A Touch Of Darkness

40 || Little Kynig

It was Edita who taught Fiesi how to pick locks. He always liked her rebellious streak, her dislike of authority's stamp. They might have been an effective pair if she hadn't decided to turn that hatred on him so early on. He can add her to his list of lost friends to mourn.

"This is stealing," Sarielle mutters from behind.

Fiesi lets out a long sigh, giving his spearhead a final twist. The lock breaks, and he wrenches open the stable door, staggering back under its weight. "If one is talented enough to steal, one deserves the reward."

She grumbles something in argument, but he hasn't the time nor the headspace to listen. The horse before him huffs, shifting its hooves at their intrusion. He lifts the latch on its gate, tossing her a glance. "Look, this is our only chance to catch up to Neyaibet. I highly recommend we take it."

Without waiting for her reply, he snatches up the horse's reins, tugging it forward, then steps up into a stirrup and hefts himself onto its back with less grace than he would have liked. He raises his head in time to see Sarielle vault up the gate and swing into the saddle, settling in place while he struggles to pull himself upright.

She digs into her pocket and draws out a handful of gold, chucking it to the ground. "Compensation," is the only explanation she gives before kicking her horse's side and bolting onto the path.

"Because coin solves everything," Fiesi says to no-one in particular and follows.

He never particularly enjoyed riding, and today is hardly different. With the horse at full gallop, he can feel himself thrown into the air with every lunging step, forced to cling to the coarse, dark fur on its neck. Wrapping the reins over his hands, he directs it the best he can after Sarielle as she winds around the buildings and leaps from cobblestone to dirt. The horse speeds up instantly.

Again he gets the clawing urge to veer away from the path, to leave Sarielle and the Cormé and Neyaibet far behind. Gritting his teeth, he shoves it back, stinging blue sparks racing over his forearms. Nathan is ahead. Sarielle can lead him to his goal. It's worth it for that. All he has to do is catch up to that carriage, get inside, and then--

And then what? Fail again?

He spurs his horse faster, surpassing Sarielle as he stretches out his senses. I don't know.

Rigel's bond is weakened by his bird's closed contact, but Fiesi can still sense it, dangling like a trailing thread buffeted by the wind. "This way," he calls to Sarielle and yanks his reins left. His horse bucks in protest but reluctantly complies. It's clearly unsettled by his flame's presence. He pats its neck in some feeble form of reassurance, praying with it to stay obedient.

She soon slides in alongside him, matching his pace. Adjusting his spear where he's wedged it across the saddle's front, he glances over at her, suddenly lost in that haze again, the inability to work out what to do next. He tears a hand through his hair, ruffled by the wind, and forces words out. "Why did you let me go?"

His voice shudders with his movement, and for a moment he isn't sure if she heard. But then she replies. "I want to know if I can trust you."

He twists in his saddle. "And can you?"

"Should I?"

His breath catches in his throat. Swallowing, he refocuses on the path ahead. "It's likely not wise."

They round a corner, clearing a copse of trees, and the carriage finally becomes visible. A dark smudge on the pale horizon, but there, and its tracks scoring the mud. Dozens of hoofprints flank it. The entire regiment has fled together. There's a fight coming. Fiesi's fingers itch.