Thea did not sleep, nor did she sew. After she signed the marriage license, Gil left her alone; he busied himself with completing the fine intricacies of the license. He worked on something else, too, and while she suspected it was a revision of his own passport, she never got a proper look, and he didn’t ask her to sew it like she’d done for her own.
Even when Gil slept on the other side of the room, she didn’t dare try to get up to look. He’d strapped his dagger back onto his thigh when she’d finished taking measurements, and somehow, he felt more dangerous now than ever before.
Why did he think it was funny? Why had he teased her? And Light above, why had he smiled at her that way? Like a cat in the cream, licking his whiskers in satisfaction. Like a spider who’d caught a lacy-winged moth.
Or an assassin who’d stolen a bride.
She squeezed her eyes shut. It was a lie. A forgery. Nothing real. Yet she’d caught him looking at her afterward, too, a shadowed and speculative light in his illusion-covered eyes. Acting, he’d said. Just how well did he expect her to play the part?
Not too well, she decided.
He kept to his own bed.
Thea set her jaw and covered her face with both hands. Light’s mercy, why did that even cross her mind? They’d traveled together more than a dozen days, all hours of the day and night, and he’d scarcely touched her, save to help. He spoke to her kindly, considerately. She’d even go so far as to call him a friend. Yet a budding friendship felt little like protection. If anything, it tangled her up more. Because for one fleeting moment, she’d considered the thought of being married to Gil and decided it wouldn’t be that bad.
Murder of the king and all.
And why should it be bad? She stared at the ceiling in the dark and bit back a laugh, lest she wake him with her bitter musings. He’d been decent. He’d offered to help her, to save her, when his plan went wrong. He’d shared secrets, small as they’d been. And even when she considered the treacherous act that had forced them together, it was hard to consider it terrible when Gaius had been a terrible king.
Whatever truth and mystery could lay behind Gil’s quest swirled through her thoughts with all manner of confusion until near dawn, and she still had not slept.
“You’re angry at me,” Gil said as the first sliver of light showed in the sky beyond their window.
She startled. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t opened his eyes. He did when she didn’t answer, and their soft gray startled her more. When had he removed his cloak? She must have fallen asleep at some point, then. At least for a while. She’d never heard him move.
“No,” she said at last, when it became clear he desired an answer.
“Perhaps not angry, then. Unhappy.” He searched her face, his eyes thoughtful, gentle. How could he lay there and be so calm?
Thea pushed herself upright and scrubbed her eyes with the side of her hand. They burned, but there was little to be done for it. Today, they would climb the mountains to cross into Ranor. “What you did was a dirty surprise. You could have told me your plan at any point, and you didn’t.”
He studied her for a time, but did not rise. When he spoke, he sounded resigned. “My plan is to take you somewhere safe and hope it serves as penance for how I’ve wronged you. How I was going to do that didn’t come to me until I gained access to that office in the middle of the city and saw the marriage licenses were on a sort of paper I could obtain locally and without fuss. Originally, I’d hoped to find what sort of documentation might be used to prove Ranorsh heritage.”
“You’re lying,” she said.
The way his smile twisted told her she was right.
She scowled.
“Imagine, if you would, what your face might have been like if I told you we had to be married. You would have fought me tooth and nail. Even knowing it’s all a sham.” He shifted on his side, propping an elbow against his pillow and resting his head against his fist. “We’ve been traveling together for some time now, and I’d begun to suspect something.”
She couldn’t fathom what. “That I can’t escape without you, and that gives you the authority to do whatever you please?”
“That you’re the sort of person who crumbles under pressure. All the fight goes out of you. You give up before you try.”
Thea opened her mouth to protest, but the observation cut so deep that she stopped to check the wound to her spirit first. She did crumble. She’d hardly fought when he first told her to run, when he told her to flee alongside him, when he’d decided she would make his illusions. It was no different than any other part of her life. She’d crumbled when her father gave orders that broke her heart. When clients demanded work for which they hadn’t paid. When Ashvin had been taken away.
Gil continued before she thought of what to say. “Part of what I do involves learning how to manipulate people. You’re free to think of me what you will because of it. But in this case, testing that suspicion was important for two reasons. For one, it allows us to continue with what I’ve promised will be done. And it confirms what I suspected, so that we can address that and ensure that no one will manipulate you ever again.”
She knew he probably meant it to be reassuring. Instead, it pricked at her like a hundred pins and needles. “Well, maybe I’ll address it now and refuse to help you any longer. You’ve got your cloak and I’ve got my passport and papers. We can go our separate ways.”
“I don’t think that’s likely.”
