Page 31 of The Assassin's Bride

Gil shrugged. “Ranor lacks the power to patrol their side, and Kentoria refuses to pick up the slack. One of many tensions between the two countries, though they aren't openly hostile. The danger makes no difference to them. Goods come through, one way or another, and it's a traveler's responsibility to hire a mercenary guard if they need it.”

It was an unsatisfactory answer, but she knew he could offer nothing else. The way of things in her homeland were hardly his fault. Or, they were, she corrected herself with a wince. She just wouldn't be there to see the way things changed following the king's death. That led her thoughts in a new direction. “You could have killed those men.”

“Yes.”

“Probably all of them, before the one so much as touched me.”

A hint of displeasure pinched the corners of his eyes. “Yes.”

“But you didn't.”

“I told you before, I mean to kill only once more. I won't rescind my convictions purely because a common thief caused me inconvenience. But I am sorry that he touched you. I would say I miscalculated, but that wouldn't be truthful.”

Thea's brows rose. “You knew he would attack me?”

“I knew he would attempt to rob you. Thievery reaps less punishment than murder, for obvious reasons. I knew it would give me time to settle the others without causing them lasting harm.” His eyes narrowed at the road ahead. “I did not expect that allowing for such as part of my combat strategy would make me feel so...” He grasped at the air, searching for a word. It was the first time she'd seen him unsure what to say.

“Reckless?” she suggested.

“Angry.”

That was not the word she'd expected.

“I am your self-appointed protector,” he added. “But I am not used to my work involving anyone else. I've never had to account for the safety or protection of anyone but myself. This was a failing, one I will grow from. I hope you forgive me.”

The infraction had been so minor, so swiftly resolved, she hardly felt it required forgiveness. But his eyes swept toward her, dark and troubled, and she couldn't bring herself to call his concern silly. “I do,” she said instead. “But you must expect it'll happen again, if you mean to teach me to fight.”

“It may. Not because of any deliberate choice I make, but because the deeper we go into the mountains, the more concerning thieves will be.” He pointed toward one particular peak. “I've been through this passage a dozen times. There's a bridge that spans a gap between that point and a lower one just north. Travelers refer to it as the Pinch, because that's what you're put in.”

“And that's where we'll be accosted?” She couldn't see the bridge, but they were so far off that she supposed it wouldn't come into view for several days.

“Almost certainly. But by then, you'll have a better grasp on how to wield that new knife you're carrying. You'll be able to defend yourself, and while I may not kill, I will shed blood if I must.”

Questions about why an assassin would refuse death as a tool rose to her tongue, but a merchant's caravan rumbled around a curve to work its way down the slope toward them, and she kept her mouth shut. Thus far, she had not pried. Something told her Gil might be receptive to her questions, but a handful of rough-looking mercenaries surrounded the wagons, and the way they eyed the two of them told her now was not the time.

* * *

They continued past two more waypoints before they halted for rest. Thea's legs and back ached and her knees were bruised from the sewing basket bumping against them during her turns. More than once, she found herself begrudging the easy way Gil threaded an arm beneath the basket's handle and braced a hand against its side, carrying it one-armed and with little visible effort. She tried to mimic the way he held it, but she lacked his strength, and in the end it only made her shoulders hurt more.

The place they settled was a well-used campsite, a flat space not far off the trail. The remnants of old campfires lay black in a ring of stone, and a stack of firewood sat near the camp's edge.

“The mountain's rangers sometimes stock good camping locations with water barrels and wood,” Gil explained as he crammed handfuls of dead leaves between split logs. He'd arranged them just so within the ring of stone, and when he produced something from his pocket, the fading daylight kept her from seeing anything more than a vague shape. He caught her looking and turned his hand. “A fire starter. Have you seen one before?”

She shook her head. “Magic?” Even such simple objects were expensive, but they were useful tools. Judging by the quality of his black clothing and the many knives he carried, Gil only allowed himself the best.

“Yes. Although my understanding is the Metalmancer who makes them is working on a mechanical design, as well. Something that sparks flint and steel with a flick of a switch.” His hand disappeared behind the wood and a moment later, a small flicker of orange licked up the sides of the logs.

“Remarkable what people come up with.” Thea had already shed the weight of her belongings. She left them where they'd landed and inched closer to the fire with her hands out before her. The nights were growing colder everywhere. In the mountains, they were sure to be bitter.

“It is. But there are some tools that are better served by magic. This, for example, doesn't care if it gets wet.” He returned the tiny object to his pocket.

“Are your knives magic?” She couldn't imagine why they would be, but she touched a finger to the one that rested against her leg, all the same. It wasn't as if she could detect any power within it, but she couldn't help the urge to try.

Gil shook his head. “Magic blades are expensive and generally pointless.”

“Oh, I'm sure they're quite pointed.”

He stifled a laugh. “Fine, you've got me there. They're sharp, but they don't offer much benefit to someone like me. Blades tend to hold practical magic. Enchantments like an edge that never grows dull. I'm certain that's useful for some, but my blades are often lost in my line of work.”

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