Payton had never thought much about what life would have been like for him as a slave. She knew abstractly through word of mouth what it could be like but for some reason, her mind had never connected the words and horrible stories she read to him. Jarrett wasn’t a slave or an ex-slave in her mind; he was a warrior, a man, a friend.
Unthinkingly she lightly brushed the hair out of his face. Instead of cringing or waking, he unconsciously leaned into her touch. Payton’s heart hammered in her chest as she repeated the motion. His murmurs stilled at the simple comfort she was trying to offer.
She hesitated, glancing toward the door. Payton could easily sneak out; most likely without Jarrett ever the wiser. He was an intensely private person and anyone seeing him vulnerable would be threatening to him.
Looking back, Payton swallowed hard. His face twitched, brow furrowing and he drew back, lost in the nightmare. He had been there for her when she needed him, whether it was for sanctuary, battle, or simply listening. Despite any reservations Jarrett had, he had never turned her away.
Biting her lip, she moved slowly. Carefully, she slid onto the mattress, sitting against the wall for support. Heart pounding, she lightly brushed her fingertips through his hair. He was calming again. Payton repeated the action, tangling her fingers in the soft black locks. Jarrett leaned into her touch.
Payton leaned her head back against the wall, her eyes growing heavy, mind fuzzy. Jerking, she blinked rapidly. How long had she been there? The fire in his tiny stovetop hearth was still burning but seemed less bright than earlier. She stopped her ministrations, shifting to get up and leave.
The murmurs were back before she had even managed to stand. Her heart went out to him. He had tensed again; his brow furrowing. His nightmare was returning.
Payton faltered, glancing toward the door and then back at him. It was a foolish decision, she knew but she couldn’t help it. She shifted back against the wall, running her fingers lightly through his hair again. She couldn’t bring herself to leave knowing he would fall back into whatever nightmare was plaguing him.
Part of her wondered how many times he had been comforted like this—or if he had ever been consoled. Given a life of slavery, he might not have a single memory of someone caring for him. If that was the case it was no wonder he was always so hostile with everyone. Was the cruel hand of the bitch who claimed to own him the only one he knew? Her thoughts whirled around in her head. Had anyone ever cared for him without wanting something in return? Payton looked down at his sleeping form. Did he even know the difference between a friendly touch and abuse?
Gradually a troubled sleep claimed her, her thoughts and worries about the man who was quickly becoming her closest friend turning like the tide in her mind.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Consciousness returned just as the Temple bells began chiming. Ten bells, Jarrett counted, blinking away the sleep. Staring at the ceiling he stretched, a frown on his face. He felt rested. In fact, he thought sitting up, this had been the longest he had slept in ages.
The fire in his hearth was dead, the wood burned to ash. Standing, Jarrett grimaced as his foot hit the empty bottles of wine he had discarded. His alcohol tolerance was still quite high but had he really managed to get so drunk he slept straight through the night? The thought seemed silly. He had been wasted before and still had the restless nights of sleep, plagued by nightmares or light sleep that caused him to wake up at the slightest noise.
Walking over the water basin, he poured fresh water in, splashing it on his face. The storm raged on outside, sounding worse than ever. He hoped he still had enough food for both of them. He had no interest in either of them facing that weather today. Jarrett stopped in his tracks when he made it to the kitchen and then retreated back to the front room.
He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected to come out to with the woman staying with him but finding her on her stomach, bundled in one of the blankets he had given her, with a book flat on the ground in front of her was decidedly not it. She was supporting herself on her elbows as she turned the page. Her legs were in the air and crossed at the ankle, occasionally moving. It was singularly the most peculiar position he had ever seen her in.
And she didn’t even appear to have noticed him. She seemed enthralled, completely lost in the pages of the book she was reading.
Jarrett stood there awkwardly, uncertain if he should greet her or if he should instead fetch breakfast. Deciding, at long last, the latter was the best option, he went about raiding the cupboards for bread and dried beef before taking it and the tea set over to the table. It wasn’t until he crossed in front of her to set the pot on the fire that he seemed to finally gain her attention.
“Oh! I didn’t realize you were up!”
“I noticed.”
To his surprise, her cheeks flushed a rosy hue and she giggled. “You have the most ridiculous book here.”
“Do I?”
She lifted it up to show him the cover. It was simple brown leather with black lettering carved on the spine and cover. The Adventures of Braver Ree, the Last Dragon Rider. He arched a brow.
“Braver Ree? The author did not even try to be inventive with that name.”
“It shows his strength of character! It says so. Right here.” She flipped to the beginning of the book and showed him in the first chapter where it read that quite clearly. “I think maybe the author thought he was being clever?”
“Stupid is more like it.”
“You’re the one who bought the book,” Payton laughed as she got to her feet to join him at the table.
“I did no such thing.”
“You’re saying a book randomly materialized on your shelf.”
“Exactly. Beware. It might be dangerous.”
“Dangerously stupid perhaps.”
Even he had to laugh at this. He broke the loaf of bread and handed her half. “It was here when I moved in.”
