Gadolor

Burn

Smoke ambled up into treetops, through cold branches, past old leaves which clung to trees that could no longer keep them. The bitter vapor dissolved into brisk air long before it reached the gray clouds. Far below, the city Porton bustled with people beside a curve in the Newr River’s rippling slate-colored water. Romni sat alone, staring at a campfire with her jaw clenched, nursing her wounded arm. The fire had given her this hurt. No, it was Sebastian.

Things were different between them now. Sebastian was always looking for something to nag her about. She had grown tired of it and began nagging him too. She didn’t remember how the argument had started today; it could have been anything from burned food to bad weather. But it always seemed to revolve around the traveler Ascan.

“If you think he’s a good man you’re as stupid as he is,” Sebastian had said. They had all walked together for a half-moon or so. Ascan sometimes left for a while, but he always came back. He never stole things or tricked anyone; instead, he treated people with more kindness than Romni had ever seen. She sometimes wondered how he didn’t starve. Even as she had grown to like the man, Sebastian had grown to hate him. “Nobody keeps a sword and a horse like he has without something shady in their past. Maybe he stole the mare. The real owner will come looking for it, and I’d like to be far away when that happens.”

“He didn’t steal it,” Romni retorted. “He’s an honest man. I used to know a lot of people like him.”

“Oh, did you? Well, maybe he knows you. He’s probably a bounty hunter from back north, come to kill you. You’ve seen his sword.”

That had been Sebastian’s deepest insult. For some reason, Romni hated the idea of Ascan being an evil man. She had met plenty of evil men, many of whom appeared nice enough at first. Romni herself had become an evil person, she realized, but to accuse the traveler seemed to turn the world upside down. He reminded her of home, of everything good she had left behind. Her old country was far away now, but Ascan seemed to bring it a little closer. Romni missed it more all the time. She had flown into a rage when Sebastian said he was a bounty hunter.

They ended up standing eye to eye. “Look at yourself,” Sebastian sneered, “You don’t know what good people look like. You couldn’t tell a king from a thief.”

“I was certainly wrong about you,” she jabbed his chest.

His shove sent her toppling onto her back. There was a glassy crumbling noise as her elbow landed squarely in the fire’s coals. A hundred little snapping sounds as sparks flared up. She felt her skin sizzle, like a tiny boiling pan, then the pain exploded in her mind.

It hurt less now as she stared at the innocent fire, though in the first few minutes she thought the pain and rage would kill her. The arm of her tunic had taken the worst of the heat, but the skin on her elbow had still turned pasty white and angry red. Healing herbs had soothed it some, but her pride would take longer to heal.

Sebastian had disappeared after she fell, and she was glad. He wasn’t foolish enough to get drunk, but she wouldn’t see him for a while. His absence let her brood. Where’s that sword now? That could deal with Sebastian. But then she felt even more ashamed, for her problems were none of Ascan’s concern. Romni was stuck with Sebastian. Serves me right. I guess it’s the fates’ way of punishment. Mala had talked a lot about the fates.

She began thinking about other herbs, ones Mala had taught her to find. She could put them in Sebastian’s food, perhaps a little at a time, and these would deal with him well enough. The thought was beautifully morbid. But she didn’t dare. He would know. She couldn’t think how, but somehow Sebastian would know if she tried to poison him, and he’d make her pay tenfold.

Someone was walking up to the camp, his feet crunching leaves. Sebastian? No, it was Ascan’s long stride. She wasn’t sure which of the men she wished to see less. She didn’t look at him until he’d sat down, and then only gave a glance. He was frowning, staring at her with those piercing blue eyes. “What happened to you?”

“Nothing.” The fresh bandage and burned tunic told the story plainly enough. With any luck, Ascan would assume she’d tripped by accident.

“It looks like something.” She focused on the red flame with its circle of white ash—white, the color of her elbow. “He did this.” He was silent so long, she began to get nervous. Ascan wasn’t usually this grim. “The trickster is cruel to you.” Romni shrugged. “You don’t deserve this.”

She faced him then. “You don’t know what I deserve. You don’t know me.” The man said nothing, but his eyes disagreed. “I’m a thief. A liar. I left a widow to die in the cold. I took a farmer’s last bird, and he had seven children to feed. I even stole from a blind beggar.” And I left home. I ran away, you big, kind oaf.

“I’ve seen it. You were not always that way, were you?” Romni shrugged again, more desperately this time. No, of course not. Once, she had been the princess of Esthena, heir to the throne and betrothed bride to a powerful prince. The man sitting here had probably heard her story, the one about the princess who ran away with a trickster. Maybe if he really knew me, he’d kill me after all. A good man would do that.

Ascan was holding something in his hands that she couldn’t see. His brow was furrowed more than ever. It was a long time before he spoke.