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Thea shrugged. It was more than he'd asked and more than she'd meant to share. His sympathy for her past felt like an unwelcome intrusion. At least it was easy to change the subject. “Now, your turn. What did you want?”
“What I still want.” He pushed a stray log farther into the fire, gazing at the flickering flames.
“Gil,” she scolded. “That tells me nothing.”
“I know, I know.” He spread his hands, telling her to settle. “It's only that I feel I must explain, and I'm not sure how. It's such a departure, I—”
“You're avoiding giving me an answer.” That he'd evidently grown flustered in the process was amusing to no end, but she restrained herself and did not tease him.
“I wish to be a paladin.” He dropped his hands and closed his eyes, as if to spare himself from witnessing her reaction. “To serve the One Light against the skulking shadow. Which, of course, I am a part of now.”
He was right. It was such a departure from anything she'd imagined that for a moment, all Thea could do was stare. “A paladin?” she repeated when she found her tongue.
“I know it's absurd.” Gil rubbed the knuckles on the back of his hand and avoided her eyes. “I know it's the farthest thing from where I am. But I didn't choose this life. This job, this role, it was given to me. It wasn't until the Old King Rothalan died that I realized I might have any other choice.”
A piece of the puzzle snapped into place. “Did he train you?” She knew little about the old king; he had died not long before her mother had gone. Before she'd been left to navigate the world with only her brother to guide her, she'd paid little attention to politics and kings.
For a moment, his mien grew so stony that she feared he wouldn't answer at all. She'd struck too close to things she wasn't supposed to know, things he wasn't meant to tell her. But the kings he'd served were gone, all but the one he supposedly sought now, and she saw him war with himself for a time before he spoke again.
“He assigned me to this role. I was trained from an early age. Too early, for the weight of my burdens. But there was no other replacement for the crown's assassin before me. He was old, growing frail. I believe he—the king, that is—feared skill would be lost if they delayed.” Still he avoided her gaze. That avoidance clawed at her heart.
“You don't speak of this with anyone,” she murmured.
As if the statement had shattered his defenses, he lifted his head. “No.” Something new shone in his eyes, simmering behind the illusions she'd made. Isolation. Loneliness.
Had she been closer, she would have touched him, but he was on the other side of the fire. Instead, she rested a hand against her chest. “I never would have laughed. I don't understand, but I don't think it comical.”
“But do you think it's possible?” His own skepticism lay thick in his voice. “How can one leave something like this and be a man of any sort of virtue?”
“That's not for me to say.” Admittedly, she spent little time thinking of the Light. Monotheism was customary in Kentoria and anyone in Samara would recite the Light's blessings or oaths, but her parents had been far from devout. They'd taught her and her brother to recite childhood prayers to the deity revered only in vague terms, but they'd never set foot in a temple while growing up. Their mother had tried to rectify that after their father's passing, but her attempts were half-hearted at best. To see more conviction in a man who killed for a living than in her noble parents was odd.
“I'm not asking you to speak on the Light's behalf. I'm asking whatyouthink.”
Somehow, that was even harder to answer. She brushed a hand over her thigh, her fingertips exploring the edges of the straps that held his dagger to her leg. “I think you're not at all what you seem. I think you're complicated, and I don't know what that means. But I don't think you're wicked. I don't think you ever were.”
If the words meant anything, she didn't know, for there was a guard back up within him, shielding his thoughts and feelings away so nobody could see. That shield grew stronger, harder, until his face was so serious, it resembled a somber statue of some soldier she'd once seen among her father's goods.
“I've changed my mind,” he announced as he pushed himself from the ground. “The fire's bright enough. We'll have your first lesson tonight.”
Thea changed her mind, too.
Perhaps he was a little wicked after all.
CHAPTERTWELVE
Near the Pinch,there were no more waypoints.
“Disputed territory,” Gil explained, “which means no one bears any responsibility for whatever may befall travelers here.” That he kept his voice low was a warning. He did not want to draw attention.
Thea matched his volume. “Which means something will befall us?”
The tight smile he answered with said enough.
Their nights had been occupied with training, rather than the sewing she'd intended. His new trousers and shirt were made to wait. He seemed unbothered by the delay; he never removed his cloak that Thea saw, and he threw himself fully into exploring what skills Ashvin had hammered into her.
Most of those skills were rusty. Her brother had challenged her now and then, testing to be sure she would remain safe when he was away with the army. How ashamed he would have been to see her now, traipsing through the mountains with an assassin at her side.
That assassin was determined to teach her new talents, however, and she supposed her brother might have approved of that. Gil refreshed her knowledge of throws and ways to break free of a hold, adding information on which vital points could be struck to disable an opponent without requiring strength. He taught her to wield her borrowed dagger—he swore it wasn't hers to keep—and pushed her to use it against him. She hated those parts of their lessons. He urged her to strike like she meant it, to slice or stab with the intent to kill him.
