Empire of Shadows

11.

Polarians were well known as some of the greatest horsemen and Ketil Østberg was no exception. It seemed like there was nothing he couldn't do. Sewing? He was better than anyone she knew. Swordsmanship? He wasn't exactly professional, but he was quite proficient. Languages? There wasn't one he couldn't speak with near fluency.

Dante watched Ketil with interest as he shifted in his saddle, scratching at his collar. She bit her lip as he leaned over to adjust a buckle on his boot. He glanced back at her, motioning for her to come closer. His lips turned up into a goofy smile, eyebrows raised. She squeezed her leg against her own horse's side, sending her forward to his side.

Ketil grabbed the horse by the bridle, steadying his own horse as it let out a nervous whinny. "Steady there farm girl, I thought you'd be more comfortable on one of these."

She looked up at him, his icy eyes wide and staring into hers with their usual intensity. Dante looked back toward her horse's black mane, her breath floating over her head. "We didn't have much of a farm to begin with."

Ketil nodded, biting at his lip. "It's more than I've known, but I figured you'd know a thing or two about horses."

She shrugged. "Papa didn't have a horse for riding, he had a donkey to pull the cart. We once had a mule, but the Inspector took it for use in the transport of prisoners." She gripped the reins tighter in her fists. "When they found out he was stealing, they hung him with that mule."

Ketil was silent, his thin lips pulling into a tight frown. "Drass, kid."

"We've all got bad stories," she flexed her fingers, adjusting her cowl. She'd thought about this story countless times and could recount it with the cold voice of an outside narrator. "It's not our fault and it's not the mule's fault that it completed the command of someone else. My father was a good man when it came to me, but to everyone else, he was a coward. But it's finished now."

"Drass, you don't have to act like it's okay." His thin, pale fingers grabbed her gloved hand.

"I am fine, Østberg. I have been fine for years. I don't want your pity."

"You're just a kid. You don't deserve that story."

"I'm a riesun—we share tragedy. It's in our blood."

A silence pulled at them and they stared into the darkness, snow covered the ground in a thin blanket.

Ketil let out a small cough, his gloved hands balling up into fists. "Dante, you know I would die for you, right?"

She stared at the spot between her horse's ears. It was always like this. Ketil always had this savior complex. Maybe that was just a Polarian thing. Or maybe he thought he was such an adult at twenty-three that he had to shoulder the burden of caring for her.

"I don't need anyone to die for me, I'll die on my own terms." Dante tilted her head. "You don't always have to be the hero. Sometimes you're the damsel in distress, Ketil."

He stiffened a little, eyebrows furrowed. "I am in no ways a hero. I am the opposite of a hero."

Raziel groaned behind them, "you both make me want to vomit. Can we leave the moral debates out of it, because we all lose this fight."

"I think I'm a rather moral person," Vasco said from in front of them.

"Shut up," Raziel said over the silence of the forest around them. "You're nothing more than a who—"

"So? I've still got morals, no matter my profession." Vasco snorted. "And like you're any better? You're not even a real healer. You're just a—"