Tahlen let his hand fall to his side. “I was well enough. There’s no use discussing this.”
“If you say so,” Zelli told him sadly, “but I would have liked to have known.”
“Why?” The hard edge in Tahlen’s voice sent Zelli stumbling back. “What difference would it have made?” Tahlen demanded, then raised both eyebrows. “Ah! I would no longer have been just a guard, but someone from a noble family? Is that it?”
He opened the door to Zelli’s room, where there was some light as if someone had already lit an evening fire, gave the room a glance to determine it held no threats, then put his back to Zelli.
“I’ll leave you to your rest. Lock the door behind you,” Tahlen offered as parting words, then disappeared down the stairs, his long braid the last part of him in sight.
That braid.
Zelli reached up to touch his own hair. Today had been the first time he’d felt like a stylish member of a noble family.
Because someone from a noble family had done his hair for him.
“Knowing would have helped me understand you!” he growled after Tahlen, who wouldn’t hear.
He stepped into his room far enough to slam the door, although he didn’t, because he would never damage Mayor Sar’s inn. He closed the door, firmly, then glared at it since Tahlen wasn’t there to pretend he was fine with the deaths of his family due to beat-of-four treachery.
It was not Zelli’s place to pry. They were not friends, not as others were. But he couldn’t help but think that Tahlen had offered to court him with this between them, and still would not have said. Now he would be distant again, without even the faintest glimmer of humor for Zelli to see and share in.
“I would have known,” Zelli furiously told an absent Tahlen. “I could have turned the talk in the inn away from the Vallithi for you. I could have insisted another guard accompany us and you could have spared yourself that, and you would not now think I… think I…. You are supposed to be with me, you unbendingwall!”
Zelli tore at his necklace until it was free and he could bite savagely at the leather.
“Your sister is right to hate me for dragging you into this if you’re all she has!” he hissed around it. “A person is not a target of straw, Tahlen of the Vallithi, but if it came to that or letting you die, I would…”
He didn’t know what he would do. But Tahlen had taken that choice from him.
Because Tahlen had once been an innocent child of a noble house who had faced violence and he didn’t want that for Zelli.
Fifteen, Zelli thought, sagging against the side of the bed. Zelli had been only two years older than that when Tahlen had come to their fortress. Tahlen might dislike beat-of-fours, might dislike Zelli, yet he still wanted better for Zelli, because Tahlen had lived it and it must have hurt.
“I would have known you better,” he told Tahlen, angry and then sad and exhausted. “Even if I didn’t understand, I would have known you better. Always, I cause you harm, when you’ve already felt too much. I wish I could understand you, but I suppose I never will.”
The room swayed. Zelli dropped the necklace in his hands and shook his head, trying to clear it of dizziness. He hadn’t thought he’d had that much wine, but he must have, first yelling at no one and now sick and unsteady on his feet.
He went to the stand and mirror to leave the rowan tree necklace someplace safe, and caught sight of himself: the fine silver links now twisted, his mouth red from wine, hair that had begun to wriggle free sometime in the past few hours. Barely a beat-of-four and he had teased Tahlen that Tahlen had more noble bearing than him.
The room swayed again, so Zelli turned and climbed onto the bed. He buried his head under the pillows without regard for his braids or hair clasps and tried to let the dark, muffled quiet soothe him.
He bit the pillow when he could not get his heart to calm and his chest seemed a yawning, cavernous thing. He shredded the pillow’s cover with his teeth and presented the destroyed fabric to Stern Sar in the morning with deeply embarrassed apologies and what was left of his money.
He did not explain.
Thankfully, she didn’t ask him to.
Seven
He and Tahlen were on their way before the sun could peek through the morning fog. They had not exchanged many words, and for once, that was not due to Tahlen. Tahlen, upon coming to wake Zelli and finding him ready to go, his cloak fastened, his hair in two messy braids, had started to say something. Zelli had politely told him there was no need to speak of the night before, aimed a smile in the direction of Tahlen’s collarbone, and then swept past him, his pack hanging from his arm.
Most of the village residents had been still abed as he and Tahlen had left. Zelli had kept Lemon Blossom behind Tahlen and Starfall and slumped down, partly due to the cold, and partly because he was tired after his restless night.
He wanted a bath, a real one, to settle his nerves and make him less aware of howwronghe felt this morning. He supposed that was the consequence of hurting someone he cared about. Guilt or sorrow had him weary and nearly itching with discomfort. A hot bath would have done much.
And a change of clothes, and hiding from Tahlen for at least a week, and perhaps some food. But none of Mayor Sar’s offerings of pastry or tea had appealed, so Zelli had not eaten. He assumed Tahlen had. Tahlen was not unbothered, only pretending to be, but he was sensible and practical and probably knew what it was to be weak with hunger, so he would eat no matter what he felt, Zelli was sure.
Zelli also had not appreciated Tahlen’s worried second glance upon first seeing him. Zelli was aware he was a wreck this morning. He would thank Tahlen not to mention it, just as Zelli had not asked about Tahlen’s evening or if he’d been sorry to say farewell to anyone in particular. Not even when Tahlen had knelt down again to help Zelli onto Lemon Blossom though Mayor Sar, her stable hand, and Bree had been right there, or when Tahlen had hovered near him in concern to see Zelli’s hands trembling.
