Two months later…

Two months had passed since Wyatt’s life had ended. It had felt like two years had gone by, with nothing to show for it except emotional decay. Somehow he had managed to keep his sanity, but it had been a near thing. Jor had dragged Wyatt out of his room after a week of him mourning privately. To Jor’s credit, he hadn’t done anything else. He had forced a drink of red wine into his hand, sat him down in his parlor, and talked.

Wyatt didn’t even remember what Jor had talked about. Nothing, in particular; like the man himself, he wandered through his conversations. Jor had spoken about his own life, about their relationship, about his granddaughter, and anything else that struck his fancy. He kept talking and never asked Wyatt to speak, which he had been grateful for.

It had been another week before he uttered more than a sentence to Jor, and when he started, he couldn’t stop. He talked about his regrets, growing up on the streets of Velaire, and about the life that was now impossible for him. It had spilled out of him, and the entire time Jor had listened thoughtfully, interjecting occasionally but never taking control of the conversation.

When Wyatt had talked about his course in life after this, saying he didn’t know what he could do, Jor had nodded and sat back in his chair, gazing at him thoughtfully. Wyatt had also sat back in his chair, gazing at his surroundings. His parlor was mostly impersonal like his guest bedroom, but there was a rich purple carpet on the floor that was both elegant and understated. They sat at a cheap wooden table meant for two, sipping on Jor’s red wine as they spoke. The table wasn’t too big, and it wasn’t too small either. It was exactly the right size for the room, even if it shook whenever weight was put on it.

Two months ago…

“I may have a solution to your quandary,” Jor said tentatively.

Wyatt raised his eyebrows. “I’m not going to take offense at the way you began that,” Wyatt cautiously replied.

“And I thank you for it,” Jor said, sighing and shaking his head. He seized his glass of wine and took a big gulp of it.

“You know I’m shit at this, Wyatt,” Jor continued after he had wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “You were always the one that could win people over with words. I hit people over the head and try not to make too much of a mess of things.”

Wyatt said nothing, simply gesturing to Jor with his eyebrows still raised.

Jor laughed uproariously. “Point taken!” he said, still chuckling. “I always make a mess of things, don’t I? Look at us, Wyatt. Look at my own life. Look at…”

There was an awkward pause as what Jor was going to say silently filled the whole room. Look at your wife and daughter, dead because of me, Wyatt thought bitterly. Look at my granddaughter, who is still alive while your family is dead.

“I did what I had to, but I betrayed you,” Jor said bluntly. “They said they were just going to Test your daughter, but I should’ve warned you. I was told not to warn you, but fuck ‘em.”

Wyatt nodded, not able to speak. He blinked rapidly and raised his nearly full glass, draining it completely. Jor frowned and sighed again but kept going.

“I want to help you, Wyatt. I know people. People you don’t like, but you won’t have to deal with them. I will.”

“No,” Wyatt said. He shook his head. “I’m done with your schemes, Jor. Where’s the bottle?”

“In the kitchen,” Jor said, pushing back his chair and standing up. “I’ll get it, Wyatt. It’s a miracle you aren’t dead, or nothing was even broken. Still, the bone bruises you have will take a while to heal.”

Jor moved from the room, going to the kitchen as he still talked. “I know you don’t like them, Wyatt, and, by Diev, you have good reason to. A principled man such as yourself, the Captain of the Citadel Guard no less, and me a fellow Citadel Guard who moonlights with the Thieves Guild. I’m still thankful you didn’t rat me out.”

“I may have been disgusted with your choices, but I would never betray my friends to the Citadel,” Wyatt grumbled. And yet, I would have done the same in his place. The discovery was bitter, but the truth often was. Wyatt couldn’t fault Jor for defending his family from the likes of Nathaniel, but he could fault him for not letting him know or at least trying. Jor’s capable. He may have been under watch, but that shouldn’t have stopped him.