Payton paused for a split second and then shook her head. “I was about to accuse you of joking and say that no one would leave a book behind but to be honest, this poor thing probably deserved it.”
“You pity a book?”
“I pity that ink and page was wasted on it.” She suddenly giggled. “I’ll give it to Sammy.”
Jarrett looked at her quizzically. “I feel as though I am missing something.”
“Mom…” there was a sudden dimming to her smile that vanished after a shake of her head as if she was pushing the serious emotions aside, “tried to get me to teach Sammy to read. I hated the task because he was annoying and slow so I’d give him the worst books to try from. When we weren’t sneaking off to play in the grove to climb trees or play swords that is. Poor kid didn’t learn to read until he was nine thanks to me.”
Jarrett frowned. “That sounds needlessly cruel,” he said before he thought better of it.
She paused halfway to putting a piece of bread to her mouth. It was as if he could see her mind jump through a series of hoops, trying to connect why he would say such a thing. “You didn’t learn to read, did you? When you were young. They never taught you.”
He turned away from her, busying himself with the teapot but to his surprise, she had risen and fetched the cups he had forgotten. Slowly he poured them both some of the steaming liquid, trying to sort his response.
“Malvathar have no need to teach their slaves to read unless they manage the house.”
“But the wine…”
“I was trained to recognize the labels on the bottles, not read the words. It was more entertaining to them when I failed than if I succeeded,” he said darkly.
She let out a slow breath. “Jarrett. I didn’t know.”
“I am aware,” he said quietly. “But that has little bearing on the here and now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Takara became aware of this failing and sought to remedy it.”
Payton blinked, those large blue eyes looking owlish as they widened before fluttering shut
and then opening again. “Takara…. Guard-Captain Takara Knight? She taught you to read?”
His brow furrowed. “Is that so hard to believe?”
“I’m not disbelieving your ability to read, Jarrett. Only her ability to teach. I mean… Takara isn’t exactly the… “come here sit on my knee let me teach you your letters” type.”
He made a face. “Sit on my knee?”
Payton waved her hand as if to dismiss the words. “Child thing, nevermind. I only meant I have difficulty imagining her as a teacher.”
“She does, in fact, teach the guards rotations, duty, and how to better themselves in fighting.”
“Yeah but that’s…” Payton appeared at a loss. “Okay, not as different as I thought but still. I can’t believe she taught you to read.”
“Because she succeeded at imparting knowledge on her pupil faster than you?”
Her jaw dropped in consternation but she let out a laugh. “Brat. I was eight. You can hardly expect me to be an expert in responsibility. I wanted to be a knight and fight the evil forces of the world. Maybe ride a pegasus.”
“You slew ahamays and a manticore. Perhaps those can qualify as evil forces.”
She threw a piece of her bread at him. He stared at it when it landed in his tea which only caused her to laugh harder. It was an enjoyable sound and he found himself relaxing when she was here, a tension he did not even realize he carried beginning to ease. It was odd to be so comfortable with another when, in the past, proximity with anyone was cause for alarm. But for some reason, like many other things, rules like that did not apply to Payton Clark.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Restlessly Payton rolled over on her bed of blankets again. For the life of her, she could not sleep, her thoughts refusing to let her be. Thoughts of Simmons, of Jarrett’s past, of her family, of the Templars, of the trip…. just too many things swirling around her mind, making her chest tight and making it impossible for her to close her eyes.
Sitting up, she scooted to the edge of the blanket. The fire in her hearth was still burning nicely, providing warmth. Outside the storm crashed, rain pelting the windows, wind howling, thunder rumbling; turbulent.
She reached for her bag, pulling out her journal. For a few minutes, she tried to work. To sketch, to plan for Nyla’s trip, anything, but nothing would come. Nothing would focus. Huffing she closed the book with a snap.
She had finished: The Adventures of Braver Ree. Maybe she ought to try the other novel on his shelf. He didn’t have a wide selection. A book about cooking, a book about sword care, and then the two novels. She would have to get him a better collection.
She crept toward the bookcase which was inconveniently located by the hall. She was just getting a book, she told herself. There would be no repeat of the previous night. She would get a book, go back to her blanket, and read the night away. As she reached for the other book, she stilled, her eyes drifting down the hall to his door.
It was slightly ajar. She could see in through the open crack, straight to his mattress. He was restless again. Without even meaning to, she had taken a few steps down the hall toward his room. No. This is crazy. Leave him be. Even as those thoughts entered her mind, she was pushing his door open a little more.
His blankets were tangled around his waist. Abruptly he turned over, curling in a tighter ball, his breathing heavy. Around his bed, just like before, were bottles that she did not remember seeing him sneak by her. A quick count made her draw in a sharp breath. Three bottles, did he seriously drink three bottles of wine himself?
Payton crept over to him. As she got closer she could see his face contorted in a dark look, fear and pain written on those features. Swallowing hard, her heart went out to him. Was he always plagued with such nightmares?
She knew what that was like. Since the Templars had taken her mother from her, she had been tormented with her own, forever fearful of what else she might lose, forever haunted by what she had already lost. And now she was haunted by another sort of demon. One with grabbing hands and an unexpected brute strength. One that turned her family against her.
