The Boon of Alon

CHAPTER FORTY TWO

The sun has just set by the time Iamon tells me Merald is about to land. The cabin has been stocked with provisions, mostly dried or preserved, but I've never really had to cook for myself so I haven't figured out dinner yet; I hadn't even thought about it before now, and I bet Erno hasn't either. We won't starve, but we won't eat as well as at the monastery.

I abandon the kitchen for now and go out to watch for Erno and Merald. Between the low clouds and mist, and the rapidly descending darkness, they're invisible until they're practically on top of us. Even Iamon, as brightly silver as he is, is mostly a shadow at the edge of the trees, sitting up to watch Merald glide in for landing.

But there's enough light left, and some leaking out the windows of the cabin, to show Erno hopping down off Merald's back and waving vigorously at me. I wave back and wait for him to free Merald from his saddle.

That done, Erno comes running, arms full of leather. He drops it to nearly tackle me with a tight hug.

"Congratulations!" he shouts in my ear, and lets go again just as fast to pick up the saddle he dropped. "It's good to see you—sorry I've been avoiding you, it's just, you know, rebels."

"I figured." It's been so quiet these last few hours, and Erno will definitely change that. "I'm glad you came."

He beams. "Me too!"

We go inside and I give him the tour, not that there's much to see. As soon as he's put the saddle away he flops onto one of the comfy chairs and sighs in satisfaction, eyes closed.

"Oh, this is good. This place is cozy," he says.

"Well, at least there's that, because we're gonna have to cook for ourselves and I don't know how," I say, and he jumps right back up. Gods, how does he have the energy?

"I know how!" he says. "I've been helping the riders cook since I was, dunno, ten? Show me what we've got."

And that's how I get a cooking lesson from a fifteen-year-old boy. Dinner turns out pretty good, actually, and so does breakfast the next morning, though I don't sleep well enough to be much help. It's too quiet here, or maybe too noisy in the wrong ways—even on the circuit, when we had to camp on the road, there were enough people nearby that I mostly heard them instead of, well, nature. Here, the rustling of leaves and creatures outside kept me up all night.

That, and knowing Suthi will be returning to the rebels sometime today.

So, even though I'm yawning all day, I practice some flying, and spar with Erno, and, most importantly, I'm not doing any of it alone. Iamon is good company, but not especially talkative if I'm not prompting him to be; Erno is good at filling the silence. If it gets too quiet—the wrong kind of quiet—I start to wonder how Suthi is doing, and I worry. I keep hoping Chama will show up with an update, but it's too soon for that.

Finally, while we're making dinner that night—well, while Erno makes dinner and I mostly watch—I have to ask. "You've been following everything going in Pangessa, right?"

His face, previously in his default cheerful expression, scrunches. "Yeah. Kinda have to."

Because the rebels would kill him if they found him, if nothing else. "What do you think... How should it turn out?"

He sighs and hands me a spoon, so I obediently start stirring the pot on the stove. He leans against the counter and crosses his arms.

"I think it should become a republic, actually. Its own, not part of Orene," he says. "But I dunno. Maybe that's just 'cause it takes the pressure off me."

"But they couldn't force you onto the throne now, could they?" I eye him. "Could they?"

"Who's they?" he asks pointedly. "My family sure won't. The nobles could try if they wanted to, I guess, but if I flat out refuse, what're they gonna do? Drag me into the castle and tie me to the throne?" He shrugs. "But it'd be on me to refuse. I haven't taken the rider's oath yet. That's sacred and it would totally disqualify me. Until then, if I wanted to take the throne, the only obstacles are my father and brother. No one could challenge me without a coup. Or another rebellion." He grimaces. "The problem is, what if the people asked me to be king? Or the riders did?"