“If we don’t find a safe place to stay that’s on you!”
“No.” I shook my head. “That’s on you. What’s so important you can’t trade this?!”
“It’s private, Rogan. You know private, as in none of your business, as in you don’t need to know!”
“Yes, I do!”
“Why?!”
For a moment I couldn’t meet his eyes, my stomach lurching again, my brother’s laughter taunting my guilt. I clenched my teeth, hoping somehow it would hold me together. Finally I met Wolfe’s curious, frustrated gaze. “I don’t know why.”
I don’t know what Wolfe saw in my eyes, but he searched long enough to find it and finally nodded. “Fine.”
“You’ll trade?” I asked in surprise.
“I’ll trade.”
“Then ask away.”
“Rogan, I need you to find us someplace safe to stay and get us there by a safe route.”
My magic washed over me in a warm wave and I was almost sorry when it was over and my skin turned cold again in the downpour. I felt the pull of the little farm over the border into Daeronia. I grinned wearily, glad at the thought of the danger free journey I felt ahead of us. “Follow me.”
Chapter Seventeen
Being a mage came in handy. It took us a few days but we crossed the border into Daeronia with little problem (except hunger and exhaustion) and soon our olfactory senses were bombarded by the sweet yeasty smell of the large brewery to the west of us as we headed towards Caera. It would take another half day or so to ride onto Caera, so I took us off the main trade road and into the fields towards a tiny farm owned by an elderly widow my magic told me would help us.
She was surprisingly wily, peppering us with questions. Since my magic told us it was safe, Wolfe thought it was alright to tell her he was one of the Guard and we had gotten into some trouble at the rookery in Vasterya.
“Oh, I heard about all that trouble at the border.” She nodded, leading us past her little sitting room and into a larger farm kitchen. The smell of home-cooked stew caused my stomach to rumble and I clutched it in embarrassment. The widow threw me a sympathetic smile and gestured to the table for us to take seats. “Sounds like the two of you were lucky to get away.”
“Yes, ma’am, we were,” Wolfe agreed. “We really appreciate you helping us.”
“No thanks needed.” She bustled about, ladling huge amounts of stew into a bowl. I felt the saliva building up under my tongue. “I ain’t got much room in the house I’m afraid but I’ve got a barn outside with a nice warm hayloft. I got some blankets you can take up there; that should keep you cosy for the night.”
Even though I didn’t fancy a night in a barn it was just so nice to be treated with some hospitality again… you know, rather than being kidnapped and thrown around. “That sounds perfect.” I smiled gratefully as she put a bowl of stew and a cup of ale before me. I shared a happy look with Wolfe and we broke bread, scooping the stew up as if we hadn’t had a decent meal in ages. And to be honest we hadn’t. The old widow was almost as good a cook as Cook.
“This is delicious,” I managed between mouthfuls and she smiled cheerily, watching us scoff it down, seeming happy to have someone to feed again.
After our bellies were full we sat with her for a while, engaging her in conversation that we somehow kept centred around her life. Finally, seeing her eyelids droop, I suggested we get some sleep. Handing over some blankets and an oil lamp, the widow sleepily wished us a good night and turned to ascend the stairs to her own bed.
The barn wasn’t huge and when we climbed up into the hayloft we glanced at one another. It was certainly cosy. I flushed at the thought of being in such close quarters with Wolfe. Not saying a word to one another, we spread the blankets out and then carefully sat down next to one another. I could feel the heat from his skin inches from mine, the scent of him tickling my senses. I shivered a little, my stomach doing that strange flipping thing again.
Finally I couldn’t take the silence. “So, you’re quite a powerful Glava?”
Wolfe tensed beside me and I bit my lip, wondering if he was going to go back on his word and not tell me all I wanted to know.
“Well?”
He exhaled so heavily I almost felt badly for pressing him about it.
Not badly enough to stop. “Wolfe?” I placed a tentative hand on his arm and he jolted in surprise, looking down at it there. Those eyes of his lifted up slowly until they were stuck on mine and I flushed, breaking the connection, pulling my hand away from his arm.
“I hid it,” he said quietly, snapping my attention back to his face. “I hid it.”
“But why?”
He shrugged, staring off into the dark rafters ahead of us, his jaw taut with suppressed emotion. “Because… because I was afraid the magic meant I was like my father.”
That vulnerable sentence reached out to me to take me by the shoulders and shake me awake. My heartbeat picked up its pace and I began to get this sick feeling in my stomach.
How could I have been so wrong?
“Kir… Kir said you were as much a victim as him and I. What did he mean?”
Wolfe’s eyes slanted towards me, a well of dark pain and anger fencing in his gaze. I knew he didn’t want to tell me, that I was using his sense of honour, in keeping his promise, against him. If I were any kind of good person I would have reached out and told him it was alright, he didn’t need to tell me anything. However, my own selfish need to discover the real Wolfe dominated. I stared back at him, waiting.