Jor returned with the bottle and poured Wyatt a full glass of red wine, pulling Wyatt out of his thoughts. After a moment of consideration, he topped himself back up and sat down with a huff. He then looked at the wine bottle that he had put down—which was still half-full—and Wyatt. The bottle was in easy range of Wyatt, and if he wanted to, he could take it.

“One more glass after this, Wyatt,” Jor said, leaving the bottle where it was on the table. “Now, where was I? Oh, yes, I—”

“Was saying how thankful you were because I didn’t rat you out,” Wyatt said dryly.

“Too right!” Jor said cheerfully. “Now, when you’re healed up, I will be able to get you a place on a caravan that’ll go very far from here.”

“You want me to join a caravan,” Wyatt stated. He almost said no again on principle alone—because it was Jor—but then he considered it. “As a guard, I presume?”

“You’re strong, Wyatt,” Jor said quietly. Jor’s version of quiet could probably be heard throughout the house. “It’ll give you something to do, and it’ll get you away from here.”

“How would it work?” Wyatt asked. He wanted to accept, he wanted nothing to do with Velaire or their mages or their politics anymore, but he didn’t want to throw his lot in with scum. “What are you planning, Jor?”

“Nothing terrible,” Jor said. He picked up his drink, swirled it, and took a long sniff. “Ah,” he said, taking a quaff of it. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had as good of a wine as this.”

“Jor,” Wyatt said. It was exhausting dealing with the man sometimes. “Stop deflecting. What are you planning?”

“Not all of my work is unreputable, you know,” Jor said, wagging a finger at him. “You’ll see, Wyatt. You’ll be working with fine people that you’ll grow to appreciate. You’ll see.”

Two months later…

“Diev damn it, halt!”

Wyatt started, shocked out of his memories as the leader of the caravan shouted for the umpteenth time that day. “BOY!” Gerald roared. “GET OVER HERE, BOY!”

Jor’s way of helping Wyatt was to get him hired to protect a caravan of people that Nathaniel would’ve happily recruited from. All except for Anton, a tall and blond-haired youth of fourteen that was too young and cheerful to act like the rest of the so-called adults around him.

“I’m coming!” Anton finally called back, bringing his horse to the front of the line. “Sorry, Gerald!”

Gerald, the caravan leader, was about forty-five years of age, the same age as Wyatt. Unlike Wyatt, he hadn’t kept himself in shape. Wyatt winced for the poor horse that this man rode the route on. He had a long grey beard thrown over his shoulder and a poorly maintained sword attached to his hip. Like the rest of the caravan he wore brown leathers, which only served to make him look like a sweating pig when he did anything more than walking sedately.

They had been traveling for three weeks now, from Velaire to Mesaa, where Jor had promised Wyatt that he would then be able to go his separate ways. Wyatt had agreed with Jor: from there, he would be able to go wherever he wanted, be whoever he wanted.

Except a husband and father.

Wyatt closed his eyes as waves of pain washed over him. He trembled, almost coming undone, but managed to keep himself in the present. He would join them eventually, and he would rest. A large part of him was still tempted to turn his sword on himself, but he knew that Lea would be furious. It wasn’t that he was worried about them: if Lea was with Bella, he knew that they would be fine in whatever life they lived in now. It was the waiting that was killing him. It could be decades before he died, and he didn’t want to wait that long.

They would wait forever for him to return to them. It would have to be enough.

Wyatt blinked as he watched Anton ride to the front of the caravan. It was about forty horses long, with twenty guards riding alongside it. The actual contents of the caravan consisted of herbs and spices—not exactly setting the world on fire but enough to warrant a guard, especially given the conditions as of late. The relations between Velaire and the Seldalarian Empire—tremulous at best—had worsened. The road to Mesaa was long and relatively unguarded. Under Gerald’s leadership, the caravan would be easy pickings for any enterprising soul. Wyatt prayed that they tried.

Wyatt couldn’t hear what Gerald was saying to Anton, but it wasn’t good. Anton seemed to droop more and more as the caravan master laid into him, spittle flying out of his lips and hitting the boy’s cheek. He was flinching back now, looking afraid of whatever the man was telling him.

