“Perhaps we can convince the barkeep to take some in to work here for room and board. He seems decent.”
“The barkeep whose servant did that to you?” I point to his neck.
“They will all be dead by the end of the week, along with the barkeep, if he attempts to help them,” Jarek’s tone is deadpan, factual. “Either by Isembert’s replacement, the keepers who wait for our departure so they can cleanse their town, or Lyndel’s army who will hunt them down when they sweep through. All you’ve done by marking them is set clear targets.”
Zander sighs with resignation. “Would it have been wiser to leave them unmarked so more of our kind would die?”
“Do not ask me what I think would be wise because I doubt you will like the answer.”
“You can’t kill them. They haven’t hurt anyone,” I hiss. Yet.
A vein in Jarek’s forehead throbs, but when he speaks, it’s to Zander, as if I’m not here. “Even the most principled of these keepers will eventually realize that protecting these mortals is far more trouble than it’s worth. All that was done to save them will be for naught the moment we turn our backs, and they will die with their pretty little marks on their hands. A mark that will become a symbol of certain death soon enough.”
“He’s right.” And maybe he’ll help convince Zander of my reasoning. “They don’t have Atticus’s protection, and fear is overshadowing compassion or reason. Look how easily Isembert strolled in here last night and took over. People like this barkeep mean well, but they won’t burn their lives to the ground for these mortals. We have to bring them with us.”
Jarek scowls. “That is not what I said.”
“I don’t hear you offering any other solutions.”
“We already have enough mortals to protect. They likely won’t survive in those caves,” Elisaf says more gently.
“They definitely won’t survive here, so give them a choice. Who knows? They might surprise you.”
“More surprises?” Jarek spears me with a steely look. “I think I’ve had enough.”
“Enough with the bickering. You two sound like children.” Zander pinches the bridge of his nose. “Romeria, eat before it gets cold.”
I dig into the gritty slop, pausing long enough to mumble, “He started it.” Now I sound like a child.
Gesine pushes my bowl forward. “It will help restore your power faster.”
My power is already returning, to my great relief. I intentionally left my ring off so I would feel when that persistent buzz returned. Ironic, really, that I was so quick to avoid feeling these affinities before, when I didn’t know what to do with them. But when I woke this morning and sensed the emptiness, I felt as if I’d lost something vital.
“And where are we going again?” Jarek’s eyes flicker to me. “Oh right, north, where there is a small army of Ybarisans waiting for us.”
“We’ve discussed this already.” Zander’s voice is crisp. He may be expecting Jarek’s unruliness, but that doesn’t mean he welcomes it.
“And yet new, rather important details have emerged since.”
“Your point, legionary?”
But I see his point. “He thinks I’m leading you into a trap.”
“Is that so?” Zander rests his elbows on the table and levels Jarek with a challenging look.
The warrior matches it for three long beats before standing. “The commander has permitted me to stay behind and hunt for the trail to Drakon and Iago.”
Zander’s jaw tenses. “We need your skilled blade on the journey north.”
“You seem to be well-equipped to defend yourself. I will rejoin once I find them.”
Zander could defy Abarrane’s order, but I know he’d rather not do it openly, not when things are so volatile already. “Good luck.”
“Aye.” Jarek takes off, as if he can’t get away fast enough.
As much as he wants to find his fellow legionaries, something tells me this has as much to do with getting far away from me. That realization stirs a strange and unexpected frustration. As much as I hated Jarek at the start, he was growing on me. I felt safer with him around. Zander was safer with him around.
Now we’re back to him wishing me dead.