“My father…” his voice cracked but he refused to look away. “He didn’t treat me and my mother very well. As you know… he was a cruel man.”
Ice crawled across my skin. “What did he do to you?”
“Mostly manipulative mind games to make us feel inferior, subordinate. But when Haydyn’s father was dying - when he died - as you know things got worse. For us as well.”
Thick silence took over, robbing me of my voice. In truth, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know what Syracen had done to Wolfe. It was one thing for a man to abuse strangers, but to hurt your own flesh and blood…?
“He uh… he horsewhipped my mother a few times.”
Bile rose in my throat as I remembered the agony Kir had gone through. To do that to your own wife... “And that scar… the horseshoe?” I didn’t really want to know, did I?
A bitter, twisted little chuckle escaped Wolfe and he shook his head. “I made the mistake of attacking my father when he took the whip to my mother. Kir helped me because my mother was kind to him. My father beat Kir… but me… he took a hot horseshoe to and branded me. He told me I was his son not hers; like horseflesh I belonged solely to him and as such he expected me to obey him as my master.”
I couldn’t comprehend what he was confiding. My chest flared with sharp, needling pain. Hot tears prickled in my eyes, and I couldn’t speak, my throat had closed up with hurt and anger for him. With guilt. All these years I had been horrible to him, painting him with the same brush, so sure he would want to hurt me for what I did to Syracen.
“I got my revenge though. I helped Kir escape.”
So that explained their camaraderie.
Kir knew Wolfe better than I had. Why did that hurt so much? I clutched my stomach tightly. Wolfe must loathe me for the way I had treated him. The pain sharpened in my chest and I was afraid I couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, I was truly afraid Wolfe hated me.
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered, a stupid tear leaking out and rolling down my cheek. I brushed it away impatiently and was surprised when Wolfe caught my hand.
He stared, seeming amazed, watching as I lost my fight with another tear and it escaped. His thumb caught it, rubbing it softly into my cheek. I was so aware of him… so close to me, my whole body tense to the point of trembling, my heart racing madly. “Are you crying for me, Rogan?”
I nodded and then shook my head stupidly. “I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because he hurt you. Because I’ve treated you terribly because of him.” I shuddered trying to calm myself. “I thought you detested me, that you were planning to take some kind of vengeance for my part in getting Syracen killed.”
When his touch left me, I was confused. I wanted him to touch me again but I was also thankful he didn’t. I could breathe easier when he wasn’t so close.
Right now his brow was deeply furrowed with thought. “That’s why you’re snotty with me?”
Snotty? How dare he-
I shook it off, amazed by how easy it was to become irritated with him. I threw him a look for his word choice but sniffed in acknowledgement. The corner of his mouth quirked up and I could tell he was dying to laugh at me. He smothered it with his hand, rubbing it across his mouth in concentration. And then he nodded. “I think I understand. But you should know I felt nothing but relief when he was killed. My mother and I were free. Our lives completely changed that day, for the better.”
I wanted to reach out and offer some kind of comfort, some kind of apology that would make up for the last eight years of disdainful attacks against him. Haydyn would be pleased to know she had been right all along about him, I thought wryly.
When Wolfe tensed beside me I grew uneasy. I understood when he asked, “What exactly did my father do to your family, Rogan?”
The rage burst open across my chest like a tidal wave after a land-shake and I drew in deep shuddering breaths to calm my memories. Finally I asked softly, “Are you sure you want to hear about that?”
“Only if you’re up to telling it.”
So I told him. About a perfect summer’s day ending in tears and bloodshed and a never ending impotent agony. His golden skin grew paler and paler as the story went on. I even told him about Valena. When I grew quiet I hadn’t even realised I’d been crying until Wolfe, eyes bright with sorrow, handed me a handkerchief. I wiped at my tears as another smog-filled silence descended over us.
For a while all I could hear was our soft breathing and blood rushing in my ears.
“No wonder you hate me,” Wolfe choked, his shoulders slumping over. For the first time in a long time he looked like a little boy again and I didn’t want to be the one that had done that to him. Especially since I was coming to realise… I didn’t hate Wolfe at all.
“I don’t hate you,” I replied softly, sure my heart was going to burst it was racing so fast. It only got worse as our eyes collided, his seeming to search mine in desperation. The colour returned to his cheeks and he licked his lips nervously.
“You don’t?”
I shivered at the hoarseness in his voice and shook my head, my cheeks burning. “No. I realise now that this person you’ve been, Captain of the Guard, that’s really who you are. I’m sorry I didn’t treat you the way you deserved.”
He smirked. “I wasn’t exactly charming to you either.”
I laughed softly. “You were just reacting in kind.”