Chapter Thirteen: Loss

  They left the next day, dismantling the tent and loading the ponies. Ean noticed the others carefully stepping around Roarke’s pack until it was the only thing left on the ground and no longer avoidable.

  “We could bring it, if you wanted,” Asali said to Leo. “We can take turns carrying it.”

  Leo shook his head. “We have enough to carry.”

  He stood for a moment, clearly torn. Ean almost suggested that they bury it, but he was afraid that a faux-funeral would bring the grief back. Everyone had been calm-faced and stoic so far. Even Flora had stopped crying. He didn’t want to risk opening those floodgates again.

  Leo bent down and retrieved Roarke’s sword from his belongings. He tied it to one of the ponies and the group continued north.

  Their pace was slow, for which Ean was grateful. Two days of rest had gone a long way toward healing his collection of cuts and bruises, but his side still ached. As much as Ean appreciated the leisurely walk, he knew that it wasn’t for his benefit. Grief was a heavy burden to bear. It dragged at the others’ feet, turning long strides into shuffles. It bowed their shoulders and cast their eyes to the ground. It shut their mouths and filled the silence with despair. Ean watched, an outsider to their anguish. He hadn’t been friends with Roarke, and as a shadow-walker, he was more calloused to loss. If pain was a companion, then grief was a not-so-distant relative who visited too frequently, usually unexpected and always uninvited.

  Asali dropped back at mid-day to walk with him. “I’m worried,” she said, without preamble.

  Ean immediately scanned the perimeter, his hand falling to his hip knife, but she shook her head.

  “Not about a physical threat. An emotional one.”

  “I don’t know how to help with that,” Ean said honestly.

  “I’m not expecting you to provide comfort, just… you’re the only one that didn’t know Roarke before and that means you’re thinking the clearest right now. I’m trusting you to speak up if emotions get in the way of good decision making.”

  Ean’s initial instinct was to refuse the responsibility. He was the bodyguard, not the party’s counselor. He opened his mouth to say so, but she pinned him with a stern gaze.

  “Your job is to keep the Prince safe, no matter the danger.”

  Ean wasn’t sure how to protect Leo from his own emotions, but he found himself nodding anyway. “Okay.”

  She walked with him for a while longer before re-joining the rest of the group. Ean kept his position in the rear, feeling slightly panicked at the new task.

  They stopped early for the night. No one complained. Ean’s side was aching, and the rest looked tired, more tired than was warranted after a short day of easy walking. They’d only crested one hill today. Up ahead, the northern mountains grew taller. If they’d barely made it up a hill, they weren’t going to make it up a mountain.

  He kept those thoughts to himself and started unpacking the ponies, his side throbbing in protest. He hissed, but no one noticed. They dove into their chores with full abandon. Chadwick set up the tent all by himself. Leo brushed the ponies to a parade-level shine. Flora made a complicated dinner with the birds Asali brought back, complete with soup and berry-biscuits. Afterwards, when all the work was done, the group fell quiet again. Leo took the first watch. Ean stayed up long enough to see him sneak out of camp. He followed. Leo didn’t go far, just far enough to cry without waking anyone up. Ean let him have his space.

  They walked quicker the next day. Ean wasn’t sure if Leo was trying to make up for lost time, or if his grief had turned into anger. He didn’t mind at first, but halfway through the morning they reached rougher terrain, the soft grass of the moor giving way to the granite of the mountain range ahead. Pain spiked in his side. He pulled in a breath and kept walking.

  He thought they’d slow in the afternoon as the pace began taking its toll on the others. Chadwick’s face went damp with sweat; Asali’s breathing became labored. Flora used one of the ponies as a crutch because her ankle was still weak. Leo’s face flushed red with exertion, but he kept pushing on.

  The sun began to drop. Chadwick tugged on Leo’s sleeve and pointed. Ean followed his finger to a flat stretch of grass by the river, partially shaded by a grove of spindly trees. It would make a comfortable camping site, but Leo didn’t seem to agree. He shook his head and kept walking. Chadwick looked to Asali, who shrugged and followed Leo. Flora limped after them. Chadwick hesitated, but then fell in line as well.

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  Ean stopped. This was what Asali had warned him about.

  “Leo,” he called.

  The Prince turned, frustration written on his face.

  Ean gestured at the clearing Chadwick had indicated. “Let’s call it a night. We made good distance today.”

  Leo shook his head. “We still have light.”

  “Just because the sun’s still traveling doesn’t mean we have to,” Ean said. “Everyone could use a break.”

  Leo turned to the others. “Anyone else want to stop?” From the challenge in his voice, it was clear what answer he expected.

