Kingdom of Exiles - Maxym M. Martineau Page 0,27

that very phase after rebirth. And even though I didn’t know her, even though she’d threatened Kost, I didn’t like the thought of Leena ever feeling like that. I didn’t like wondering if there was something I could say, some knowledge I could share, to make her feel better.

“Hireath is the Beast City tucked in a hidden valley to the west.” Kost spoke without breaking his gaze from the pages before him. “It is a sanctuary for Charmers, a home they can always return to. Unless, of course, they’ve been banished.”

Face flushed from his verbal slap, Leena nodded once. “Exactly.” Rosewood glow burst from her hand, and she called Tila back beneath her breath. Pain-filled eyes locked on Kost and skipped away, dancing toward me and widening once she noticed I wasn’t asleep.

For a moment, I simply held her stare. I knew what I saw there. Remorse. Homesickness. Sacrifice. For those of us who lived on the outskirts of society, hard decisions often left too-deep scars and a lifetime of memories we’d rather forget. Whatever she did to get this bounty, I didn’t care. Judgment made work sticky, and I knew I’d done worse with my days. Not that she could ever know that. Not that I would ever tell her.

Not that I could comfort her.

Wanted. Not that I wanted to comfort her.

With light fingers, Ozias placed his hand on Leena’s forearm. “Next time, can I see something bigger?”

“Of course. If you’ll excuse me…” She stood and moved down the center of the train, locking herself in the nearest bathroom.

Ozias frowned. “Harsh, Kost.”

Kost snapped his book shut. “Harsh? Two days ago, this woman wanted to murder me, and I’m harsh?”

Ozias winced. “I get it. It’s just that, if we’re going to work with her, maybe we should try to let things lie.”

“I was only answering your question to the best of my knowledge.”

“But does everything have to be so cold, so formal? Your language, your approach—soften up a bit. We’re used to it, but she’s not.” Ozias turned to me, yanking his thumb over his shoulder. “Aren’t you going to say something? He only listens to you.”

Leena’s stricken gaze flashed in my mind, warring with the image of a bloodied Kost. I buried both beneath years of training and the reminder that I still had an active bounty on her head as I fingered the smooth inked-on scythe on my wrist. Getting close wasn’t an option. “He didn’t do anything wrong. Don’t get too attached.”

Ozias relented and relaxed back. “All right.”

“We should be arriving any minute now.” Kost brushed invisible dirt off his jacket and nudged Calem’s dangling foot from across the aisle. “Get up.”

“Hrrrrmm?” Calem stifled a yawn before doing a quick head count. “Where’s Leena?”

“Bathroom.” Ozias cracked his neck and stood, pulling out the duffel bags one by one.

Late-afternoon sun slanted through the windows. The sprawling city of Wilheim had disappeared, leaving a vast rolling wilderness. Grassy plains stretched into a horizon of forests and mountains, peaks topping out against the clouds to the south.

The metal bathroom door slid open and Leena emerged, eyes dry. Her unfocused gaze found Ozias before she nodded once, gripping the handrail a few feet away.

I straightened the cuff of my tunic. “We should stay in Eastrend tonight and set out first thing in the morning. No use trying to make ground now only to camp in a few hours.”

“Agreed. I’ll search for a mount dealer right away.” Kost stood as the train slowed, a shrill whistle signaling our approach.

“See you boys at the inn.” Leena’s words bit the air, and she turned without another sound, slipping through the doors the moment they parted.

I made a move to follow, but Calem leaped into the aisle. “On it.”

“This ought to be fun.” Ozias shrugged past, duffel bags smacking into the backs of seats.

“C’mon.” I rested my hand on Kost’s shoulder, and he tensed beneath my touch. “Let’s go find the mount dealer.”

Seven

Leena

From the window of my room in the Braying Donkey, I watched Noc and Kost haggle with the only mount dealer in town. Corralled in a large stable built out of tree trunks and gated in with wood fencing, mounts kicked up dirt while munching grass. Through the floating dust, I made out a few generic horses and a handful of Zeelahs. I prayed they coughed up the extra bits for the latter.

Once wild magical beasts, Zeelahs had roamed the plains across Lendria. Twenty hands tall with the frames of deer, they had

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