Wyatt spurred his horse before he knew what he was doing, Gerald’s whisper-shouts becoming clear as he rode closer to them.

“You are useless, boy! Every job you are given you fail. And if that isn’t enough, you—”

“Gerald,” Wyatt said, stopping beside Anton. “Why have we stopped?”

“Wyatt,” Gerald said. His bravado vanishing like dust in the wind. He licked his lips, looking about him nervously. The rest of the caravan was staring at them with open curiosity now that Wyatt had involved himself. “Why are you here?”

“I’m getting paid to do a job, and you’re wasting valuable sunlight yelling at this boy,” Wyatt said. It wasn’t difficult making himself sound irritated—all he had to do was think about how much of a failure he was. “Surely this can wait until later?”

“Y-yes,” Gerald stammered. His eyes flickered from Wyatt’s eyes to his Wyatt’s sword belted at his side. “Wyatt, could you take the boy with you and discipline him?”

“It would be my pleasure,” Wyatt drawled, inclining his head ever so slightly.

“Continue!” Gerald shouted, riding away and back to the front of the caravan. “We’ve wasted enough time here! Let’s go!”

Anton snorted at that and then flinched when Wyatt cuffed him.

“Come with me, boy,” Wyatt said, pitching his voice as if he were angry at Anton for wasting his time. “Don’t dawdle; you’ve wasted enough of our time.”

“Yes, sir,” Anton said, following Wyatt to the back of the caravan.

When they arrived, Anton opened his mouth to speak, but Wyatt cut him off. “Wait,” Wyatt said. “Wait until we’re alone.”

Wyatt let his horse slow down. Anton copied the action until there was enough distance that they could speak without being heard.

“Gerald and his men will make their move tonight,” Wyatt murmured.

To Anton’s credit, he barely reacted, only cocking the side of his head so that he could hear Wyatt better.

“What are they planning to do?” Anton whispered, his lips only twitching as he spoke.

“They want you dead. They want to kill you because you are in their way. Be cautious.”

Anton blinked. Wyatt had to force down a wave of emotion as, for a moment, Anton didn’t look like the exuberant young man that he usually was. Instead, he looked his age: a scared fourteen-year-old against the entire world. It reminded Wyatt so much of Bella that he almost broke in front of the boy.

Diev, damn it. Wyatt mentally swore.

“I’ll help you,” Wyatt promised softly. Anton’s resulting smile was so wide that Wyatt felt a sense of peace sweep over him for the first time since his wife and daughter had been murdered. “Bunk down next to me tonight, and I will help you. They fear me, and I’ve seen you fight. None of those idiots are a match for the two of us.”

“Even if they all come at us?” Anton asked. He looked and sounded uncertain. “You’re strong, and I’m a good fighter, but it would be two versus a score.”

Wyatt tentatively reached for his magic for the first time since he had last used it to defend himself and his family. He had never gone this long without delving into it, and he was unsure if it would respond. Had he ignored it for too long?

Instead, it positively leapt toward him like a puppy, and Wyatt could’ve sworn that it crooned when Wyatt seized it. He didn’t use it, basking in its power. He had never felt as strong as when he held his magic.

And yet all your power didn’t save your family, a traitorous part of Wyatt’s mind whispered. You let them die.

Wyatt didn’t say anything, but something must have changed in his expression. Anton cocked his head before he nodded.

“I’ve heard of you before,” Anton said. “I’ve never been to Velaire, but you were famous. You were the Captain of the Citadel Guard, weren’t you?”

“I was,” Wyatt admitted. “That was a lifetime ago.”

Anton shook his head. “No,” he said. “You’re the strongest one here. I don’t know much except my sword, but there’s something different about you compared to the other warriors I’ve seen. If anyone else were to say that they could take on twenty and win, I would mock them. With you, I accept it. Thank you, Wyatt. I won’t let you down.”

Anton rode off to rejoin the caravan, leaving a baffled Wyatt behind.

“Let’s hope his trust in me pays off,” Wyatt muttered before he too nudged his horse to rejoin the caravan.