  Flora was the first to shake her head. “No, we can keep going.”

  Asali and Chadwick exchanged a look between them.

  “We should probably rest,” Asali hedged.

  Leo let out a rough breath. “We shouldn’t spend more time than we have to on the moors. We already met one group of bandits and I don’t want to meet another. We keep going.”

  He was afraid, Ean realized. Not of battle, but of losing another member of the group. That’s what had been chasing his steps all day, not grief, not anger, but fear. And he wasn’t wrong to be afraid. The Wildmen chief had said that others had been hired. But this was what Asali had meant by making a judgment call. The group needed rest more than distance. Ean wasn’t sure how to make the Prince see that though, so he put a hand to his side.

  “I don’t want to spend extra time on the moors either, but I need a break.” Ean gave a grimace that was only half-exaggerated.

  Leo’s brow scrunched low, concern warring with his frustration. He took a minute to decide. “Alright. We’ll stop for the night.”

  They turned to the clearing and began setting up camp, or rather, the others did, because Leo grabbed the bag that Ean started to unload and motioned for him to sit down. Flora joined him, propping her leg up and rewrapping her ankle. She peeked at Ean’s stitches while the others worked around them.

  Dinner was the leftovers of the previous night’s meal, simple to prepare and eaten quickly. The evening fell into an uneasy quiet. Ean wished he was with a group of shadow-walkers. When they gathered for a funeral, they didn’t mourn in silence. They spoke the names of the fallen. They told stories of their exploits and made jokes of their bad habits. They laughed and cried with full abandon and kept vigil through the night. But no one was talking about Roarke. No one was talking at all. And once again, Ean was going to have to speak up.

  He didn’t have the words to be reassuring. His last two attempts at providing comfort, to Flora and Leo, seemed to have fallen short; so, instead, he cracked his knuckles, linked his fingers together, and cupped his palms. He brought his hands to his lips and blew across his thumbs, creating a hollow, whistling sound. The others looked over.

  His mother had taught him how to play hand-flute. She’d always said a good bard should always be able to play music, even if there wasn’t an instrument available. She’d taught him drums first, tapping on whatever surface was available, his legs, a table, an empty box. When he could keep a steady beat, she’d moved on to hand-flute.

  He played a basic scale to warm up, then paused. There were a few funeral songs he could pick from; he decided on the Evening’s Rest. It was originally a lullaby, but over the centuries it had become more common as a mourning song. The first line was unmistakable, a starting note and a sixth jump, then two steps down to the fifth and third. He played those first four notes. Everyone froze.

  He kept playing. The melody was a simple one, and the words were simpler still, but there was weight to them.

  The day is done, the night has come,

  Lay your head to rest.

  Great God above, in heaven’s throne,

  Keep thee ever blessed.

  At a shadow-walker funeral, they sang rowdier songs, more irreverent and less comforting. And it wasn’t unusual for funerals to turn into an impromptu revelry because it was one of the few times shadow-walkers were allowed to drink. Ean played a lot of music at those send-offs. Usually there was a lyre or lute to borrow, but if there wasn’t, then it was hand-flute, like now.

  He played through the first verse and then Asali started singing, softly, but growing louder. Chadwick joined in, then Flora, and finally Leo. By the fifth and final verse, their voices cracked with emotion, and tears streamed down their faces, but they were no longer sitting alone. Chadwick had an arm around Asali’s shoulders. She was holding onto Leo’s arm, and Flora had grabbed his other hand. Ean repeated the last line and let the last note trail away. For a few moments after, they wept together, united in their grief.

  Chadwick broke the silence, clearing his throat and wiping the tears off his face. “Did I ever tell you about the time Roarke caught me releasing piglets into the chapel during Countess Gena’s wedding?”

  “What?” Asali demanded, at the same time Leo rounded on him and accused, “I knew it was you!”

  “Piglets?” Flora asked.

  Chadwick launched into a tale about a wager that somehow ended up with piglets squealing through a wedding ceremony. Ean was sure he was exaggerating pieces of it, but he told it well enough that there was always a hint of credibility to the story. And then he got up and did an impression of Roarke discovering him, and eventually assisting him, that was pretty spot on, even though Ean had a hard time imagining Roarke partaking in such a juvenile prank. By the time Chadwick finished, the group was in tears again, but this time from laughter.

  And then everyone had a story to tell about Roarke. Asali shared the speech he had given at her promotion ceremony, Flora talked about meeting him while learning healing medicine in the barracks’ infirmary, and Leo spoke about his first swordsmanship lesson. They stayed up for hours, caught up in the stories, and Ean stayed up as well, listening and keeping watch as the night slipped by.