She wanted to help him. She really did. But how could she? He resented it. The hostility it earned her wasn’t something she could bear over and over again, for years, the way Grrake apparently could. Every time she thought they were making progress…every time she thought they were friends, that they could confide and trust in one another, he closed up and hurt her in the process.
Once, she’d thought that Yhkon reminded her of her father—both had a tendency to shut out the world, and not show their feelings, even to those closest to them. Now she realized that Loestin did so out of reserve. His distance had still hurt, but he’d never been harsh about it.
Yhkon, on the other hand, was brutal. He shut them all out, and attacked any attempt to help at the same time.
How could she possibly help him when he was so determined to remain unhappy? She couldn’t think of a single time he’d smiled in the last week. Not since she’d woken him the morning after his return from the lance, and teased him. He had been sullen ever since and ignored all of her and Grrake’s attempts to cheer him. And finally, when she’d asked simple, innocent questions about his childhood…he’d made it clear that they were not as good of friends as she’d imagined.
Wylan was her companion for the rest of the day’s travels, joined intermittently by the other wards or Wardens. Yhkon kept to himself. When evening came and they all stopped to make camp, he was no longer angry that she could tell, just distant. Grrake kept trying to bridge the gap. She did not. She gave him as much space as possible.
Two days later, the lead Warden was finally relaxed, even pleasant. Especially toward her. As they neared Fesdor, Skyve’s town, and it was acknowledged that she would be sent to talk to him first again, Yhkon even showed some sympathy and asked if she was alright with it.
In all, he seemed to be trying to make up to her.
Her first instinct was to accept it and forget about the previous conflict, and appreciate his efforts to put it right. Past experience, however, told her that as soon as she did that, he would just snap again.
They only rode for a few hours that day, before camping a few miles outside of Fesdor. From there, it was up to her, Resh, and Yhkon. The wards all wished her luck, Rikky with a grin that was somehow sweet and cocky at the same time. She climbed back into the saddle behind Yhkon, Resh riding beside them, and they set out at a trot.
Yhkon gave her instructions as they went. His tone was unusually, even unnaturally, bright and mild. Still trying to make up. Resh commented occasionally, usually with more specific details about Skyve or his circumstances.
“We would come into the town with you, but coming in Warden garb would make us too conspicuous, while coming without would be a risk since the Kaydorians may be on the look-out for me. You’ll blend in a lot better. So,” Yhkon concluded reluctantly, “it’s up to you. But we’ll be as close by as possible the entire time, just outside the city limits. Since Skyve’s house is along the outskirts, we’ll be within hearing distance, for the most part.”
She wasn’t sure whether or not that comforted her. All she did was nod, though Yhkon couldn’t even see it.
“Alright,” he stopped Eclipse, “this is as close as we can get.”
They all three dismounted, the Wardens tying their mounts loosely enough that they could break free if needed. Yhkon faced her questioningly. Despite his neutral expression and light voice, she thought she could still see a shadow hiding in his eyes. “You ready? Clear on where to go?”
Another nod. When the remote answer seemed to trouble Yhkon, she swallowed and brightened her own expression. “Yeah. See you guys soon.” Conscious of their lingering gazes, she walked away quickly, wishing she could be in the pants, shirt, and jacket that were so much warmer and more comfortable than a long-sleeve smock with only a shawl that had seen better days. It had been chilly all day, dreary, heavy gray clouds preventing even the soft warmth of sunshine.
A few minutes later, she was entering the outskirts of Fesdor. So far, it appeared to be a relaxed, gangly sort of town, not cramped and tight like Boroe or even Castown. Houses and shops were far apart, in no particular pattern, wooden or brick or stone or even sod, of all shapes and sizes. The people weren’t much different. It was an Irlaish holiday that most of Zentyre celebrated, Emasvao, meaning almost everyone was home from work or school.
Large enough that a stranger could enter without suspicion, the town surprised her with a sense of hospitality. Passersby smiled or waved or tipped their hats. No one knew who she was, or what she was doing. To them she was just another person, a girl. Not Eun, Leader of the Eight. Just Talea.
A frown made her bite her tongue and duck her head. The eager whine of a dog caught her attention just before she saw a butcher’s shop, with a sign outside that had “Hasem’s” painted in fat letters. Turn left at Hasem’s butcher shop. More than one stray dog hovered about the bloodstained shop. A small man with contrastingly large features, wearing a red-streaked apron with a knife in one hand and a slab of raw meat in the other, waved at her with the slab of meat. She smiled back despite herself, before lowering her head again and veering down the street to the left.
Skyve’s house wasn’t too deep into the city. Apparently upper class usually lived along the outskirts, where they could have more room and prettier views. By the time she recognized the neighborhood Resh had described, a light rain was falling from the laden clouds above. It dampened her thin clothing all too quickly.
Walking among grand houses, even mansions, of stone or brick, she felt more and more out of place. The only real experience she’d had with upper class and nobility was working as a maid in Lord Vissler’s household.
Talea peered to either side of her, moving her head as little as possible. Were Yhkon and Resh watching her? The woods were in sight, but a long ways off. A tingling pressure on the nape of her neck remained all the same. 106. Just find the house, talk to Skyve, and get back. 106. She focused her attention on the numbers painted on the doors of each towering house. 104, 105…106. It was much like the others: big, luxurious. Intimidating. There weren’t people out and about in the upper class neighborhood, like there were in the rest of Fesdor.
Lest the Wardens were watching her, she didn’t allow herself any hesitation. Stepping up to the door, she knocked three times, and waited.
It opened moments later, to a young woman in a dress as simple as Talea’s, topped with a clean apron. A maid. The apparel, the tired, expectant expression, the glimmer of restraint in her eyes—it was all uncomfortably familiar.
“Yes?” The maid’s polite voice snapped her from her daze.
“Uh hi, I’m looking for Skyve Lagat?”
“Master Skyve is away with Miss Anber and Miss Glisi.”
His little sisters, no doubt. “Where to, um, if I may? I need to speak to him.”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, but she replied courteously enough. “Shopping, for the misses. All I know is they were going to The Curled Dragon for lunch.”
“Oh.” Maybe she could still use the information. “The Curled Dragon…could you remind me where that is?”
“Innermost southern side, by the smithy.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it.” With a nod to the maid, Talea descended the porch steps and walked back the way she’d come. No doubt she was supposed to find Yhkon and Resh, relay the information, and they’d return later.