Page 53 of Acolyte (Tempris #2)

She took a breath. “The way I see it, you’ve got two choices,” she said a little more gently this time.

“Number one: you can play into every assumption Ivain has made about you and your character. You can go on as you are, complaining and refusing to take ownership of your life. You can keep fixing our toilets even though it’s a waste of your talent and skill. ”

She still hadn’t let go of his hand, and he watched as she traced the lines on his wrist with a featherlight touch. “I don’t like that option,” he said.

“Then I suggest you go with option two.”

“Which is?”

Her fingers closed around his, and he was suddenly aware of just how close she was standing. She smelled like sweat and machine oil, but also—lilacs.

Her eyes lifted, finding his, and she whispered, “You can carry my crates.”

Kato frowned, yanking his hand from hers. “You just ruined a really nice moment.”

She shrugged. “Did you not hear what I said about the crates?”

“What is it with you and those crates?”

“They’re down here when they should be up there.”

They were still standing toe-to-toe, neither moving to give up any ground. He considered stealing her clipboard again, just to see what she’d do, when footsteps began to approach.

They both turned to find Skye weaving between the tables the earth mages had set up to organize their supplies. He looked unamused, to say the least.

Kato shared a look with Eula. He’d heard that Taly had been pronounced dead, and he’d known it would hit his brother hard. But the man making his way toward them looked like he’d tried to carve a piece out of himself to send with her.

“When was the last time you slept?” Kato asked with genuine concern. Indeed, there were shadows beneath his eyes, his skin was too pale, and his clothes were rumpled and speckled with what looked like blood.

Skye just shook his head as he came to stand in front of them, saying to Eula, “You sent for me?”

She cleared her throat, glancing at her clipboard in what, Kato guessed, was an attempt to mask her surprise. “Yes,” she said, then at Kato’s inquiring look, shrugged. “What? You were right. This is more work than one shadow mage can manage.”

“And you couldn’t have told me that earlier?”

Her lips twitched. “And deprive you of an opportunity to whine about the unfairness of life? I’m not a monster.”

Kato threw her a crude gesture, and she laughed—a first for Eula Valdaerys, he was sure—as she began giving directions.

It took Kato all of five minutes to realize that bringing his brother in to help hadn’t been an act of leniency on Eula’s part.

It was incentive. Even though the man looked like death, he moved like he was being chased by the Magnus himself, grabbing crates and darting up the earthen steps like they weighed next to nothing.

It was 30 feet to the top, but he never stopped moving, not for a moment.

Kato, as much as he hated to admit it, struggled to keep up. Though he did. Barely. And only by using far more aether than seemed necessary for such a mundane task.

“Got somewhere to be?” Kato asked when Skye grabbed the last crate straight from his hands. He bounded back up to the top of the wall in a matter of seconds.

“I have my own duties,” was all Skye said as he stepped off the side of the battlement.

His aether flashed, and he landed easily in a crouch.

“What about this?” he asked Eula, gesturing to the long metal barrel of the cannon.

By far the heaviest part of the gun, it had been wrapped in cloth and strung with rope, which Skye was already wrapping around his hands.

“It goes up as well,” Eula said. “But we’re still waiting on the…” Her voice trailed off as he grunted and heaved. The ropes strained, but then Skye… he lifted the metal barrel over his head, resting it on his shoulders as he stood to his full height.

“…crane,” she finished weakly. She looked at him, slack-jawed, and Kato was sure his expression matched hers.

Skye stepped onto the first platform. A violet shimmer was collecting on his skin, like he was leaking aether. But he kept going.

Up and up and up.

“Should we help?” Kato asked.

“I’m not sure we can,” Eula answered. They had tried to lift the barrel that morning, but even between the two of them, they’d barely managed to get it off the ground. “Has Ivain had him doing special training?”

Kato shook his head. “Maybe? Golden boy always was an overachiever.” Though to be fair, the same could’ve been said for him when he was younger.

Another step and Skye cleared the top of the wall, disappearing from sight.

“That’s not emasculating. Not at all,” Kato drawled unconvincingly. Eula took pity on him and snorted a laugh.

Skye stepped off the wall, landing with slightly less grace than before. His boots scraped against the dirt as he staggered to his feet. He gave them a wave and was already walking off, wiping sweat from his eyes, when Eula ran to catch up.

