Page 11 of Null & Void

“What, uh, what are we eating?” I ask as I tip the gruel from my spoon back into the bowl, allowing the chunky sludge to drip and plop back on itself.

“Bean and donkey stew,” Riley says with a mouthful, staring me down, forcing me to avert my eyes to my food.

“Uh huh. Is it literally only beans and donkey or are there other ingredients?” I grimace. “For flavor?”

Tovi is unsuccessfully trying to hide her laughter behind her hand with a mouthful of food, while Beans is grinning in what looks like sheer delight between me and Riley. This group is fucking weird.

“It’s food that you didn’t have to make, and you’re complaining?” Riley’s indignance is mildly amusing.

“All I am saying is that a little flavor wouldn’t hurt. Thanks for the food though. Cheers!” And with that, I shove another disgustingly boring mouthful of Riley’s stew in my mouth and lift my bowl in salute.

Tovi and Beans also salute with their bowls before Riley tells us all to go fuck ourselves, and stalks off into the sunset, which has both Tovi and Beans snickering.

I awake to the sounds of birds and their morning songs. Laying there listening, I can hear shuffling about. Riley is returning, presumably from relieving himself, which triggers my need to do the same.

“Morning,” I whisper, to which he nods a greeting and lays heavily back onto his bedroll.

The early sun is already starting to cause steam to rise from the grass, so it’ll be a foggy morning. Beans and Tovi are both awake when I return, chattering happily about their good sleep. Riley glares at them with dark circles under his eyes.

We have a quick breakfast of chewy fruit and grain bars that Beans’ mother made for the trip, and get on the road before the sun has fully crested. I resist the urge to ask him how his mother made them. He’s a Patron who shouldn’t—couldn’t—know who his family are. Perhaps this woman is not his birth mother?

When I try to saddle Applemint, she dances and prances away. I chase her. She stays still long enough for me to think it’s over, before springing into the air and taking off in circles around me.

I look at my three travel companions for help, and all three of the assholes shrug and go back to their own tasks. Remembering the applemints, I retrieve them from my pack and dangle them toward the naughty horse. She trots back and snorts in my face with impatience, as if this is what she had wanted the entire time.

The day is dull and never-ending, a gloomy fog surrounding us. Beans and I speak about everything he and the various teams have done and what intel they’ve been able to source. Tovi and Riley speak in whispers and laughter, randomly chasing each other or having stick fights from horseback.

During a lull in a particularly long and boring stretch of road, I notice Riley has a giant axe like Beans’. I ask if it’s purely for chopping wood. Riley laughs at me as if I’m a child asking a silly question. This starts a discussion about other countries and their preferred weapons.

I was unaware that all Nemorisborn are taught to fight with the axe as well as the sword, Beans himself only learning after he was purchased by the Nemoris crown. I’d never paid attention to what weapons countries—except Mieva—preferred because I encountered them so little. Most targets were dead before a weapon could ever be raised toward me.

“I prefer the Erdu metal short swords now,” Tovi says, gesturing to one holstered on her person and the other on her horse.

“Can you fight with both? One in each hand?” I ask, to which I get a grunt of affirmation that ends the conversation.

She would be fun to spar with if I could find a way to protect the blades of my hatchets. Well, protect other people and myself from the blades of my hatchets. They’re far too dangerous of a weapon to spar with. I shudder at the memory of the one—and only—time I carried them holstered on my belt. I run my finger along the scar of my left wrist where I almost mortally wounded myself. The closest I've ever come to meeting my Divine end, and it was a careless brush of my wrist against my own blade. Another shudder skips down my spine at the memory.

After three more dinners of bland stew, I offer to cook. Not only does it allow me to contribute, but also to eat something that doesn’t look and taste like dirty dish slime. With my ferments and pastes, I’m able to get creative.

By the time everyone returns from their respective duties, I’m soaking a few pieces of the salt-brined donkey, cooking wild rice, and patting dry some pickled onion and carrot.

Now, I have an audience. I fry the now much less salty donkey with the pickled carrot and onion. I add a heaped spoon of my fermented black soybeans, sending a silent prayer to the Divine that it won’t end up too salty. I serve it to everyone on the wild rice with some swordmint.

Riley stares at me while he eats with an unreadable expression, always with that constant smirk simmering at his edges. I hold his gaze for a moment before looking away, but his eyes bore into my skin for the rest of the meal.

After dinner, Tovi offers to take my plate, doing the washing up for everyone.

Unfortunately, I underestimated how much food the three of them eat, especially Beans. They all end up having some crusty bread and hard cheese as well. Despite not cooking enough, I am officially appointed the travel cook. Riley is banned from ever cooking again, much to his apparent relief.

After a cold day of travel, Riley gives me a full smirk and asks if I’m making sure there’s enough food tonight. “Flavor is not a substitute for substance,” he announces, as if I can’t cook enough food for them that also has flavor.

“Riley, I promise that if I don’t cook enough this time, you’re welcome to take over.” I hear a resounding chorus of “no” from all three of them, and chuckle to myself. Something tiny thaws in my chest as rage swirls low in my belly.

I cooked far too much this time, making enough for breakfast too. Yet again a delicious meal. I offer a smug look at Riley during breakfast, and he gives me a lazy wink as he reclines. I’m not even sure what that means.

He’s not wholly unattractive, though his smirk definitely is. Certainly not a pretty man by any means—he’s rough and sharp. Pale skin with a smattering of red freckles across his nose and cheeks, with full lips in the shape of a perfectly defined bow.

He catches me watching his lips and raises an eyebrow. I poke my tongue out like a bloody child and then frantically busy myself with packing up camp.

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