If his words are meant to cheer me up, they have the opposite effect. A horrifying flood of emotion gathers behind my eyes. I cannot help it—the thought of losing my last friend in this broken city is enough to rattle my precarious composure.
Farley gapes at me in horror, his expression somewhat blurry through my tears. “Gods, woman, stop that at once!”
“I’m sorry!” I cry, equally horrified.
“Don’t be sorry, just don’tcry!”
“I’mnotcrying!”
“Could’ve fooled me. Honestly, if I’d known you’d be so heartbroken I was leaving, I would’ve avoided you along with all my suitors. Clingy, the lot of them. I swear, nothing kills my affection quite so fast as someone expressing an overabundance of their own.”
Despite my sadness, I can’t help laughing. “You’re awful.”
“In demand, that’s what I am. You may be the bringer of light, but I’m the breaker of hearts.”
“Dropper of breechesmight be more accurate.”
Lestyn suppresses a giggle.
“Oh, good, she’s back to insulting me.” Farley grins. “She must be over her devastation.”
I suck in an unsteady breath, desperately holding back the sob that’s building in my throat. “I know the true reason you’re leaving.”
“Oh?”
“Now that I’ve mastered twyllo, you’re afraid to play any more hands against me. You won’t risk emptying your coin purse.”
“Ah yes. That’s it exactly.” He reaches out and ruffles my hair playfully, mussing the plaited platinum strands. “How could I be so woefully transparent?”
Behind us, the foot soldiers are beginning to depart, streaming out of the barracks and down King’s Avenue in orderly rows. I know the Ember Guild will be quick to follow suit. Already, half of them have mounted their horses. The night is full of jangling tackle and muffled whinnies.
Farley casts a quick glance over his shoulder, regret staining his expression. “Ace—”
Before he can say his goodbyes, I move forward and wrap my arms around him, squeezing so hard he lets out an audible whoosh of air.
“Be safe,” I order gruffly.
He doesn’t say anything. Merely hugs me hard before turning to haul himself up onto the back of a glossy speckled mare with a wavy black mane. Lestyn steps closer to me, as if lending me all the strength his slight form has to offer. Together, we watch Farley steer his mount to the front of the line. But the soft clop of his mare’s hooves is quickly overshadowed by the piercing clangor of another horse charging down King’s Avenue.
We turn to watch as the approaching rider, cloak billowing behind him in the darkness, jerks back his reins and clatters to a halt several paces away. His stallion’s flanks are coated with lather—wherever he rode from, he did so at great speed. The beast swings its head back and forth in clear distress at the sudden stop, nostrils flaring, teeth bared against its bit. The rider makes no move to soothe his mount. His attention is reserved forthe gathered company of Ember Guild. His scarred face contorts as he takes their measure.
General Yale, high commander of Dyved’s armies, has arrived. And he does not look happy.
“What is the meaning of this?” Yale barks.
“What does it look like, General?” Farley’s voice, only moments ago full of playfulness and good humor, is stripped bare. “We ride for the northern coast to lend aid to our fellow soldiers.”
At this news, Yale’s glare intensifies tenfold. I myself have been on the receiving end of that glare in the past—more times than I care to recount. I shy backward into the shadows, pulling Lestyn along with me.
“Go on ahead,” I whisper in the darkness. “Head to the infirmary. I will meet you there.”
“But—”
“Go.”
Lestyn, face set in a displeased pout, scurries off down the lane, his spindly arms holding the basket I shoved into them. I should follow him. If Yale sees me, it will only further blacken his mood. Yet my feet feel rooted to the street.
“I sanctioned no such deployment,” the general growls at Farley, hazel-gold eyes flashing. The long scar that splices the left side of his face only heightens his wrathful look.