an advantage, so it ceased to be a local tournament. Fighters from all over Ghadra compete for the notoriety and money now.”
“It must be terribly exciting to watch,” Skiro says.
“It is,” Temra supplies. “Ziva’s weapons are extraordinary. And to see so many in the hands of trained fighters? It’s better than a choreographed dance.”
“And these fighters who enter,” Skiro says, “they’re all mercenaries?”
“Most of them,” I reply. “There’s the occasional member of the nobility.”
Temra answers his real question. “Mercenaries and nobility are the only ones who can afford Ziva’s work. You won’t find regular folk among their ranks.”
Kellyn leans toward me. “It’s one of the reasons I was initially in town, you know. I was going to enter the tournament if I could get a weapon from you in time. Things really turned out differently than I thought they would.”
I wince. “Sorry about that.”
“Don’t be. Things could have turned out far worse if they didn’t play out the way they did.”
How true that is.
“So,” Skiro says, “we’re to convince these mercenaries not to hack each other apart for a large monetary prize—instead we’re going to ask them to take a meager wage in exchange for a vastly outnumbered battle in which we’ll all likely die. There’s more work ahead of us than I thought.”
Kellyn and Temra pair off in the evenings, practicing harder than ever with their weapons. The prince’s guards run drills, if they’re not assigned to keep watch for threats. It’s a huge comfort to have them nearby at all times.
I like to find gaps in the trees or shrubs, places I can sequester myself to give my brain the illusion of privacy. Time to think and replenish myself.
Petrik hasn’t changed at all. He still spends his free time scribbling away in yet another notebook.
