Kellyn shakes his head at the scholar as he returns his sword once more to its scabbard. “I’m out.”

“What?” I blurt.

“I’m not about to piss off a warlord. If she knows I’m protecting you, my life is over.”

“You—you can’t abandon us!”

“You didn’t tell me what was happening. If I had known the full facts I never would have taken this job.”

I’m shaking my head, not wanting to believe what he’s saying. “You can’t be that selfish! We need you.”

“It was selfish of you not to tell me everything,” he counters. “I should have known what I was up against, what I was risking.”

“You risk your life every day being a mercenary!”

“That’s different than going against a warlord and her private army, and you know it.”

I look down at my feet, a little ashamed, but mostly angry. At Kellyn. At myself. At everything.

The silence stretches and stretches, no one moving. I’m torn between running and staying right where I am so I don’t draw attention to myself. I feel like crying for some reason.

Kellyn growls, and I look up to find him glaring at me. No one else. Me. “I will get you to the next city as I promised, but after that I’m done.”

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

I have a restless mind, one that fixates on the things that bother me the most.

And right now that’s Kellyn.

I remember him drunk and fighting against another mercenary. I remember the way he slaughtered a pack of wolves, kicked one off me before it could go for my throat. The way he looks at me when he tries to understand what I’m thinking.

And over and over again, the way he hesitated before saving my sister.

Fighting invisible assassins.

Buying me new clothes.

Putting flowers on my pillow.

He thinks you’re a beauty.

The next night after Kymora’s assassins attacked us, Temra and Kellyn are laughing during her sparring session over something. I think they’re reliving the high of the other night’s battle.

Petrik and I scowl from the sidelines.

How can she act like nothing is the matter? Like nothing is changing? Kellyn is abandoning us.

When I manage not to think about the mercenary, I watch Petrik and Temra together.

“Let me help you with that,” she says while he cooks. She stirs the pot while Petrik adds ingredients. Their fingers brush when Temra hands the spoon over to Petrik so he can taste the food for a flavor check. She watches his lips while he swallows.

And though he keeps a carefully neutral face, there’s some extra color on his cheeks.

And I can’t help but feel like an outcast all of a sudden.

I hadn’t anticipated this happening.

Petrik has definitely become one of us. If his help in the beginning hadn’t been the deciding factor, then him saving my sister’s life by running for help solidified it.

I shouldn’t feel as though Petrik is taking my sister from me. He’s not. And yet—