Silent tears were coming again, these brought on by frustration as well as sorrow. Needing to clear her thoughts before facing any of the Guard—even to mourn—Ember climbed the stairs. She would seek her cell and solace, weeping for Sorcha alone before she joined the others.
Before she reached her cell door, the sound of a ragged sob, very close, pulled her up short. The door to the cell on her left was ajar. Ember crept up to the door. She could see the narrow pallet and Kael sitting on it with his face buried in his hands. His shoulders shook.
Though muffled by his hands, his mourning filled the room with a broken sound that made Ember’s throat tighten. She watched him, wondering if she should go to him. No one should be left to drown in this depth of sorrow. As she decided to slip inside and sit with Kael, someone else—someone who’d been hidden by the partly closed door—came into view.
Ember pressed herself against the door frame as Lukasz knelt in front of Kael. The commander took Kael’s hands in his own, pulling Kael’s fingers away from his face. Lukasz’s strong jaw was outlined by the glistening of tears, but he wept silently. He placed his hands on the sides of Kael’s face, running his thumbs along Kael’s sharp cheekbones.
“We will endure this. We must,” Lukasz said.
“How?” Kael asked him.
Lukasz slid his strong arms around Kael’s shoulders, drawing him down until their lips met.
Ember lurched back into the hall, heart ramming against her ribs.
She’d known Kael had a lover; Barrow told her as much. But the commander? She wondered if Barrow knew of or even suspected this relationship.
But Barrow hadn’t jumped into her mind only because of what he’d said about Kael and the Guards taking lovers of their choosing. The sight of that kiss, tender but edged with pain, made her own lips burn—remembering the touch of Barrow’s mouth on hers.
She had to find him.
Ember hurried to the stairs, making her way to the barracks hall. Most of the Guard had gathered there. The majority of the knights were clustered around Cian and Father Michael, some weeping openly, others silent and grim-faced. A few had broken away from the larger group to grieve on their own.
Though she took care to search the faces of the assembled, the one she sought proved absent. She turned around, walking as quickly as she could without breaking into a run. Once back in the courtyard, Ember did begin to run. Splashing through puddles, she rushed to the stables. She slowed once she was inside. In the damp, dark night the sweetness of the grain seemed stronger. She hesitated at the edge of the long, dark corridor that ran between the stalls. Within the shadows she could hear the horses breathing, the swish of their tails, the occasional snort or soft whicker.
Taking a few steps forward, she peered into the darkness but found no evidence that anyone other than the horses was passing the night there. Even so, she pressed on, walking carefully and listening for any signs that she wasn’t alone.
A lantern would have been helpful, but Ember was compelled to move forward without the security of a light for her path. She’d come in search of raw truth, the kind perhaps only revealed beneath the cover of darkness.
She was grateful that she’d come to know the stables well. If it had been otherwise, she might have fled from the massive shapes that rustled behind stall doors. A few of the horses stirred, watching as she passed.
Ember walked on, and darkness cocooned her with each step. She paused only when she caught the murmur of a man’s voice. Turning in the direction of the sound, she stole forward, treading lightly so as to approach without notice. Even after several minutes in the stables, her eyes could make little out in the darkness, but she could tell as she approached one of the last stalls in the corridor that it was occupied by two distinct shapes instead of only one—the shadow of a horse, and that of a man. Her heart felt like a stone, much too heavy in her chest.
“Barrow,” she whispered.
One of the shapes behind the stall door moved, coming toward her. Behind him, Toshach whickered quietly.
“Ember?” Barrow unlatched the door, letting it swing open. “What are you doing here?”
His question stung, but she said, “Looking for you.”
He didn’t answer her but stood silently, only a shadow that rose before her.
“Please.” Ember’s voice broke. “I don’t know what to do.”
Barrow stepped out of the stall and closed the door. She didn’t know what else to say. Even if she’d had words to speak, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to get them out. Her breath was ragged.
“I’m sorry to have left the barracks without finding you first,” he said slowly. “I didn’t know . . . I thought it might be best if we spent time alone.”
Ember’s stomach clenched. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
“No.” Barrow moved closer, reaching out to take her hand. “It was wrong of me to leave you . . . but after . . .”
His fingers closed over hers, squeezing them so tight it was painful. Ember didn’t know if he was speaking of Sorcha or of their kiss, but she took a step toward him. He lifted her hand to his face. Her fingertips touched his cheek and jaw, becoming wet with what remained of his tears.
“I should have stayed behind.” His voice was rough.
“Eira ordered us to leave, and even Lukasz defers to her authority,” she told him. “We followed the commander as we were bidden. How could we have known?”
“I’ve lost companions in battle,” he whispered. “Such is our lot, our calling. But not like this. Never like this.”
Ember nodded, letting her hand move from his jaw to his neck. She rested her head against his chest and let her tears come quietly, but freely.
“I fear what it means,” he said.
Closing her eyes, Ember could hear Alistair’s whisper. Our world is changing and you must be ready.
Barrow wove his fingers through her damp hair, cradling her head. “I will not ask anything of you, Ember.”
Ember lifted her face, trying to make out his familiar features in the dark.
“What do you want to ask of me?”
“Too much.” He drew a shuddering breath. “I thought myself strong, but discover I am weak as the next man. Perhaps weaker.”
“And if I wish to give what you ask,” she whispered. “What then?”
He bent down, brushing his lips over her forehead, the bridge of her nose. He kissed her cheek and she felt his breath on her lips, his mouth close to hers but not touching. Sensing his hesitation, Ember gripped his shirt and pulled him to her.