Her hands curled to fists in the blanket. “Why not?”
A hint of a smile returned to his lips. “Because you might have the paperwork, but you still need the Ranorsh husband to be allowed to lease a building.”
Thea froze. In Kentoria, women were allowed the same opportunities as men. The same education, the ability to own property, the right to own a business. That it could be different in Ranor had never crossed her mind. As she entertained the possibility, another, more immediate problem struck her.
She hadn’t brought any money, nor did she have enough fabric with her to make anything to sell. How was she to lease a building? She licked her lips. “And… this Ranorsh husband will be paying that lease, yes?”
His brows climbed. “A bold question.”
“One you ought to answer.”
“You need not worry. I’ve promised to help you start over, and I know what that entails. But that also means we must go. I suggest you gather your things. Crossing the mountains will be a demanding hike.” He slid from the bed. His feet made no sound when they met the floor.
“I’ll need supplies, in addition to a building. Fabrics, tools, furnishings.” In time, those things would let her earn enough to purchase property of her own. Or would they? The possibility a Ranorsh husband could be required for something so simple as a lease made her question that plan. She considered it as she gathered what few belongings she still had, then dismissed the problem as nonexistent. Widows existed everywhere. If nothing else, she’d be able to continue whatever lease he established on her own. She had no intention of marrying again.
Again? She chastised herself with a quiet snort. She wasn’t married in the first place!
“Was that sound because you doubt my ability to provide for you, or indignation over the fact I must?” The amusement that colored Gil’s tone struck her as inappropriate.
A hint of color rose in her cheeks to accompany her irritation. “You make it sound like this is all on me. You were the one who volunteered to, as you said, provide.”
Though she meant it to be scathing, he responded with a thoughtful nod. “Indeed. And I suppose since I volunteered, you’ll just have to trust that I know how to manage it.”
Thea scowled as she donned her footwear. By the time they trekked across the mountain, she’d need new boots. Perhaps she’d make him feel responsible for those, too. Good boots, expensive ones. The finest Ranor had to offer. Maybe then she’d understand why he liked them. As if that’s the best reason to want them, she griped silently. By the Light, couldn’t she have a single thought anymore that didn’t cycle back to the assassin in front of her?
Gil interrupted her thoughts with a hand offered to help her rise. She stared at his palm for a moment, then let her gaze sweep up to his face. He was ready to travel, bags slung over his shoulders and his cloak on, the illusion masking his features as effectively as ever. His smile, as handsome as the rest of him, was gone. In that moment, she decided she hated it. The cloak, the magic she’d made, the promise she would create more. She hated it all. The desire to meet his eyes—his real eyes, the soft cloud-gray that shifted with storms—surprised her, but it only made her resent the illusion more.
She shoved his hand aside and stood on her own.
If it bothered him, he didn’t show it. Instead, he passed her a bag and let her take the sewing basket on her own.
Silence ruled their departure from the inn and then Heartroot, but as they passed the marker that declared they’d reached the trail carved into the mountain’s side by hundreds of feet before theirs, warm sunshine seeped into her skin and softened the thorns of her frustration.
Once the city shrank behind them and they were accompanied by nothing but birdsong and whirring insects, Gil spoke. “We’ll stick to the trade route through the mountains. There are bridges and tunnels that speed travel, and waypoints along them where we’ll be required to check in. Keep your passport ready.”
“Can’t we just circumvent them? Go around, through the wilds?” Thea made a rolling motion with her hand, mimicking the shape of the mountains.
“Why would we need to? We’ve done nothing wrong. We’re just newlyweds, traveling back to the land of my birth so we might settle near to my family.” A hint of a smile twitched at his lips. “Besides, bypassing the waypoints doesn’t mean one can gain entry to Ranor easily. There are rangers in the hills, patrolling.”
“Keeping an eye out for invaders?” Or maybe assassins? She couldn’t imagine they were all so bold as he, walking through a kingdom’s front gate as if he belonged.
“For traders trying to avoid paying duties, more likely. Kentorian goods are taxed at a premium to discourage import.”
Somehow, that didn’t surprise her. “I can’t say I blame them. I don’t have the warmest feelings about taxes, myself.”
Gil snorted a laugh. “Yes, I would imagine. That’s what got you into this mess. You not wanting to pay taxes.”
“Not wanting to pay unfair taxes,” she corrected. “I’ve always paid what I owed. I requested an audience because of an error regarding my father’s estate.”
He tempered his amusement. “Ah, I see. My condolences for your loss, then.”
