When Uachi awoke to the sun beaming in through the thin walls of the tent he had shared with Diarmán, he was startled. He'd been so weary, he had not noticed how close they had been. Now, the Faelán man was curled up half an armspan away, his leg draped so close to Uachi's that they touched. In the light that filtered through the fabric walls, strands of his flame-red hair were highlighted gold, and his face was peaceful. The mischief and calculation that could so often be seen in his expression when he was awake were absent; he looked innocent.
Beautiful.
Uachi drew back slowly and sat up, trying not to wake the man. The last thing he needed was to deal with some wry commentary from Diarmán this morning. His head ached. He had been tired before, but he did not know if he had ever been quite so exhausted. The long weeks on the road, the stress of chasing after Ealin, of finding Uarria, of keeping her safe—it had all taken a dreadful toll.
He got up. There was nothing to do for his state of his clothes, so he simply shook out his tunic and wrenched it back on over his head. When he emerged into the morning, he caught the scent of cooking bacon and of tea, and his stomach lurched in his gut. He paused outside of the tent to wash his face and hands with the water that had been left for them. Then, he strode toward the fire.
There, Uarria on his knee, sat Matei. Naturally, there were no clothes in an encampment of fighting men that were suited for a girl so young, but they had found a tunic for her and she wore it with a belt tightly cinched around the waist, the rolled-up sleeves falling all the way down to her wrists. Someone had combed and braided her hair. She now sat with a strip of bacon between her hands, drowsing against Matei's chest with his arm around her. Uachi hesitated on the edge of the group.
"Come have some breakfast," said Matei. "I'll meet with my commanders soon to discuss how to proceed, and I want you fully awake."
"You should go back to the Holy City," Uachi said, taking a seat across from Matei. He reached for the pan of bacon and dragged it closer to him. "Back to your wife. Leave your orders with your captains and take your daughter home, Matei."
"I cannot leave my men within the clutches of our enemies."
Uachi cocked a brow, folding a piece of bacon into his mouth. "Well, I suppose some things never do change," he murmured. "For a few years there, I was worried you'd forgotten how to put your own boots on, sitting on that padded throne of yours."
With a wry expression, Matei tossed a water skin to Uachi. "I and the sores on my backside can assure you that the throne wasn't padded," he muttered.
Uachi chuckled, chewing his bacon. Although he joked, he had expected nothing less of Matei in times like these. The sharp contrast between the man who sat before him, refusing to leave his soldiers to fight for him, and Koren, who'd magicked himself away when things turned sour, was proof enough that Matei was ten times the leader his erstwhile brother could ever be.
Matei's gaze shifted, fixing on something over Uachi's shoulder. He turned his head to see Diarmán emerging from the tent, his heavy-lidded eyes and rumpled hair betraying his sleepiness. He had stripped off his shirt to sleep, but before emerging from his tent he had donned it again.
"I had not expected to meet you with a Narrian friend," Matei said quietly while the Faelán man was still out of earshot, consulting in an undertone with a passing soldier.
"Nor had I expected to find myself with one," Uachi muttered. "Speaking of pains in the arse."
Matei was grinning when Uachi turned his attention upon him again. Taken aback by the look on his face, Uachi felt defensive, but he could not frame any question or response before Matei was saying, "Did you not trust him with your life, you'd never have brought him into our encampment."
"That's a damned lie, and you know it. And you're a damned fool for saying it, after..." Uachi fell silent.
Matei watched him for a moment in silence and then, softly, he asked, "What became of her, Uachi? What became of Ealin?"
Uachi shook his head, looking down at the pan of bacon. Remembering Ealin and the manner of her death, he had lost his appetite. Grief swept over him, deep and jarring. He closed his eyes, wrapping himself around that dark feeling, wishing desperately that things could have been any way other than how they had been. He had to tell Matei what had happened to Ealin. What had happened to Uarria.
"I don't mean to intrude."
Uachi looked up to see that Diarmán had approached the fire. Relief washed over him in a flood at the opportunity to push away that difficult conversation for just a little longer. Uarria looked up at the red-headed man with a sleepy smile. As he sat down, she straightened, pointing to him. Raising his brows, Matei glanced to Uachi, who shrugged, bemused.
"Go on, then, firefly," said Matei, releasing Uarria from his arms. She got to her feet and moved across the campsite toward Diarmán. She sat at his side and reached for the pan of bacon that Uachi had forgotten. She dragged it closer and pushed it toward Diarmán.
Laughing, Diarmán reached for a slice of bacon. "Our sweet princess seems to think that I could use some fattening up," he said. "Thank you, Your Highness. Have you had enough to eat, now? I think you're skinnier than I." He gently pinched Uarria's upper arm, adopting a speculative expression, and she grinned, twisting away.
"Well, she's not wrong," muttered Uachi. "You won't be winning any battles of brute strength."
Diarmán glanced his way, grinning. "That's what you're for, my friend," he quipped. "So, when do we set off for the next part of this grand adventure? Laying siege to a holdfast, are we? A marvelous idea."
"His Holiness plans to meet with his commanders after he's broken his fast," said Uachi. "He is prone to tantrums when he's hungry, and an emperor cannot plan a siege on an empty stomach."
Matei grinned, raising his tea to his lips. "Nor can his men, judging by how quickly you're shoveling food into your mouth. Your time in Narr has not tempered your tongue, that much I can see."
"It hasn't done much at all with his tongue," said Dairmán, offering a slice of bacon to Uarria.
Matei choked on his tea.
Uachi choked on his breath.