Her focus drew back to Jarrett. She knew she should leave. That he would not thank her for staying but… he calmed when she stayed. Was it worth the risk? Her mother always told her that the right thing was not always the easy one and would not always be clear. That life had a habit of making things muddied and seeing what was right can become just as clouded. But doing the right thing was always a choice someone made, even in the face of something that made them afraid.
What was the right thing here?
She had stayed the night before because of the moment's respite she seemed to give his sleep. And he had helped her. Without reservation. The way he treated her, acted around her… there was no expectation or judgement, and that comforted her. It was what she needed. But what did he need?
Her hand ghosted out on its own volition. Jarrett recoiled at her touch, even in sleep fearful that it would harm him. Brushing her fingers through his hair, Payton watched his face unclench and he leaned into her touch.
Closing her eyes, she felt her heart ache. Leaving him to weather his nightmares alone could not even be considered. Payton wanted nothing more than to erase that pain lining his face, convince him that nothing will hurt him any longer. She would not let it.
Chapter Thirty-Six
It was becoming a common occurrence. Feeling rested, truly rested, had been something he had done without for ages. Now, two nights in a row even, Jarrett awoke feeling as though he had slept peacefully. So often his nights had been wrought with nightmares, half-lidded sleep, always alert for the chance he could be caught. Alcohol dulled the dreams but did little to stop them.
He completed his quick morning routine, pausing only once when a particularly loud clap of thunder sounded. He found Payton sitting at the table when he went to the front room. Not wanting to intrude, he hovered in the doorway. She was bent over a book again only this one had blank pages that she was filling with her own writing. A smile stole across his lips as he saw she had left most of her hair down. For reasons that escaped him, he liked it better that way.
“Morning,” she said distractedly.
“Good morning.”
He moved through the room to the kitchen and fetched some food for them to split. When he joined her, she had plopped down in what was quickly becoming her spot in front of the fireplace. Shaking his head, amused, he came over and sat down without thinking. He stilled when he saw a smile bloom across her face. He realized, a few seconds later, that she was smiling because he had joined her on the floor rather than sit on the chair. Ducking his head, Jarrett quickly broke the bread.
As they ate, she began to make idle conversation. “Any plans for today?”
“Practice,” he said shortly.
Her eyes drifted to his armor and weapons. “Do you really do the same thing every day?”
He blinked. “Normally I would go into work.”
“Where you would…”
“Train.”
“Like you are planning here,” she said in an amused tone.
“I go on patrols,” he said defensively.
She blew at a strand of hair that had fallen into her eyes. “Don’t you ever get bored doing the same thing every day?”
Jarrett shifted uncomfortably. What else would he do? It was an odd question to him. “Do you?”
“All the time,” she announced.
“Truly?”
“Well, the fighting isn’t too bad. But I like keeping a varied schedule. Keeps things interesting,” she admitted. “I hate it when things are the same every day.”
He was quiet for some time, nibbling on the bread they were sharing for breakfast, recalling what Takara had suggested and dismissing it. “What… do people do?”
Payton snorted, trying to conceal a laugh only to fail. “I’m sorry but that was hysterical.”
He frowned. He did not think so.
“I don’t know. Peop
le do… people things,” she said with a shrug. “Everyone is different. They do what they like.”
This was not helping him.
“You know, read, write, knit, sew, learn wood carving, clean the house.” He stiffened but she did not notice right away. “Find something you enjoy doing, not just something you’re good at.”
“Am I a servant to be forced to clean? But of course what other use do I have?” he mocked, the bitter hurt that she would suggest such a thing burning in him. “Do you think of me a slave, Payton? That I should scurry about in the shadows to make this place habitable for you or some Malvatharian?” Fuming he glared at her only to realize she wasn’t glaring back.
A distinct look of surprise followed by hurt fluttered across her features before he watched a mask hide both emotions. “I don’t think of you as a slave, Jarrett.” Her words were quiet and ringing with truth. “Some people enjoy cleaning. I’m sorry. It was a bad joke.”
Jarrett stared at her. When he had first run, everyone had looked down on him. His ratty clothing, his begging. He had barely survived, ending up stealing in order to eat. The looks people had given him, the distrust, the disgust. It had taken him ages to shake it. Like they could smell what he was, what he had been. Those looks were always there, always lingering. Always. Except with her…
Payton had never looked at him like that. She had never treated him with any less respect than she treated others. Never once looked at him as if he had deserved to be treated less because of what he was.
Closing his eyes, Jarrett felt the bitterness ebb away. Find something enjoyable to do, she said. The concept of doing something for the sake of doing it rather than because it was necessity was foreign. Slaves don’t have time for hobbies. Slaves don’t have time for anything but their duties.
He looked back at her. Maybe that was the point that both Takara and Payton had been trying to get at, he wondered. He was free but he still acted the slave. All he did was ready himself for the next mission, prepare himself for the job, keep himself ready in case Hunters came again. There had been nothing else for him.
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