Thea waved a hand. “It’s been years since he left us, may he rest in the Light. That’s part of the problem. When my father passed, my mother settled all his affairs. There were no issues for years. It was only last winter when things went wrong. An incorrectly filed bill of lading, from my understanding. Heavy duties on something my father tried to import before his passing. He was a merchant, you see. But the taxes were unfair. That shipment never arrived. That ship sank in a hurricane years ago and all cargo was lost. I had documentation to prove it, back home. I can only assume someone misfiled an old paper they found while cleaning, instead of destroying it.”
“You realize, of course, that none of this matters now.” He scanned the road ahead as they walked, seemingly disinterested in her story.
She couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed. “Well, yes. I just thought…” What? That he might offer sympathy? Now that the words were out of her mouth, she felt foolish. Recounting her woes to an assassin made them seem petty. But it had been her livelihood on the line. They’d threatened to seize her home, her shop, the one thing left to her after her family’s financial empire collapsed.
“You thought you would feel heard if you shared what misfortune put you in my path,” he finished for her. He wasn’t patronizing in the least. “I cannot say what might have happened, had you been seen and your story told. But were I on the throne, I would have waived your burden and let you free.”
Thea gave a quiet huff. “Thank you, but you weren’t.” Nor was she sure how that was supposed to be a comfort. He could have been, she realized. He’d bypassed the guards and disposed of the king without raising any suspicion. Had she not walked in when she did, not alerted the guard with her screams, he likely would have escaped. Until now, she’d assumed he’d meant to escape. What if he hadn’t?
“Did you want to be?” she asked before she caught herself. The moment he glanced her way with puzzlement in his eyes, she wished she could take the words back.
“To be what?”
What if she didn’t like the answer? Then it was better to know now, she decided. Whatever comfort she felt in his presence didn’t guarantee him a place in her life, and they were close to Ranor now—close to parting ways. She made herself straighten as she replied. “On the throne.”
“No,” Gil said, the single word a laugh of its own. He gave a rueful grin and shook his head. The simple, honest answer—and lack of hesitation—put her heart at ease. “I’ve never wanted anything to do with leadership or politics.”
“Your profession would say otherwise.” Thea couldn’t resist a smile of her own as relief swept the tension from her shoulders.
“Well, it’s not as if I chose it. The path I would take for myself would be different. Very different from this.”
She raised a brow, invitation for him to go on.
Instead of continuing, he spat a curse. An arrow whistled past his head.
“What’s happening?” Thea cried as he caught her arm and spun her out of the way. She expected another arrow. Instead, a handful of brigands spilled from the brush that crowned a ridge.
Gil tore a dagger from its sheath and met them head on. The blade was tiny compared to the notched sword the leader carried, a difference that lulled the man into a false sense of security. He swung hard and Gil flowed beneath the blade like water, slashing at the back of his arm. The man howled as the dagger struck. Gil’s fist plowed into his jaw a second later.
Before the man even hit the ground, Gil was on to the next, but the new opponent brought an axe down hard. It cracked against the edge of Gil’s blade and sent the dagger flying. Gil had another in his hand by the time it landed in the dust at Thea’s feet.
Its hilt was still warm when she closed her hand around it.
The second man hit the ground. Thea didn’t see what Gil had done, only that he swept sideways to intercept the two brigands that remained. One launched himself at Gil while the other skirted just beyond his grasp.
Thea braced herself and held the dagger ready as memories of her brother flooded back. Feet apart, his voice rang in her thoughts. Don’t let them take you down.
The man surged forward to grab her.
She hooked a foot behind his ankle and kicked back as she heaved her shoulder into his chest.
Another dagger flashed in Gil’s other hand as he toppled his bandit. His shoulder hitched back, ready to throw.
Before he could, Thea’s opponent hit the ground and she pinned the man with a knee on his chest, the dagger in her hand hovering at his throat.
Gil remained still, poised to strike. The brigands on the ground behind him rolled over and groaned, but neither seemed eager to attack again.
Emboldened by her small victory, Thea brushed the dagger’s tip beneath her attacker’s chin. “What do you want?”
The man’s mouth moved without making a sound.
Metal rasped. Gil planted a boot on the back of the man in the dust before him and turned to glower at the others. The first had picked up his sword, but instead of swinging, he scuttled backwards.
“Not worth it anyway,” the leader sputtered as he retreated. “She ain’t even pretty.”
Indignation surged white-hot in Thea’s chest and she shot the man a glare. The distraction proved a mistake. The brigand beneath her shoved hard, spilling her to the dirt as he scrambled free.
Before he’d made it a step, Gil slid between them, daggers ready and a warning of danger in his illusion-brown eyes.
