"We'd never betray your trust," Odilia replied. "May I see the charm?"
Not pointing out how badly they had betrayed his trust in them by throwing him out the moment one real obstacle appeared in their path, Leonine handed over the charm. Goddess knew he was sick of looking at the damn thing.
After a couple of minutes, Odilia said, "This is an apprentice charm. An excellent one, so probably an apprentice that has since been promoted to journeyman or will be very soon. I wouldn't be surprised if this was a test piece he then sold or gave away. There's no marks because legally such a piece can't be sold with a stamp."
"That is immensely helpful, thank you," Leonine said, aching that he could not his express his gratitude the way he once would have, kissing her breathless, so she drew back flushed and ever so slightly mussed.
He took the charm back and tucked it away, already shifting his plans to work with this new bit of information.
As Everard finished putting out the fire and burying it so there was no chance of embers escaping, he said gruffly, "Shall we resume?"
Leonine whistled for his horse, and helped Odilia up onto it, and Everard took up the reins to walk alongside them as Leonine walked on the opposite side, ready for any threats. The situation was not helped at all by the fact his horse knew Odilia and Everard well and liked them immensely.
They traveled in the same interminable silence that made every minute feel like an hour, and every hour like a day.
"Sir— I mean, Lee—"
Leonine looked up at Odilia, who was staring at him with far more misery than seem warranted, considering they were the ones who'd thrown him out. Shouldn't they be awkward but not miserable? He was starting to think he didn't know up from down anymore. "What?" he finally asked. "You can still talk to me. I know I'm the very last person you want to see right now, but I'm not going to remove your heads for wanting to talk. I just want you to stop acting like I'm a stranger."
Odilia looked near to tears again, but only nodded and said, "I only wanted to say a proper congratulations on winning your spurs. You deserve them, more than anyone I've ever known."
"Thank you," Leonine said quietly, his misery compounding yet again. He'd vastly prefer the congratulations they would have once given him: making him his favorite foods, eating with him in their private rooms, sharing a pitcher of their best wine. Dragging him to bed, where the best part was falling asleep between them and waking up in the same place. "I was also awarded lands. They belonged to the man Sir Cimar killed in the duel, after he attempted to cheat to win. They should have gone to Cimar, but he insisted I have them." He bit his tongue against rambling further, even though every part of him ached to impress them, tempt them, draw them back to him.
He could offer wealth now. Land. Stability. Acclaim. He could offer everything that people always wanted.
Their faces though, full of tension and misery, said that everything still wasn't enough.
He fell back into the miserable silence—but they hadn't gone more than a few paces when he heard voices. Laughter, complaining, something about needing to find food.
The back of his neck prickled. Cimar always told him to trust his gut, so that was what Leonine did. "Remember how I said to stop calling me Sir Leonine?" When they nodded, he continued, "Go back to doing that. For all the world, be two random travelers I saved and am escorting to Tesser. Give no indication you know me better than that, no matter what. Understood?"
"Yes, Sir Leonine," they chorused, voices thick with confusion.
"If anyone asks about me, especially when I'm not around…"
"We work at an inn, Lee," Everard said, amused and annoyed. "We know how to field questions."
"Right. Sorry. I'm tracking assassins, and it's put me on edge."
Odilia seemed like her old self for a moment, amused and fond, but it was gone in the next moment. "Do you really think…"
"I think anything is possible, and I think it's strange we've managed to catch up to travelers who must have had a significant head start on us, unless they're traveling this way, which seems unlikely this time of year. I guess we'll know soon."
They fell silent again, but this time it wasn't as miserable, just the tension of anticipation, of wondering and fearing what might come next. He could only imagine how much more they hated him now, being put in danger because of him a second time, when the first time was the reason they'd discarded him.
A couple of minutes later, they came upon the source of the voices, sitting on the side of the road cheerfully bickering. Well, one was sitting, their left leg crudely wrapped, and the other was standing, sword drawn, looking antsy despite the bickering.
They fell silent, gazes sharpening at the sound of newcomers—and their gazes sharpened further, all the way to suspicion, when they took in Leonine.
Mercenaries, both. One was long and lean, sharp as the blade he held, especially those cheekbones. He had long, dark blond hair pulled back in a messy braid and multiple scars on his face, dark eyes and surprisingly pale brows. His armor was good quality leather but showed signs of extensive repair. He also had arrows at his hip and an unstrung bow attached to the pack he wore on his back. His sword belt had a handful of pouches and two daggers, and his boots were the kind that could hold knives, likely for throwing.
The wounded man was kitted out much the same, though his armor was in better condition, and his bow was still strung. Unfortunately, neither had arrows that matched those which had killed Rorlen. Not that such a minor detail meant much; only a fool would make such a careless mistake.
Where the first man had white skin, unusual for the region, the second one had the far more common brown skin, his hair a dark brown-red falling in heavy locs down his back and over his shoulders. It was threaded heavily with charms, made from bone, wood, precious metals, and more. Several featured horses in some way.
Could it be so simple? Life was often strange, but it was rarely this easy. He'd have to bide his time, search things out—and wait until they reached Tesser, and Odilia and Everard would be safe, instead of caught in the middle and used against him. Again.
He smiled congenially, putting every bit of the flirt he knew how to be into it. "G'day, gentlefolk. Looks like you've hit a spot of trouble. Any assistance we can offer?"
"That's kind coming from a knight," the seated man said, quelling the standing one, who looked ready to wave them off. "Was hunting for dinner and accidentally interrupted a wyrm. It managed to get my legs with its spikes before we got well away. If any of you is a hand with healing, I'd appreciate it. We can pay for the trouble."
"I'm sworn to help, and happy to do so," Leonine replied. He drew his healing kit from his saddlebags, then approached them in the little clearing just off the road and knelt by the wounded man. "I am Sir Leonine of Darting, faithful knight of Her Majesty the Queen. Who be you, good strangers?"
"I'm Edger," the wounded man replied. Pointing a thumb at the other man, he said, "That's Cole. We're mercenaries out of Stone-by-Green, headed home after a job."
"Pleasure," Leonine said, stripping away the crude bandaging and propping Edger's leg back on the stump he'd braced it on to keep out of the snow. Opening his kit, he pulled out the tincture, thread, and needle he needed to properly tend the wound. He also used a bare thread of magic to ease some of the pain and start the healing, exactly as he had with Odilia.