Leth exerts all his strength to remain properly upright in the saddle, determined to conceal his weakness from his companions. A lifetime of overheard gossip loops through his head, cutting deeper than the cold. Leth ka Tariel, the worthless runt. At least his parents have their firstborn to depend on. At least he never enlisted. At least he’s gone now.
Maybe this isn’t just a hangover. He doesn’t usually indulge in this much self-flagellation.
Distracted and dazed, he hears Evain call something out, but he doesn’t process the meaning until everyone else halts around him. Star obligingly halts too, without any input from Leth’s stiff hands. Leth struggles to concentrate on Evain’s next words.
“Let’s stretch out for a few minutes here.” Evain’s voice is smooth and warm. A sound to sink into. “My horse could use a rest, as could my gorgeous, world-renowned ass.”
Dismounting is a mistake. Leth’s knees buckle when his feet hit the ground, and only his death-grip on the saddle keeps him upright. He inhales, barely smelling the scent of leather and horse.
Evain’s voice catches his attention again. A barely-audible hum as he asks Marta something.
“Oh, of course.” Her voice carries. “Are you not feeling well?”
“Just a little under the weather,” Evain says.
Leth leads Star away from the others, trying to get his feet back under him. Metaphorically and literally—just walking in a straight line is a feat of concentration. He tethers Star near a scraggly patch of year-round grass and leans against a nearby tree.
All the trees around him are bare. Muted brown branches stretch upwards, losing the last of their color to the gray sky. Leth watches the thinner branches sway in the wind, and realizes he forgot to pray this morning.
A branch snaps close by. Leth’s head whips up to find Evain ten feet away, dropping a twig to the ground. He clearly snapped it on purpose.
“Is it time to go?” Leth isn’t sure how long they’ve been stopped, or whether he’ll be able to reach the saddle again. His legs feel even weaker than before.
“Not yet. How are you feeling?”
Leth looks away as Evain’s shadow falls over him. “I’m fine.”
“Really.” Evain removes the glove from his right hand. “I’m no Varan, but I can tell when you’re lying, little Leth.”
“I’mfine,” Leth hisses. A beat later, he remembers to add, “Don’t call me that.”
Evain steps forward, and Leth instinctively steps back—forgetting he’s already leaning against a tree. His head knocks against the trunk, and rough bark pricks into his shoulder blades. The air around him closes in with a scent like smoke and cinnamon. He can’t see or breathe anything except Evain. When Evain lifts his hand, Leth’s reflexes are too muddled to knock him away. The back of Evain’s hand presses to Leth’s forehead.
“Your hand is too cold,” Leth says quietly.
“You’re burning up.” Evain’s sculpted brow furrows. His hair is in a single long plait again, draped in front of his shoulder to draw Leth’s attention to Evain’s throat. The angle of his jaw, the movement of his lips. “Take this. Marta says to just let it melt under your tongue. She’s no Dansa, but she has half an apothecary packed up with that picnic blanket.”
His hand falls away from Leth’s forehead, and he offers a paper-wrapped pill.
Craning his neck up to meet Evain’s eyes is too much effort, so Leth addresses one of Evain’s flower-carved coat buttons instead. “I’ll be fine soon. I won’t slow us down.”
“Of course you won’t slow us down.” Evain’s voice lowers in a dangerously comforting tone. “Because if you don’t take this, I’m going to tie you up and sling you over my horse’s shoulders, so I don’t have to worry about you falling out of the saddle. Understand?”
Leth’s head snaps up.
For an instant, red flashes in the depths of Evain’s eyes. “So defiant,” he says with a smile. “Think you can beat me right now?”
Leth knows he can’t. And he must truly be feverish, because he doesn’t twist away as Evain unwraps the paper. The tablet leaves grains of chalk-white dust on his leather gloves. Evain lifts his fingers to Leth’s lips, and a shockingly familiar sensation sweeps through Leth’s entire body. The same sensation he woke up to this morning: the feeling of being held close and kept safe.
Closing his eyes, Leth doesn’t resist as Evain pushes the pill into his mouth. Evain’s breath brushes over his forehead. Soft leather nudges his dry lips, and his lungs fill with smoke and cinnamon.
The pill slides tasteless under his tongue. Tingling spreads through his veins, but Leth doesn’t know if he can blame it on the medication.
“We’ll ride on in five minutes,” Evain says. “Let me know if you need help mounting up.”
He leaves Leth against the tree, no longer shivering but just as dizzy as before.
***