she was walking away, stiff-kneed, arms folded like she finally felt the cold.
“Hey,” he said, going after her. “Hey, c’mon, don’t—”
“What do I call you today? Not asshole.” Her voice was colder than the ice on the wind. “Assholes are good for something.”
“
Hey
, goddammit. Stop.” A suggestion; she didn’t take orders any better than he did.
“You think this is easy for me?”
“You love saying good-bye, killer. It’s who you are.”
He stopped, stung. He didn’t try to sting her back. She could smack his best snide right down the mountain. “It’s not forever.”
Her head bent over her folded arms. “Everything’s forever until it isn’t.”
He thought about that for a second. Then another, and more.
“Is this what you wanted …?” she murmured toward the sweep of bracken and scree below. “Did you just want me to be … to be still
human
enough to …”
“No,” he said. “No, c’mon, it’s not like that …”
“Or did you want me to be petty like your dead River Bitch? To say don’t go? Choose him or me? Or Him or Me?”
It was like she’d stabbed him with a needle. A horse needle. Because he wasn’t sure she was wrong. And Christ, she knew right where it hurt.
She lifted her head. “Would you make me choose between you and the herd?”
“That,” he said solidly, glad to be back on firmer ground, “is a stupid question.”
“Yes,” she said. “It is.”
He found the start of a smile.
“It still hurts,” she said. “I’m still afraid.”
“Talk to me.” The dark ache in his chest pushed open his palms. “Tell me what I can do to make it better.”
Her shoulders lifted half an inch. “Take me with you.”
He chuckled. “Oh, sure.”
A couple seconds later he discovered she wasn’t laughing with him, and then it wasn’t funny anymore. Not even a little. “No fucking way.”
She kept staring downslope. He followed her gaze. Carillon wasn’t having a lot of luck with his scarred mare either. “I told you how shit gets around Caine. I mean, you know about the Faltane County War.”
“Better than I want to.”
“This’ll be worse. Goddamn Knights of Khryl are—you ever hear of the Knights of Khryl? They ever get down your way?”
She looked away from him, up into the iron sky. The sunstreaks of her hair began to frost with snow.
“These aren’t just guys in armor. Their guys in armor—the Khryllian armsmen—they’re the best soldiers on the planet, and they’re just the goddamn grunts. Knights of Khryl are priests of the Lipkan god of
personal combat
… Shit, one of the three Actors ever to play a Knight of Khryl was this guy Raymond Story. He played Jhubbar Tekkanal. They called himthe Devil Knight. We called him the Hammer of Dal’Kannith. Ever hear of him? He’s the man who killed Sha-Rikkintaer. Took him three days. Nonstop battle. Against a
dragon
. He won. By
himself
. Are you listening to me?”
“Aktiri.” She sounded bored.
“You don’t get it. I can’t fight these guys. Nobody can.”
“They can’t be killed?”
“Well—no. They just can’t be fought.” He flicked a hand through the snowflakes. “That’s not the point.”
“I know.”
“I can’t protect you up there—”
“You don’t protect me down here.”
He bit down on his temper. “I will not watch you die.”
She stared off toward the snow-shrouded angle of a distant peak. “I die all the time.”
“We’ve been over that.”
“Then you need to decide what you want.”
Christ, he hated when people started that shit. “Please, for the love of fuck, tell me you haven’t gone Cainist.”
“That depends. Do you want to be caned?”
He couldn’t manage even a courtesy laugh. His only answer was to half surrender to the ache in his chest.
One hand floated free of the serape and laid itself along the bone-clenched muscle of her shoulder and she spun like a spooked mare and in the half second while he half expected
“Hey,” he said, going after her. “Hey, c’mon, don’t—”
“What do I call you today? Not asshole.” Her voice was colder than the ice on the wind. “Assholes are good for something.”
“
Hey
, goddammit. Stop.” A suggestion; she didn’t take orders any better than he did.
“You think this is easy for me?”
“You love saying good-bye, killer. It’s who you are.”
He stopped, stung. He didn’t try to sting her back. She could smack his best snide right down the mountain. “It’s not forever.”
Her head bent over her folded arms. “Everything’s forever until it isn’t.”
He thought about that for a second. Then another, and more.
“Is this what you wanted …?” she murmured toward the sweep of bracken and scree below. “Did you just want me to be … to be still
human
enough to …”
“No,” he said. “No, c’mon, it’s not like that …”
“Or did you want me to be petty like your dead River Bitch? To say don’t go? Choose him or me? Or Him or Me?”
It was like she’d stabbed him with a needle. A horse needle. Because he wasn’t sure she was wrong. And Christ, she knew right where it hurt.
She lifted her head. “Would you make me choose between you and the herd?”
“That,” he said solidly, glad to be back on firmer ground, “is a stupid question.”
“Yes,” she said. “It is.”
He found the start of a smile.
“It still hurts,” she said. “I’m still afraid.”
“Talk to me.” The dark ache in his chest pushed open his palms. “Tell me what I can do to make it better.”
Her shoulders lifted half an inch. “Take me with you.”
He chuckled. “Oh, sure.”
A couple seconds later he discovered she wasn’t laughing with him, and then it wasn’t funny anymore. Not even a little. “No fucking way.”
She kept staring downslope. He followed her gaze. Carillon wasn’t having a lot of luck with his scarred mare either. “I told you how shit gets around Caine. I mean, you know about the Faltane County War.”
“Better than I want to.”
“This’ll be worse. Goddamn Knights of Khryl are—you ever hear of the Knights of Khryl? They ever get down your way?”
She looked away from him, up into the iron sky. The sunstreaks of her hair began to frost with snow.
“These aren’t just guys in armor. Their guys in armor—the Khryllian armsmen—they’re the best soldiers on the planet, and they’re just the goddamn grunts. Knights of Khryl are priests of the Lipkan god of
personal combat
… Shit, one of the three Actors ever to play a Knight of Khryl was this guy Raymond Story. He played Jhubbar Tekkanal. They called himthe Devil Knight. We called him the Hammer of Dal’Kannith. Ever hear of him? He’s the man who killed Sha-Rikkintaer. Took him three days. Nonstop battle. Against a
dragon
. He won. By
himself
. Are you listening to me?”
“Aktiri.” She sounded bored.
“You don’t get it. I can’t fight these guys. Nobody can.”
“They can’t be killed?”
“Well—no. They just can’t be fought.” He flicked a hand through the snowflakes. “That’s not the point.”
“I know.”
“I can’t protect you up there—”
“You don’t protect me down here.”
He bit down on his temper. “I will not watch you die.”
She stared off toward the snow-shrouded angle of a distant peak. “I die all the time.”
“We’ve been over that.”
“Then you need to decide what you want.”
Christ, he hated when people started that shit. “Please, for the love of fuck, tell me you haven’t gone Cainist.”
“That depends. Do you want to be caned?”
He couldn’t manage even a courtesy laugh. His only answer was to half surrender to the ache in his chest.
One hand floated free of the serape and laid itself along the bone-clenched muscle of her shoulder and she spun like a spooked mare and in the half second while he half expected
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