She slanted another cold gaze at him, head to boots. “Noted. Include your objections in your official report, which must be on my desk at first light.”
Stonewall thought of the Sufani who had helped him and Kali on their journey here, and of the civilian woman's hate-filled eyes. He thought of Kali stepping through the mage carriage door of her own volition, though bound and trussed like a rabid dog.
Wrong.
Talon turned and made to stride out of the room, Cobalt at her heels, but Stonewall could not keep his silence. “With respect, ser, that's not good enough.”
Both officers paused and Talon tilted her head. “Sergeant?”
“We may have had orders, but in my opinion, they fell far out of our mandate to protect the people of this realm.”
Now Talon’s face was devoid of all expression, which was somehow much worse than if it had been twisted with rage. “We are protecting our very way of life,” she replied, her voice too calm, too steady. “We are serving every living soul in Aredia. Is there no honor in such a thing?”
Blood pounded in Stonewall’s ears, fury and sorrow churning bitterly in the back of his throat. It was wrong. How could she not see that? But what was done, was done. He had to say something now, even if it was too little, too late. He would accept whatever punishment Talon meted out. “There were no mages present,” Stonewall heard himself say. “Therefore, we should not have gotten involved.”
Talon lifted her chin. The maddening calm of her voice had taken on a chiding edge, as if she were scolding a child. “Whomever stole our hematite did so using tactics similar to those you described. That alone is cause for our intervention. As to the rest… That is not your call to make. As of right now, you are officially on stable duty; report to Ferro first thing in the morning.” The corner of her mouth lifted slightly. “You'll have plenty of time to mull over the unfairness of our lot while you muck every stall in the stable – for the next month.”
With that, she strode from the infirmary without looking back. Cobalt followed, pausing only to shoot Stonewall a cutting glare.
No one dared to breathe, until Flint heaved a massive sigh. “Well, that's some shit luck.”
“Literally,” Rook added dryly, then slapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide. “Sorry, Stonewall....”
Stonewall regarded them both before he felt his face crack into a smile. “No, I think you've both got it about right.”
By now, Beacon had finished tending Flint. As he set his tools away, he shot Stonewall a wry look. “Aye, you really stepped in it this time.”
They all glanced at Milo, who opened his mouth. But nothing came out. “Shit,” the younger man muttered, shaking his head.
Everyone, including Stonewall, laughed aloud. With the shared humor, some of Stonewall's anger faded into a resigned sort of ease, and he leaned against the infirmary wall, suddenly too tired to fully support his own weight. He didn't realize he'd closed his eyes until he heard Beacon's voice close by.
“Here.” The mender handed him a damp rag. “Purple's not really your color,” Beacon said by way of explanation. “Makes you look cheaper than a Fashian whore.”
“Thanks, I think.” Stonewall accepted the rag and began to wipe his face. Once done, he took a deep breath and regarded his squad. “I'm sorry about today. I didn't want to go through with the mission. I shouldn't have made any of you.”
The twins exchanged glances. Rook gnawed at her lip and Beacon suddenly seemed intent about putting away his medicines and supplies. Finally, Flint inclined her head toward her bandaged leg. “So… this really was for nothing, huh?”
“I'm sorry,” was all Stonewall could think to say. “I didn't… plan on anyone getting injured.”
“It's fine,” she said, to his surprise. “Cobalt was right about knowing the risks. I suppose I'm lucky it wasn't worse.”
Milo regarded Stonewall with a furrowed brow. “Did you really forget to search her?”
“Best not speak of it, Mi,” Stonewall replied softly. “That goes for all of you. The last thing I want is for you lot to get on Talon's bad side, too.”
Milo frowned. “But–”
“Stonewall’s in charge.” Flint rolled her eyes at their startled looks. “So he must take the blame when shit goes sideways.” She hesitated, then met Stonewall’s gaze. “It's what Dev would've done.”
