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Eadberh turns to the man behind him, and his name comes to me in a flash. Eadberh used to smile at him like that on the archery fields, and I used to pretend I had no idea what that smile meant.
“Garrat?” I gasp, turning his name into a question.
The former archery instructor of the Valgros Royal Army nods at me. Kings, the last time I saw him was the night of King Donovan’s wedding, just before I poured a full glass of wine down my front to try to look more like a drunken idiot and less like a woman planning to break a captive dragon out of the Royal Advisor’s tower. I’d pulled Garrat aside in the garden and whispered that Eadberh was probably still alive in Cairncliff. Garrat’s expression hadn’t even shifted; later, I wondered if he’d heard me over the noise of the wedding celebration.
“How?” I stammer.
“I deserted,” Garrat says. His voice is low and soft, but there’s a defiant edge to it, like I might try to turn him in to some secret Valgros authorities hiding in the Iron Mountains. “I’d been planning my departure from Valgros for some time, but I have you to thank for mentioning Cairncliff.”
I try to laugh. It comes out in a huff that sounds almost like I was just punched in the stomach.
“Well, damn,” I finally say, wiping my hand across my eyes. “Good for you. Good for both of you.”
We fall silent, and the wind rustles my skirt. A cloud blocks the sun, casting us all into shadows. Doshir clears his throat.
“If I may,” Doshir says. “You have a message for me?”
His words catch in a way that almost makes him sound nervous. Eadberh turns to Doshir and gives him a little bow.
“You’ll forgive me, I hope,” Eadberh begins. “I left the official paperwork back in our room. But I can give you the basic rundown now, and we can go over the details later.”
“Please,” Doshir replies. There’s a flutter in his voice that makes me think of wings bracing against the wind.
“Well,” Eadberh begins. “Basically, the Mayor wants to know your plans.”
There’s a pause. The clouds dissipate, and the afternoon sun washes across the stone. Wind tugs on Eadberh’s hair and the long, scarlet tunic he wears. I let my gaze fall to the cane at his side and the way he leans against it. He’s not trying to hide his injury.
“My what?” Doshir finally says.
Eadberh shrugs. “Your plans. For rebuilding.”
Garrat makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, and Eadberh grins.
“Trust me, that’s a massive oversimplification,” Eadberh says. “We’ve got a mountain of paperwork for you. Every committee under the sun has questions, and that’s not even starting on the insurance claims.”
Doshir exhales with a sort of whoosh. He looks like he’s just been slapped.
“I— I don’t understand,” Doshir says.
Eadberh shifts his weight and runs his fingers through his sandy blond hair. It’s longer than he was allowed to wear it back in Valgros.
“If you ask me,” Eadberh says, with a wicked sort of grin, “just between us, I think the Mayor can’t stand staring at an empty piece of prime real estate. Let alone two.”
Doshir opens his mouth. Closes it.
“The Mayor,” Doshir says, in a voice that sounds like a rusty hinge. “Wants me to rebuild?”
Eadberh’s brow wrinkles, like he’s trying to decide if Doshir is making a joke.
“Well, you’ve got to do something with the donations,” Eadberh replies.
“D-Donations?” Doshir stammers.
“The money’s still in Cairncliff, of course,” Eadberh replies, “but I brought a list of the donors with me. The Mayor said it includes pretty much every respectable business in town. So I don’t think she’s the only one who wants to see you rebuild,” he finishes, with another grin.
Doshir sucks in a breath, then looks down at his own interlaced fingers.
“I didn’t think,” he begins, “after all this. I didn’t think Cairncliff would want me back.”
