She wanted to turn around and run back down the stairs, but the barbarian was down there. She could imagine the look on his face if she did. He was a barbarian bed bonded, and she was the daughter of a Senator, but he would sneer at her and all of that would mean nothing. She forced herself to walk at a measured pace to her room, although her bones seemed to vibrate as her will and body warred between themselves.
Within her room, she fell to the floor and crawled to the dresser, where she crammed her few possessions with frantic haste into her bag. The instant this was done, a new fear beset her: there was no love lost between them, what if he had sent her up here to pack while he walked out the door? He had called her human garbage not twenty minutes ago, and he still seemed to think this might all be her fault.
This fear turned out to be unworthy: she had barely managed to whip up a proper panic when she heard his familiar footfalls on the stairs. No one moved like Havec, soft-footed as a cat yet strutting arrogantly. She could almost hear the jingle of the bells he wasn’t wearing. She scrambled to her feet and made it to the door in time to see him emerge through the floor.
He had a lantern in hand and carried a small sack that was already filled. When his eyes found her, he gave her a nod. He moved past her, continuing upward, and didn’t protest when she fell in at his heels. She couldn’t bear to be alone again, especially not in the dark.
They climbed to the top of the tower, which turned out to be one gigantic room. As the barbarian lit a few lights, it was revealed, windows looking out in every direction, their curtains dancing in a warm wind. A large bed stood near the far wall, covers disturbed, but it didn’t really register that this was his room until he went to the dresser and began pulling out clothes.
Most of it, he stuffed in a pack, but he did pull a shirt on and traded his knickers for a pair of long pants. Properly dressed for the first time since she met him, he seemed a different person, more relatable perhaps, but also more intimidating. He wasn’t her teacher’s temperamental pet, he was a tall and handsome foreigner.
A pair of boots stood upright beside the dresser, and he pulled them on. When he straightened, he seemed arrested by something on the dresser’s top and reached out before going still. The tableau held for a span of seconds, then he turned away decisively. As he passed her, he gestured behind him. “Feel free to raid my jewelry, it sounds like your family could use the cash.”
“You don’t want it? For sentimental reasons, if nothing else?”
“These are the memories I’ll take with me,” he murmured.
Qanath didn’t turn around to find out what he meant. She had drawn close enough to the dresser to see what lay on its top and been sucked in. There was a fortune in jewelry just lying there for the taking, and he was right that her family could use the money. She reached out and hesitated, too, uncertain. Then she made her hand move forward and close around a fistful of chains of gold and silver, which she shoved in her bag.
When she did turn around, she found the barbarian walking a circle of the lone pillar supporting the roof high above. It was covered in weapons like a candy tree at a children’s festival. She took in flails and whips scattered amongst swords, axes, bows, along with half a hundred other weapons with names unknown to her.
Her companion was busy weighing himself down with an arsenal. He had a knife and two swords at his hips, and now slung a cased bow across his back, reaching next for a quiver. “Feel free to take anything you want. All of this is mine now, so I give you permission or whatever.”
She had no desire to take a weapon, but his words felt like a challenge. She grabbed a staff as tall as she was, thin and graceful, and more importantly, neither metal nor edged. She had seen enough blood tonight to last her a lifetime.
It had hung from the pillar by a leather strap that made it easy to sling across her back. When he saw that she was ready, the barbarian nodded toward the stairs. Together, they made their way down through the bodies and out into the night. Then he turned left and set off walking briskly into the middle of a grassy field.
Qanath stared, uncertain, before hurrying after him. “Are we not going to use the road, is it too dangerous?”
He stopped, and she felt his sidelong gaze. It was a moment before he said, very casually, “Why don’t you lead the way?”
She had no idea why he had suggested this but had no desire to argue. Not out here in the night with the wind blowing, the shifting shadows even more peopled by assassins than the blood-soaked building they just quit. She would do anything it took not to rile his restive temper.
She led them to the road, and together, they made their way into the night.
A Bargain Isn’t Struck
They walked through the darkness for a period that felt far too long right up until the barbarian called a halt, at which point Qanath worried they hadn’t traveled far enough. They made a cold camp in a copse of pines between the road and the line of hills that had begun to rise off to their right. Neither of them slept, tossing fitfully while they stared into the night. She didn’t think she was the only one seeing ghosts.
The instant the sun broke the horizon, her companion sat up. He dragged both of their bags to him and began rummaging industriously. Qanath rolled onto her side while she watched him take things from his bag, examine them, and put them in hers. At first, she thought he was trying to even the loads, but after a minute she decided he had raided the larder and was making certain she had a share. When she realized why he was doing it, she sat up.
“That’s it? You’re sending me home?”
“I’m not sending you anywhere,” he replied, eyes on his hands. “I’m leaving. You can go where you will.”
“You’re what?”
“Leaving, I said.”
“But, but, but,” she sputtered. Then she snorted, making it as scornful as she could. “Oh, I get it. Now his hand’s off the leash, it’s back to your old crutch.”
“What?”
“I assume you have a habit, to have gotten yourself so badly in debt. Was it gambling or booze?”
“I never acquired a habit for drinking,” he said absently, attention on what he was doing. “I can picture myself drinking myself to death at a young age and I imagine Xar could too: he never let me acquire a taste.”
“So was it horses or dice?”
He glanced at her, brow furrowed. “We wagered with each other, but the forfeits Xar was after never involved coin. Why are we talking about this?”
“I’m trying to figure out how you got yourself in debt. What you’re so eager to get back to now you can.”
“I’m not in debt, why do you keep saying that? Last time I was free, I was still young enough to receive an allowance.”
“Then why did you sell yourself into bonding?”
His face went wooden, all expression falling away. He was still for one breathless second, then he scrambled on hands and knees toward her, and he closed so fast she didn’t have time to get away. Grasping her collar in one fist, he bared his teeth in her face, so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her dew-cold cheek. “You stupid bitch, what makes you think I did that to myself?”
When he released her, she rose to her feet in reflex and staggered back until she caught herself against a tree. “You cannot mean it was against your will.”
Havec turned away from her, making himself busy again with their things. She had the sense that he regretted the emotional outburst, and his response was flippant: “Why not?”
“It’s illegal!”
“You know, it’s funny,” he replied, and the mocking tone of voice was strained, “I tried to make that argument to the bonding-broker and never got much traction. Perhaps your laws don’t apply to foreigners?”
“Why did you never tell Xar anKebbal? No one would have dared to refuse him if he asked for his money back.” That hadn’t come out quite the way she intended and she said hastily, “I meant because the transaction was illegal. He could have brought the politzqa down on that broker if he knew.”