Rook had taken a seat on the edge of Flint's bed. “Tough break about working in the stables. Ferro will keep you busy every second you’re not mucking stalls.”
“I'll help you,” Milo offered, rising to stand beside Stonewall. He grinned suddenly, incongruously, and nodded to his twin. “I've gotten a lot of practice dealing with–”
“Don't you dare,” she broke in, glaring at her brother. “I'm injured! Don't you see my leg?”
Milo chuckled and looked back at Stonewall. “You get the idea.”
“I'll help, too,” Rook said.
She and Milo looked at Beacon, who coughed into his hand, then sighed. “Fine. I'm in.”
“Flint will help, too,” Milo added. “She can provide moral support.”
“Ea's balls… you're all royally fucked,” she replied, though she was fighting a laugh.
“If that's agreeable to you?” Rook said quickly, looking at Stonewall.
Words didn't come to him at first. All he could do was stare at each member of his squad. His squad. Not one of them had called him “ser” or “Sergeant” since Talon had left – simply “Stonewall.” A warm feeling took root in his heart, similar to the feeling when Kali had nicknamed him “Stone.”
It was about as close as he would ever get to a name that made him feel at home.
“Yes, Rook,” he said slowly, adding a smile. “I'd be glad for your help. All of you. Even you, Flint.”
“Wonderful,” the young woman grumbled.
A chuckle ran through the others. Beacon got to his feet and began to usher them out. “All right, you lot. Let's all get some rest; looks like we've a full day tomorrow.”
Rook and Milo helped Flint to the women's barracks, then Milo rejoined Beacon and Stonewall. Stonewall considered washing, but he was too exhausted to do more than fall into his rack. As it was, he managed to see Milo and Beacon safely to their communal barracks.
Before he slipped off, Beacon said his name. “Just out of curiosity, how did that innkeeper in Oreion know you?”
Caught off-guard by the question, Stonewall answered without thinking. “I spent a night there when–” He managed to catch himself. “When I was on another mission, some time ago. Faye Bywater has a generous spirit… and a good memory.”
“I'm sure,” Beacon drawled. “Being a sentinel has advantages sometimes, doesn't it?”
Stonewall smiled, but he knew the expression did not reach his eyes. “Sometimes.”
He wished the mender good night and went to his own room. Exhausted though he was, the mention of the Jessamin sent a swell of emotion and energy through his veins, forcing away all hope of sleep. After his gear was clean enough to eat off of, after his weapons gleamed as brightly as they ever would, after not even a speck of dust remained in his room, Stonewall surrendered. He threw his armor back on, slipped out of his quarters, and made his way down the shadowed corridors. Though he took pains to keep his steps silent, his heartbeat echoed in his ears; a traitor that would surely reveal his intention.
By some miracle, Stonewall made it to the gates unnoticed. The gate guards, Jerrod and Gray, did not question his explanation of an unscheduled bastion patrol – another miracle. Or perhaps the One's hand was at work. Gray did roll her eyes at his earnest tone, but that was just her way. At last he stood outside Kali's window, half of his gear in his grip and his heart still racing, half-convinced he was dreaming or insane. His hand trembled as he rapped lightly against the glass.
The curtain parted, revealing Kali's startled expression before she leaned up to fumble with the latch. Stonewall
stepped back only enough to allow the mage-made glass to open. The moment it was, he hoisted himself and his gear over the sill, barely giving Kali time to scramble out of the way as he entered her room.
“Not that I'm not pleased to see you,” she said as she latched the window. “But I thought you weren't coming until–”
Hands shaking, heart racing, he reached out to her, pulling her close and breathing in the scent of her hair, of her skin, of her. “Forgive me. I just wanted to…”
He couldn't finish the thought.
“It's all right,” Kali said, wrapping her arms around him. “I don't care why you're here. You're here.”
Stonewall took a shaking breath but could not reply for some time, and they stood in the center of her room, together.
