tone. “Thank you for saving my son. You will always be welcomed by the Corrinthals.”
Cale decided that the world dealt harshly with men like Jak and Abelar. It killed them or darkened them, but never left them in the light. The realization made him melancholy. He felt Riven’s eye on him but ignored it.
“We should see your son before we go,” Riven said.
Surprised, Cale turned and looked a question at Riven. Regg, too, seemed taken aback, to judge from his expression.
Abelar appeared unbothered. “Of course. Come.”
A light rain started to fall as the men picked their way through the camp. The Saerbian refugees scurried for shelter. Fires sizzled, danced in the wind, expired.
Cale, Riven, and Regg pulled up their hoods. Abelar did not; he seemed to welcome the downpour. Cale knew why, knew, too, that rain could not wash away some stains.
Lightning lit the night. Thunder rumbled, lingered, the sky with bloodlung.
They came to a tent near the center of the camp. The soft glow of a lantern leaked intermittently from the wind-whipped tent flap. Regg lifted it for them and they entered.
“I will find your father,” Regg said. “It is good to have you back.”
Abelar thumped him on the shoulder as he entered the tent.
Elden slept in one corner of the sparsely furnished space, his head poking from a pile of furs and woolens. A red-haired woman in chain mail sat on a small chair near the makeshift bed. She stood when they entered, mail chinking, her face alight.
“Abelar,” she said with a smile.
“This is Jiiris,” Abelar said, as she crossed the tent. “One of my company. Jiiris, know Erevis Cale and Drasek Riven.”
Her gaze move only reluctantly from Abelar. She nodded a greeting to Cale and Riven. Her eyes took them in, the shadows that shrouded Cale, the ghost of a sneer that hung on Riven’s face. She had stubborn eyes, a soldier’s eyes.
“Thank you for what you did for Elden,” she said. “It was noble work.”
Her self-assuredness reminded Cale of Brilla, the kitchen mistress of Stormweather Towers. He suspected she would brook no foolery and liked her instantly.
Cale tilted his head in acknowledgment, while Riven sounded almost embarrassed.
“Not sure I’ve ever heard something I’ve done spoken of in such a way.”
“Perhaps you should do such things more often, then,” she chided. To Abelar, she said, “I am pleased to see you returned.”
“And I am pleased to return to you, and my son.”
She flushed at his words and Cale saw the stubbornness in her eyes give way to affection. She masked it again, and gestured at Elden. “He has awakened twice asking for you. He would like for you to awaken him, I’m sure.”
Abelar nodded, though his face fell and colored. He brushed past her, sat on the bed with his back to them. For a time he simply looked upon Elden. He started to touch him twice, recoiled, finally brushed the boy’s brow. Elden murmured in his sleep.
For a time no one spoke. The moment was too pure for the pollution of words. Thunder rumbled, rain pattered on the tent, and Elden’s hands emerged from the blankets to cradle his father’s hand, the hand that had killed Malkur Forrin.
Jiiris daubed her eyes.
In handcant, Riven signaled to Cale, See.
Not a question, but a demand.
Cale did not understand.
Father and son held each other in the bubble of the tent, each the satisfaction of the other’s need. After a time, Abelar’s body shook and it took Cale a moment to understand that he was sobbing. His tears were a confession.
Jiiris looked to Cale, a question in her own tear-streaked face.
Cale did not answer. He did not want to tell her that they had saved the son but lost the father. She would learn that soon enough. Instead, he whispered, “We must go. Help him as you can. We are his friends. Tell him so.”
She nodded, pushed through the shadows to touch Cale’s hand in gratitude.
Cale and Riven exited the tent, entered the night, the rain. Cale grabbed Riven by the arm, angry for no reason.
“What did you mean in there? When you signed ‘see’?”
Riven faced him, eyed Cale’s hold on his arm. “I wanted you to see what was happening. Understand it.”
Cale released the assassin’s arm. “I understood it.”
“Did you?” the rain pressed Riven’s hair to his skull. “We saved that boy, Cale, but you’ve been wearing a look on your face like we didn’t. Why?”
The shadows around Cale coiled, spun in wide ribbons.