Uarria glanced between them, the piece of bacon between her teeth, then frowned up at Diarmán. He grinned back at her, and he stuck out his tongue, rolling his eyes so that he was looking at his nose, which caused her to laugh so hard she, too, choked. He patted her back with a chuckle, throwing a mischievous glance toward Uachi. He adopted a tone of perfect innocence as he continued, "I'd like to see the Holy City someday."
"Well, you would be welcomed as a guest," said Matei, his voice a bit hoarse from the tea, "but we're likely to be delayed here for some time."
"I'm in no hurry. Mayhap I'll even pledge you my sword if you give me one of those fancy tabards. I look wonderful in blue."
There was a silence for a moment...and then it snapped, and the thing that snapped it was the sound of Uachi laughing. "Your sword," he said, disbelieving. "Did you just offer the Emperor Matei, heir to the line of the Blessed Sovereigns, your sword?"
"What in the seven hells is wrong with my sword?" Diarmán demanded.
Thinking of Diarmán's magic sword had amused Uachi, but quickly, it sobered him, too. It brought to mind the previous evening, when he'd transformed Uarria back into a girl...and the previous day, when he had played for Ealin, trying to stop her from doing something rash.
The memory of Ealin's pale, blood-spattered face killed Uachi's amusement at once. He went on, his voice flat now. "There's nothing wrong with your sword. It's just you've not used it in a while for its intended purpose. You're more likely to act as his bard than his bodyguard."
"One of these days, I'll show you just how capable I am of using my sword." Diarmán shoved another piece of bacon into his mouth and spoke around it. "That's why he'll take me on. I'm a man of many talents."
"I am not sure I can fully trust your music after what I saw last night," said Matei. "Although I have no complaints about the particular song that you played." He leaned toward Diarmán, brushing his hand over Uarria's cheek. She climbed off of Diarmán's lap and returned to her father, wrapping her arms around his and curling up in his lap.
"Shall we go for a walk?" Diarmán asked. He sprang to his feet. "Come along, Uachi, darling. Spend an hour with your favorite bastard. We can introduce ourselves to the prettiest among the guard."
Uachi did not dare to look at Matei, sensing his eyes following him as Diarmán led him away from the camp fire. It was a cool morning; the sky was veiled in thick gray clouds which promised rain, and there was a gentle breeze stirring the camp, fluttering the banners.
"Much better," Diarmán said with a sigh once they had gotten out of earshot of Matei and Uarria. "Damned if I do not chafe in the presence of my betters."
Uachi raised a sardonic brow. "He isn't your better. I'm rather fond of the fool, but he would be the first to tell you—"
"You are rather fond indeed of this Matei fellow, aren't you?" Diarmán gave Uachi a long, searching look.
"He's my oldest friend," Uachi replied. "I have known him for...well. At this point, for most of my life. When I was an urchin and the rebels brought me under their wing, they took me into their encampment. Yon emperor was nothing but a scrap of a boy, then, just as skinny and filthy as me, and just as alone. We were fast friends."
"Mm."
The two of them walked on for a time in silence, Diarmán appearing to digest what Uachi had told him. At length they came to the edge of the camp; in the distance, they could see a trio of soldiers patrolling, but otherwise, the stretch of ground was empty, and it put Uachi sharply in mind of the battlefield they had crossed to get here. He thought of the soldier whose life he had ended as an act of mercy, and of how Uarria had come across the bloody plains with a sack over her head to preserve an innocence that might have already been beyond repair.
"I wish I knew what that was like," Diarmán said softly.
"What?"
"Friendship." He wore a musing expression. "I do not think I have ever had a friend. Not a proper one. Certainly there have been a couple of lords' sons who have not been awful to me. Certainly I was fond of the stable lad—but our house is empty now. The only friends I have are those who shared a womb with me, and it is precious hard work to be friends with one's brothers."
"Mm." Uachi reflected on Diarmán's words. He would have given anything to have been friends with Uaran. Even had they not been friends, he'd have given anything to have his brother still alive, able to quarrel and fight and wrestle as brothers did. Uachi had always been driven to protect Uaran as his younger brother; in the most critical moment, though, he had been unable to save him from his terrible fate.
I am going to kill the archmage for what he did to you, Uaran. He robbed you of your future. He robbed you of your life. He robbed the world of everything you might have become.
"You look thoughtful. No...not thoughtful. Broody." Diarmán gave Uachi a close, probing look. "It suits you, but it is rather exhausted, don't you think? The idea of the brooding soldier?"
"Brooding?" Uachi echoed. "What makes you say that?"
"There's a shadow on your brow sometimes," began Diarmán. "Your face goes still, and there's a set to your shoulders." Diarmán paused, and in increments his own expression sobered. "This has been a wearisome journey, but I think much of the burden you carry is from a time before."
"You weren't wrong, you know." Uachi hesitated, uncertain how much to reveal so candidly, but in the end, it felt good to share it. "Of course I never could have given Ealin over to her father."
"At first I thought it was a pretty lie you told her to keep her quiet, but then I learned about your brother. Is that what this all has been about, Uachi of the North? Revenge?"
Uachi didn't answer. He rested his hand on the hilt of his dagger, gazing out across the fields.
"I'm sorry we didn't find them on the battlefield."
"I'm not. Any moment he spends breathing is a moment too long, but I am glad he did not meet his end out there. I owe him this dagger. It isn't just for Uaran. He is an evil man. He has hurt my people immeasurably, Diarmán. He and the Corpsemaker—and now, the Corpsemaker's son wants to claw back the empire we're trying to mend. Revenge is a part of it, though. I'll not deny that."
After a moment, Diarmán turned and started back toward the camp. "Well, perhaps we will survive this mission of ours and come away with a couple more princesses and a dead enemy or two. That will be a fun story to tell when we're old and gray."