The Chronicle of the Worthy Son

Sandwiched

"Not—wrong word, then," Able huffed and latched on to his irritation to help bury his nerves. "Ruse. You—your organization, whatever you want to call yourselves—want something from me. And it seemed to me you were pretending you had something I might want in return to get it."

Again, the air of a shrug. "I didn't read it."

"But it wouldn't surprise you if I was correct." He raised his eyebrows.

Red's minuscule face movements caved into a deep, dark frown. "We're not the ones in the wrong, Houser. Or haven't you seen enough to figure that out?

"I've seen next to nothing about you." He frowned back so as not to cower. "All I've gathered is you're Larbants who are betraying the count and his men by passing sensitive information to the Resistance."

"And you disagree with that?" Red's eyes had not once been soft but somehow they now appeared harder.

"I did not say that." Able swallowed at the dry crumbs in his throat. "Even if I agree Adeptson must be opposed—that he's in the wrong, as you say—that does not automatically make anyone opposing him in the right."

"What wrongs of ours then are you objecting to?" she huffed impatiently.

"I am objecting to your underhanded attempt to involve me in a cause I have not been informed of." He only just refrained from looking around for help again. His heart was pounding inside his chest. "And given the way you comport yourselves, I expect my loyalty to your cause would be required before I were informed of it, which is an order I would also object to."

Red's frown dissolved, and she appeared to consider him more impartially a moment before she snorted faintly. "It's really too bad you use that cleverness of yours as a shield instead of a sword."

He swallowed again. "Pardon?" Did she have to stand so close?

"It's sad," her tone was unconcerned. "So much effort to protect yourself when you'll never manage it in the end. Clever men never do. Least you could do is strike some damage before you go down."

"I have no intention of damaging anyone," Able muttered.

"Not anyone who can strike back, anyway." Red might have been amused.

Able returned his focus to the sandwich. Whatever the reason she was baiting him, but he couldn't afford to fall for it. He looked at the ground while he chewed, trodden soil and litter with the odd root and moss. Would have calmed him if not for the intrusion of Red's near-black yellow armored leg—wait, hadn't it been green yesterday?

Able looked over the combat suit, yes black with a yellowish sheen. He looked around at the yellowed canvas tents in rows on either side of them then turned back to her. "Your suit is black, yet it picks up the colors around to blend in? How does it do that?"

She blinked in something that might have been actual surprise. So much for changing the subject to a safer topic. "I am not answering that," she said quite plainly.

Able let that lapse into silence and considered himself fortunate. He felt even more fortunate when a minute later he spotted Lark spotting him.

Lark flashed him a grin before taking his leave of the people he'd been walking with. Then he trotted over in his immaculately fitted hunting jacket and trousers. His stubble was fully grown in, his hair was loose, wild, and windswept, and he sported a sheen of perspiration on his forehead and neck. He had never looked more like a man, and yet Able wanted little more than to pull him back into the tent with him. But because he wanted one thing more than that, he merely straightened his own jacket.

"Good morning!" Lark's sing-song voice washed over Able like a warm breeze. "You feeling any better?"

"Much." Able nodded perfunctorily in attempt to conceal how deeply he meant it. "You've been for a run?"

"Just now? Came from training some of the newer folks." He raised a finger. "And don't you even start."

"I don't imagine a trainee could even touch you," Able replied and took another bite of his sandwich.

"I think I like you better after you've slept!" Lark laughed.

"You're not in charge of battle training, though," Able confirmed once he'd swallowed.

"Nah, just help out whenever I'm here."

"I imagine you're heading back soon?" Able asked, then clarified when Lark cocked his head questioningly."To Fairbanks. To maintain your cover."

Lark frowned, glanced at Red, then stepped in so his face was hidden from her view beside Able's ear. Able's heart skipped a beat and then took off as warm breath whispered over his ear and neck. "I am not leaving you here unless you're certain you're all right."

Able took a long inhale followed by an even longer exhale. Was he afraid? He'd kept his calm so far, as was his habit of keeping his thoughts from dwelling on things he could do nothing about. But now that Lark was offering him a way out, a way to back away from all of this, he was ready to go. Back to Fairbanks to reconsider everything and plan a new move: was this wisdom or merely a strong instinctive urge to run and hide? As self-defeating as his urge to lean into Lark and seek his embrace right now?

If he left the Resistance camp now, it was unlikely that he would be allowed to return. So Able took another long inhale and turned to meet Lark's eyes. "Introductions would be nice."

Lark looked into one eye, and then the other. "I can do that," he said with a satisfied nod. And he reached out so that his hand brushed Able's, but then he pulled it away the moment it did. Instead, he jerked his head in the direction of the path then began walking it. "It's one of my talents, even," he added brightly and grinned at Red's inimical expression as he passed her.

Able worked the fingers of his brushed hand. Had Lark meant to take his hand? To lead him, or give it a reassuring squeeze? Able chased away the new butterflies in his stomach with the rest of his sandwich.