Thea had always assumed roads could be unsafe, but nothing had prepared her for the experience of traveling through the mountains. The waypoints were numerous; they’d traveled no more than three hours before they reached a Kentorian outpost. It was little more than a shack on the side of a slope, but a pair of bored-looking men lounged there, checking passports for those coming the other direction.
“Watch the road,” one called as Gil and Thea passed.
“Too late for that,” Gil replied, and the man gave a resigned nod.
“I don’t understand,” Thea said as they worked their way farther into the mountains and the shack slipped out of sight. “If they know there are brigands in the hills, why don’t they station more guards along the road?”
Gil shrugged. “Ranor lacks the power to patrol their side, and Kentoria refuses to pick up the slack. One of many tensions between the two countries, though they aren’t openly hostile. The danger makes no difference to them. Goods come through, one way or another, and it’s a traveler’s responsibility to hire a mercenary guard if they need it.”
It was an unsatisfactory answer, but she knew he could offer nothing else. The way of things in her homeland were hardly his fault. Or, they were, she corrected herself with a wince. She just wouldn’t be there to see the way things changed following the king’s death. That led her thoughts in a new direction. “You could have killed those men.”
“Yes.”
“Probably all of them, before the one so much as touched me.”
A hint of displeasure pinched the corners of his eyes. “Yes.”
“But you didn’t.”
“I told you before, I mean to kill only once more. I won’t rescind my convictions purely because a common thief caused me inconvenience. But I am sorry that he touched you. I would say I miscalculated, but that wouldn’t be truthful.”
Thea’s brows rose. “You knew he would attack me?”
“I knew he would attempt to rob you. Thievery reaps less punishment than murder, for obvious reasons. I knew it would give me time to settle the others without causing them lasting harm.” His eyes narrowed at the road ahead. “I did not expect that allowing for such as part of my combat strategy would make me feel so…” He grasped at the air, searching for a word. It was the first time she’d seen him unsure what to say.
“Reckless?” she suggested.
“Angry.”
That was not the word she’d expected.
“I am your self-appointed protector,” he added. “But I am not used to my work involving anyone else. I’ve never had to account for the safety or protection of anyone but myself. This was a failing, one I will grow from. I hope you forgive me.”
The infraction had been so minor, so swiftly resolved, she hardly felt it required forgiveness. But his eyes swept toward her, dark and troubled, and she couldn’t bring herself to call his concern silly. “I do,” she said instead. “But you must expect it’ll happen again, if you mean to teach me to fight.”
“It may. Not because of any deliberate choice I make, but because the deeper we go into the mountains, the more concerning thieves will be.” He pointed toward one particular peak. “I’ve been through this passage a dozen times. There’s a bridge that spans a gap between that point and a lower one just north. Travelers refer to it as the Pinch, because that’s what you’re put in.”
“And that’s where we’ll be accosted?” She couldn’t see the bridge, but they were so far off that she supposed it wouldn’t come into view for several days.
“Almost certainly. But by then, you’ll have a better grasp on how to wield that new knife you’re carrying. You’ll be able to defend yourself, and while I may not kill, I will shed blood if I must.”
Questions about why an assassin would refuse death as a tool rose to her tongue, but a merchant’s caravan rumbled around a curve to work its way down the slope toward them, and she kept her mouth shut. Thus far, she had not pried. Something told her Gil might be receptive to her questions, but a handful of rough-looking mercenaries surrounded the wagons, and the way they eyed the two of them told her now was not the time.
They continued past two more waypoints before they halted for rest. Thea’s legs and back ached and her knees were bruised from the sewing basket bumping against them during her turns. More than once, she found herself begrudging the easy way Gil threaded an arm beneath the basket’s handle and braced a hand against its side, carrying it one-armed and with little visible effort. She tried to mimic the way he held it, but she lacked his strength, and in the end it only made her shoulders hurt more.
The place they settled was a well-used campsite, a flat space not far off the trail. The remnants of old campfires lay black in a ring of stone, and a stack of firewood sat near the camp’s edge.
“The mountain’s rangers sometimes stock good camping locations with water barrels and wood,” Gil explained as he crammed handfuls of dead leaves between split logs. He’d arranged them just so within the ring of stone, and when he produced something from his pocket, the fading daylight kept her from seeing anything more than a vague shape. He caught her looking and turned his hand. “A fire starter. Have you seen one before?”
She shook her head. “Magic?” Even such simple objects were expensive, but they were useful tools. Judging by the quality of his black clothing and the many knives he carried, Gil only allowed himself the best.
“Yes. Although my understanding is the Metalmancer who makes them is working on a mechanical design, as well. Something that sparks flint and steel with a flick of a switch.” His hand disappeared behind the wood and a moment later, a small flicker of orange licked up the sides of the logs.
“Remarkable what people come up with.” Thea had already shed the weight of her belongings. She left them where they’d landed and inched closer to the fire with her hands out before her. The nights were growing colder everywhere. In the mountains, they were sure to be bitter.