One of the men spat, but all four stumbled over the ridge. Only when the crash of their passage through the dry growth faded did Gil return his knives to their sheaths and turn to offer his hand.
Anger and shame made Thea’s cheeks heat. She scowled and ignored the offer of assistance as she pushed herself up.
“You can fight,” he said as she dusted herself off. It wasn’t quite a remark, but it wasn’t a question, either. An observation touched with curiosity, she decided.
She smacked her thighs to shed dirt and crumbled leaves. “If I could fight, do you think I would have let you drag me out of Samara like you did?”
“There’s a vast difference between fighting with a common highwayman and fighting someone like me. I think you were wise not to try it.”
Thea was inclined to agree. “Just the same, I wouldn’t call it fighting. But I am a woman, one who lived on my own in a large city. My brother felt it necessary that I learn to defend myself. At least, a little.”
A shadow of something drifted across his face. Conjecture? She wasn’t sure she liked that.
“You never tried to defend yourself against me.”
“I didn’t have to,” she said. No matter how he’d maneuvered her around the city, he’d never done more than steer her. “You never attacked me.”
His expression remained thoughtful. For a time, he said nothing. Then he sank one knee to the ground and worked to unfasten a sheath hidden within the top of his boot.
Thea’s brow furrowed. “What are you doing?”
“Loaning you a knife.”
She tilted her hand and the blade she still held glinted in the morning light. “I already have one.”
“You can’t have that one. You can have this one.” He pulled the sheath free and stood. The dagger he held looked no different to her.
“What’s wrong with this one?” She looked at the blade in her hand again, unsure if she’d missed something.
“That one is my favorite.” Gil motioned toward the empty sheath against his thigh, then held out both hands. One to take the dagger she held, one to offer its replacement.
She resisted the urge to be stubborn and refuse to give it back. “I’m not very good with a knife. My brother showed me some things, but I never… I didn’t need to be.”
“Then you are fortunate.” He pulled his dagger from her grasp and pushed the sheath into her hands. “Fasten it to your leg. The straps are adjustable. It should fit.”
“What if it doesn’t?” The straps looked long enough, but she wanted hers higher than her boot. She put it against her thigh, like how he wore his.
Gil stepped back and scanned her from head to foot. “Then we’ll figure out how to tie it at your waist. It would be easier if you had a belt, but I suppose I can’t blame you for not packing one when you left in a dress.”
The sheath felt odd against the outside of her thigh. The lower strap buckled, but the upper one fell short of reaching the last hole.
Gil made a thoughtful sound and slid forward to kneel before her. “Perhaps the illusions you wove into your clothing made me miscalculate.” He took the strap from her and produced a slender blade no longer than his finger, seemingly from nowhere. Its tip was needle-thin and he punctured the end of the strap with little effort. “You’re a very shapely woman.”
“Oh, is that so? Here those bandits had me convinced I’m ugly.” She shifted as he buckled the strap for her. It was tight, perhaps uncomfortably so, but maybe it would stretch as she walked.
He lingered with his fingers on the buckle and when his gaze slid up to meet hers, he was so serious that it gave her pause. “You’re not.”
Thea’s heart fluttered. An instant later, her stomach did, too. That shouldn’t have pleased her. What did his opinion matter? He wasn’t the sort of person she should seek attention from. Yet her pulse quickened as she searched his eyes, detecting no flattery or falsehood behind the illusion that hid their true color. Maybe she wouldn’t. It was part of his job, after all. She swallowed hard. “You aren’t, either, though I tried to make you.”
A smile cracked across his face at the jest. “Then perhaps I should thank you for that.” He stood, so close he could have put an arm around her. He still towered over her, imposing and powerful in ways she couldn’t explain, yet with his eyes still fixed on hers, she no longer feared his strength.
She took a step back and touched the blade strapped against her thigh. It felt strange, too tight to be comfortable, yet she feared it would slide down. How did his blades stay up when he was moving around? She tore her eyes from his to study how his daggers attached. Maybe the straps connected to something on his trousers. There was a possibility; she could add belt loops to the seams to help hold the knife in place. “I hope you don’t think me carrying this means you won’t have to protect me during the rest of the trip.”
“No,” Gil said, a soft note of amusement back in his voice. The way it softened his tone was pleasant to the ear. “But anything I can do to ease my conscience after I leave you alone in a foreign land will help.”
A tiny hint of uncertainty touched her heart. “What does that mean?”
“That means, dear Thea,” he said, the sound of her name something like a caress, “you’re going to learn to fight.”