Fourteen
After a few moments, Kali felt Stonewall exhale deeply before he pulled away so he could meet her gaze. In the lamplight, his eyes were shadowed and red-rimmed, and flecks of some sort of purple powder clung beneath his jaw. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
“My pleasure.” She couldn’t help her smile. “You certainly know how to make a woman feel wanted.”
He gave a half-hearted chuckle, though he rubbed his forehead as if in pain. “Gods above… I've made an ass of myself, haven't I?” He glanced at her bed, where she'd left her copy of Historea Naturales. “Were you sleeping?”
“Well,” she said carefully. “It is rather late….”
He grimaced. “Right.”
Kali decided to spare him. “Actually, I was reading.” She bent to take up the book, to show him the lovely embossed cover. It was a leather-bound edition that some grateful noble had likely donated to the bastion; the pages were thick parchment edged with silver. “They've a wonderful collection here at Whitewater. I saw this one, and it made me think of our journey. Would you like to borrow it?”
She offered him the book, but he only looked at it, then at her. “That's… very kind,” he said. “But I don't have much time for reading.”
Kali shrugged. “It's fine. No one will miss it. Here. You need something to do other than hit things with swords and sneak around the bastion.”
But he shook his head, his face falling. “Kali… I can't.” He sighed. “I can't read.”
The notion should not have startled her as much as it did. Most mages could read and write; there wasn't much else to do in the bastions, after all. But if she thought about it, she couldn't remember if her sentinel father had known how to. Jonas had never mentioned reading other than to express an interest in whatever book or scroll she'd been absorbed in at the time.
Confused, Kali frowned at Stonewall. “But you read the map on the way here.”
“That was a sentinel map,” he said, as if that explained everything. Though, if she cast her mind back, she remembered the odd symbols in place of actual city names. As if hearing her thoughts, he added, “Most sentinels are from lower tiers and never learned how to read, so we have our own system of symbols that every sentinel learns. I know what some words look like, but I can't,” he gestured at the book in her hand, “read something like that.”
“Oh.” She considered the book, then met his gaze again. “Well, I'll teach you.” Before he could argue, she added, “Not right now, but sometime. I'm already teaching Sadira how to read Aredian. Though I’ll have to figure out some way for you to repay me. Maybe you can demonstrate more of your sword play.”
A fleeting smile crossed his face, but it was short-lived. “I've gotten on well enough without reading,” he said with a frown at the book. “Why learn now?”
Kali toyed with the heavy volume before flipping open the cover to show him the title page. “These words were written over two hundred years ago. The original author is long dead, but his thoughts and ideas live on. Books are our connection to those who've gone before us. They're a history of our humanity as much as the world.” She set the book back on her bed, her mind already working ahead. “Sadira and I have been reading a book on the gods – would you like something like that? Or maybe history?”
He sighed again and took her hands. “I don't have a preference. I'll trust your judgment.”
Kali chuckled. “Careful. You may regret that trust.”
“Doubtful.” He glanced around her room again, his gaze darting over the piles of clothes and books, though he did not comment on the clutter. “Is that your viol?”
She followed his gaze to the instrument case resting at the foot of her bed. “Yes,” she said brightly, grabbing the case to show him. “It survived the thralls too, can you believe it?”
“I’m glad.”
Kali considered the viol in her hand, running her fingertips over the polished woodgrain. Every scratch, she knew by heart; some she had been able to polish away, but others were deeper, perhaps remnants of the viol’s time in her father’s keeping. How many hours of his brief life had he dedicated to this instrument?
The tightness in her throat should not have taken her by surprise the way it did. To distract herself, she indicated the spots where she'd manipulated the splintered particles to merge together. The seams were faint, but in the right light, it was difficult to tell the instrument had ever been broken. “The poor thing was smashed pretty badly, but I managed to fix the wood.”
Stonewall glanced at her as if asking permission. At her nod, he carefully took the viol to examine it closer, assessing it from all angles. “You did this?”