“It is. But there are some tools that are better served by magic. This, for example, doesn’t care if it gets wet.” He returned the tiny object to his pocket.
“Are your knives magic?” She couldn’t imagine why they would be, but she touched a finger to the one that rested against her leg, all the same. It wasn’t as if she could detect any power within it, but she couldn’t help the urge to try.
Gil shook his head. “Magic blades are expensive and generally pointless.”
“Oh, I’m sure they’re quite pointed.”
He stifled a laugh. “Fine, you’ve got me there. They’re sharp, but they don’t offer much benefit to someone like me. Blades tend to hold practical magic. Enchantments like an edge that never grows dull. I’m certain that’s useful for some, but my blades are often lost in my line of work.”
“Thrown?” She flicked her wrist to illustrate.
“Rammed into someone’s back and left there for a faster escape, more often.” Gil sat back and watched as the fire rose and then settled into a steady burn that would last most of the night.
“Oh.” Thea lowered her eyes. That should have been obvious.
A moment passed before Gil spoke again. “In the morning, when we can see clearly, we will practice with your knife. In the meantime, you should rest.”
She wasn’t about to refuse. “What about you?” It wasn’t hard to guess the camp would make them vulnerable to thieves.
“We’re not far from the next waypoint. Kentoria’s rangers walk this area often. This spot is probably the safest place you’ve been since you closed shop to attend your audience.”
“Am I not safe with you?” she asked.
He turned toward her as if startled.
Thea tilted her head, requesting an answer.
“Do you think you are?” Had he asked that sooner, it might have struck her as threatening. Instead, she read the curiosity in the way his chin angled to one side. A subtle shift in body language, but he was steadfast and stoic. Every softer action stood out against his usual tightly-regulated behavior.
“I feel safe. Or, now I do. I didn’t at first.” She drew up her knees and folded her arms atop them as she offered him a slight smile. “But I suppose that isn’t a surprise.”
“Hmm.” He didn’t sound pleased. “I may have made a mistake in choosing not to constantly threaten you.”
“Do you think this trip would be easier if I were terrified?”
“I think I’ve damaged your sense of self-preservation. Considering I mean to abandon you in a foreign country, that may not be to your advantage.” He dropped his chin and cast her an earnest look across the fire.
Thea grinned back at him, and he looked so aggrieved by her reaction that she almost laughed. “Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t doubt that you’re dangerous. I’ve seen exactly what you can do.” Not only because she’d seen him strike down the king. He’d refrained from doing more than cutting one of the bandits they’d faced, and there were the guards at the ferry, too. She’d watched her brother spar, sometimes; Ashvin once told her it sometimes took more skill to show restraint than to push to a merciless defeat. Everything Gil did was measured, controlled. A calculated game of risk, a constant determination of how much force was necessary for his desired result. That tempered her smile, but traces of it still lingered on her lips when she lowered her eyes. “But there was what you said earlier, too. That the path you would have chosen would be different. You can be dangerous and frightening without being a frightening person. You can use violence without being a violent man.”
“And you can be nosy without ever asking a question,” he replied dryly. “Remarkable, isn’t it?”
She should have figured he’d guess what she was up to. “Tell me.”
“Tell you what?” He didn’t need to be told; he was too smart to have missed what she was angling at.
She humored him anyway. “The kind of life you’d choose for yourself.”
Gil drew a breath as if to speak, then hesitated. It escaped him as a sigh. “You’d laugh,” he murmured.
“Oh, now I’m more curious.” She shifted closer to the fire, studying the pattern of the shadows and light that played across his face. She’d done him no kindnesses with the illusion she’d forged. He appeared too ordinary, bordering on unpleasant. It was a useful disguise, to be sure, but part of her longed to see his face—his true face—as she worked to lay some part of his thoughts bare. “I won’t laugh. I promise.”
He snorted. “You tell me first, then. Your most secret ambition. We’ll see how honest you’re being then.”
“That’s not fair,” Thea protested.
“It’s no more than you’re asking of me,” he said, a hint of teasing returning to his words. “Answer. You wanted to be a Threadmancer?”
“No.” Her answer came easy. “I wanted to marry. To be someone’s cherished wife and have a handful of children. And kittens to sit on my lap as I embroidered.”
Gil raised a brow. “That hardly seems like some scandalous secret.”
“It is when you’re a noblewoman. If you rub elbows with nobles as often as you’ve tried to make me think, then you know what it’s like. Everything is about the advancement of your family. Marrying for power or wealth instead of love. A family’s children are bartered about in marriage, used as tools to gain as much as possible. How, then, was that supposed to earn me a husband who truly liked me?” She lifted her chin, challenging him to answer.
He raised a hand, palm out, to concede. “Fair. I take it such goals never came to fruition.”
“My father wished me to marry. He made an attempt. He saw a union as something that could save the family’s fortune. But nobody wants to be used. Not me, and not my betrothed, either.” A hint of bitterness still coated her tongue whenever the situation crossed her mind. She rubbed her arms as if to ward off both chill and frustration.
“I’m sorry,” Gil said simply.
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 what you think.”
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.