“Wait,” she called.

He stopped, turning.

“Sarina said she was looking for things that represented Taly. For the funeral.”

Skye looked for a moment like he’d been struck, but he quickly masked it. Kato felt a reluctant stab of pity.

Eula reached into her pocket, producing a folded piece of paper.

“I taught Taly how to shoot,” she said. The words were thick.

“Eight years old, and the kid had better aim than some of my Ensigns.” She held out the slip of paper.

“It’s a target. The same kind I used to teach her. I thought… it seemed fitting.”

Skye gingerly took the paper, staring at it wordlessly for several long moments. “I’ll give it to Sarina,” he finally said. “I’m sure she’ll be glad to have it.”

He walked away, and Eula turned back, discreetly wiping her eyes. When she caught Kato staring, she frowned. “Why isn’t there a crate in your hands? ”

Kato pointed to the top of the wall. “Because they’re all up there.”

“Then why aren’t you unpacking them?” she asked archly, marching past him.

Aiden leaned against the battlement, watching Skye as he retreated back to the townhouse.

He was worried. Skye had stopped sleeping—that much was obvious. And Sarina confirmed that he was barely eating, coming into the kitchen late at night and taking whatever scraps were left. He and Ivain were no longer speaking; he barely spoke to Sarina.

And then there was what Aiden had just witnessed down below.

Skye shouldn’t have been able to lift that cannon.

Not on his own and not given his current physical state.

But that then begged the question: how had he done it?

What was he doing to himself behind closed doors?

Aiden had heard of forbidden spells capable of altering a shadow mage’s physiology, but even if he had access to that kind of magic, Skye had never been reckless.

But now with the specter of Taly’s loss looming behind him like a shadow… well, Aiden was worried. Both as a healer and a friend.

“There you are.”

Aiden turned his head. “Aimee? ”

He was still surprised she had decided to go into mourning, but, indeed, as she poked her head around the darkened stairwell, her dress was black, as were her shoes, her gloves, her cape, even the combs pinning back her dark hair.

She and Taly had never been close, but it seemed his sister wasn’t completely unaffected by the loss.

Interesting.

“I thought you’d be working in the gardens,” she said a bit out of breath, gathering up her skirts as she hopped over the final two stairs. They were broken, little more than rubble.

“I was,” he said, holding out a hand and helping her step around several fallen sacks of sand.

The little rundown alcove he’d found at the top of the wall was out of the way, mostly used for storage.

“I just came up here to get some air. I don’t think most people consider just how much manure it takes to grow food. I’m still not used to the smell.”

Her lips pursed, nose crinkling. She looked around the small alcove, taking in the arched stone overhead, the crumbling battlement. On one side lay the city—this section of town had been devoted to food production. On the other, the forest spread into the distance.

“You get used to the screams,” he said when he saw her flinch. There was a child crying from somewhere far away. He’d barely noticed. After spending so much time this close to the walls, the noise had faded into the background.

Aimee clutched her bag tighter, hugging it to her body. “Is it always like this?”

He nodded. “It gets louder at night. The shades—the fresh ones patrol the forest just outside the city. They’re trying to lure people outside the walls.”

A new voice joined in. A boy this time. He sounded young as he screamed for someone named “Sukie.”

“Does it ever work?” she asked softly.

Aiden shrugged. “In the beginning, yes.” He’d almost been fooled on more than one occasion. “But anyone stationed near the walls knows they’re not real. Some have even started playing music to drown out the noise.”

Aimee was quiet, growing paler with every moment she continued to listen. By some small mercy, music began to trickle up to them from somewhere in the fields, a lively fiddling tune that was soon joined by a flute and then a pack of wild drums.

“Did you need something?” Aiden prompted.

She jumped, shaking her head as though she’d just remembered. “Yes, I… Sarina asked me to bring you lunch.”

On cue, Aiden’s stomach gave a ferocious growl. He’d spent his morning in the gardens, and his afternoon had already been promised to the menders. Most nights he was so low on aether, he fell face-first into bed, only to blink and suddenly find that it was morning.

Aimee held out the bag, and he grabbed it, tearing it open. There were sandwiches, a few pieces of fruit, a jug of sour wine, some dried meat.