A glow of pride filled her at the awe in his voice. “Aye. The only thing left is the strings, but I'm not sure what I'm going to do about them.”
“You can't… magic them?”
She shook her head. “They’re too broken for magic to fix.” Like me, she added silently. “Another mage, Marcen, has some spare dulcimer strings, but they won’t work for a viol.”
He nodded slowly, gaze still on the viol, before he offered it back to her, adding a wan smile. “How’s everything going for you here?”
“Well enough.” She regarded the viol. “You were right.”
“About?”
“This bastion being… stricter than Starwatch.”
Stonewall tensed, touched her wrist. “Has anyone mistreated you?”
There was concern in his eyes, but his voice was hard. Kali swallowed and shook her head. “No. Everyone’s been… civil. It's just…” She considered telling him about Eris' collar, then decided against sullying the moment with what would surely lead to a difficult conversation. So she tried to ignore her misgivings and instead winked at him. “Well, not every sentinel will treat me quite as you do.”
She'd hoped for a chuckle, at least, but all she got was a slow nod as he glanced around her room again. “I'm sorry for disturbing you,” he said.
“As I said, I don't mind.” She set the viol and case aside, but couldn't resist giving him a wicked grin. “But I can think of a few ways you can make it up to me, now that you're here.”
“Gladly.”
Kali's stomach fluttered at his serious tone and the way he looked at her. His calloused fingers skimmed over her wrists, reminding her of their dexterity. But his expression was not even a little flirtatious, nor did he seem like the sort to drop by for a surprise visit when they'd made other arrangements.
“Stone?” she asked. “What's wrong?”
“Nothing. I just… I missed you.”
“Liar.”
Another deep breath. He seemed to be collecting his thoughts, and then he pulled her down to her bed so that they sat beside one another. His movements lacked their usual smooth efficiency. When she was closer to him, the shadows under his eyes were more apparent than before. “You really do look terrible,” she said. “What in the stars do they have you doing out there?”
He shifted his shoulders, winced, then glanced down at his bare, scarred hands. His gaze was distant. “I'm–”
“'Fine,'” she broke in with a half-smile, though her heart sank a little at his reticence.
Perhaps he, like her, didn’t want to spoil an otherwise enjoyable moment with unpleasantness – even if he had come here unannounced. “We don't have to do anything...strenuous,” she said, wrapping his right hand in both of hers. “I mean, I’d like to, but more than that, I want us both to enjoy ourselves. And honestly, I'm just glad you're here at all.”
Stonewall placed his left hand over hers and met her eyes. “There is nowhere else I'd rather be than here,” he told her in that solemn voice of his, the one that made her forget everything else. He lifted their joined hands and kissed her knuckles gently, and it was an effort for her to keep from swooning like some silly girl in a badly written romance. “Tor help me,” he murmured. “But you feel so good.”
All traces of disappointment fled her mind and heart in the wake of his touch. “You too,” she managed to croak. In hopes of collecting her sensibilities, she pulled her hands free of his and pointed to his back and shoulders. “Take your tunic off and turn around.”
He regarded her curiously but did as she said, and she began to knead his shoulders. At first his muscles tensed, but after a moment he relaxed a little.
“Now,” she said as she searched for the tight knots of muscle that were no doubt bothering him. “Are you going to explain what that purple stuff is all over you, or do I have to start guessing?”
“It's… a long story.”
“In case you can't tell,” she swept her hand to indicate the piles of books and scrolls she'd accumulated, “I love stories.”
He was silent for several long moments. Just when she thought he wasn't going to reply at all, he sighed heavily and shook his head. “It doesn't matter. Besides, I'd rather not think about all that, right now. This moment is too sweet to spoil with that kind of talk.”
As she’d suspected. Still, she had to keep her disappointment from bleeding into her voice. “Good work. Now I'm even more curious.”
Catalyst Moon: Breach (Catalyst Moon Saga Book 2) Page 17
