“Cook?”
“Mmm-hmm. And his twin’s even better.”
“Did . . . did you say twin?”
“Yup. Twin brother. You wouldn’t be able to tell them apart. Unless you tried their cooking. Unsurprisingly, Arnaud doesn’t get much of a chance to display his excellent culinary skills around here. Now, Tamsin. I’m trying to pay attention to the road, but I do believe you’re smiling at me again.”
“I smile all the time.”
“Not at me very often, not in a way that seems like you approve of me or like me. At best, I get a smile that’s like ‘Oh, Jago, why do I put up with you and your quirks?’ Most of the time, really, I’d say I get this grim smile of solidarity along the lines of ‘Once again, fate has ground us under her heel, but onward we go, bearing our chains of bondage as best we can.’”
I laughed outright at that. “I’m certain I have never smiled in that kind of way! I don’t even think it’s possible.”
“You’d be surprised. Pay attention the next time you’re by a mirror. I’ve got one in the back right now that I was going to try to sell to the Icori, but you know I’ll give you a better price if you want it.”
“I’m glad to hear that. It’s a relief knowing you haven’t stopped trying to push your wares on me,” I teased.
“Ah-ha! I knew it. I knew you secretly liked being kept informed about amazing deals for amazing products. You’ve just been toying with me.”
“Jago, if I was toying with you, you’d never know it.”
He shook his head, barely holding back laughter. “Tamsin, Tamsin. I knew you’d be good company, but I didn’t know you’d be this good.”
The first day of three passed peacefully, which felt decadent after the last few weeks of my life. We met no one on the road, and although clouds rolled in, the weather stayed clear. Jago delighted in hearing about how I’d escaped from the magistrate’s house and even told me a little about himself. He’d been born in the colonies, which I’d presumed from his dialect, and came from a big family in Archerwood. I told him a little of my past too, but most of our talk hovered on common subjects—Constancy, the Lorandian puzzle.
We stopped once for dinner and then again to camp at sunset. Jago spent a long time caring for the horses, rubbing them down and making sure they had enough to eat. Their names were Pebble and Dove, and he spoke to them as he worked. I couldn’t make out the words and teased once, “Are you trying to sell those horses something? Leave them alone. The poor things don’t deserve to be swindled.”
“You obviously don’t know horses if you think they can be swindled that easily. At least not my horses.” He patted Pebble’s neck. “And Felicia’s even smarter.”
“Felicia?”
“Another horse I’m boarding in the south. She’s a Myrikosi ghost—probably the only one in Adoria.” His voice burned with pride. “She’s half the reason I’m in debt and out ‘swindling,’ as you call it.”
“Really? You do what you do . . . for a horse? Don’t get me wrong. Pebble and Dove are probably the prettiest ones I’ve ever seen, but to rack up that kind of debt . . . I don’t know. It doesn’t seem worth it.”
“You know a lot of things, Tamsin,” he said solemnly. “But you don’t know horses.”
He had pen and ink in his supplies, and I wrote to Merry on the back side of one of the letters I’d written in isolation. With only a little light from the lantern Jago used for his work, I kept things short: Merry, this was a good day. I’m getting closer to you.
When Jago was satisfied with the horses’ comfort, he took care of ours. He transferred some containers to the secret hold below the sled and moved others around to create a sleeping space. He laid down bags of seed for mattresses and more of those incredible blankets for bedding. Lastly, he set a long and narrow crate across the area to give us each a semiprivate spot.
“There we are,” he said, helping me climb in. “Everything proper. Virtue secure.”
I tested the firmness of the seed bags and found them surprisingly comfortable. “Thanks.”
“Hey, who said it was for you?” he asked, putting on a dignified face. “I’m looking out for me.” He snuffed the lantern and covered the hold with an oiled tarp.
“I’ll try to control myself.”
From the darkness came a great, exaggerated sigh. “Come on, Tamsin. Couldn’t you try to sound just a little less sarcastic? Just enough to boost my self-esteem.”
I covered a yawn. “Do you need a boost? It seems pretty secure to me.”
“You aren’t pulling any punches tonight, are you?” He didn’t sound upset, though. Quite the opposite, actually. “It’s a good thing that great heart of mine can take it.” When almost a minute passed without a response from me, he asked, with some surprise, “No comeback?”
“I was just thinking . . .” The comment about his heart put the mystery of the town’s medicine into the forefront of my mind. I’d wondered about the story constantly on this trip, but the companionable mood we’d had was so nice, I didn’t want to risk losing it. Now, at the end of the day, when all was still, I couldn’t hold back any longer. “What happened with the bitterroot?”
“Ah. I figured that’d be coming.”
“Trying to avoid it?” The old anxiety and distress reared up, and I braced myself for the worst.
“No. I mean, it’s just not something fun to bring up in casual conversation. I don’t have anything to hide.” There was a rustling as he shifted position. “But first, back up and tell me what you know and where you heard it.”
Briefly, I relayed Gideon’s account of how Jago had sold off the medicine promised to Constancy when the Icori made a higher bid. “And now the town doesn’t have anything if some sickness strikes,” I finished.
“You’re right.” My heart stopped, and then he clarified, “You’re right about them being out of medicine. The rest? Well, that’s a little fuzzier.”
“Are you saying Gideon was lying?”
“I’m saying he told the truth as he probably knew it. But let’s go back even further. You know I sell things that are illegal in Grashond? Passing through with them is allowed; owning them is not. When I realized I’d have to stay for the winter, I had to bargain with the council to bend some rules on storing contraband. They actually liked the idea of having backup supplies for the winter and struck a deal where I could stay as long as I didn’t sell bitterroot, kerosene, or flour outside of Constancy. Those run short in wintertime.”
“Did the town pay for them?” I asked, trying to follow the complexities.
“No. It was just held in reserve in case they needed it. I was free to sell any leftovers in the spring. And so, everything seemed to be fine. I got grief over the red barns and not going to church, but that was the worst of it. At least, it was until a wave of black fever broke out in Kerniall. That’s where Orla’s people live. Do you get black fever in Osfrid?”
“I don’t know it, but we get our share of sickness, especially in the city.” I was wide-awake now, propped up on my side. “How bad is it?”
“Very. If you can hit it early with bitterroot, the odds of recovery are pretty good. Kerniall didn’t have enough, though, and the Balanquans weren’t close enough to trade with. But I was.”
I was glad the darkness hid my gaping jaw. “Gideon never said they were actually sick.”
“He might not have known. The meeting I had was private—just me and the council. I explained how I wanted to give the Icori the stash I’d been holding. I told them I’d replace it—that I’d go to Patience for more. I even pointed out it was better if the black fever got stamped out in Kerniall before it spread. But the council refused. They thought it was too risky and said something to the effect that it wasn’t our responsibility to look after heathens, that the Icori’s best shot to beat the fever was to renounce their gods.”
“Six have mercy,” I muttered, appalled. “And that’s when you sold it anyway?”
“I did. Sneaked off just like I did with you, but no one was doing checks then. The Icori insisted on buying it for market price, though I would’ve taken a lot less. They aren’t beggars and thieves, no matter what most Osfridians think. They were still sending payments after the black fever was gone, which is probably where the rumors about me turning a higher profit came from.”
“Why didn’t you replace it afterward?”
“I tried.” Genuine regret sounded in his voice, a far cry from the happy-go-lucky Jago I knew. “But I couldn’t get out to Patience right away because there was such an uproar to deal with in Constancy. When I finally made the trip, I found out most of Patience’s supply had been shipped to an outbreak in Watchful only a few days earlier. So, I went to a Balanquan post and salvaged a little there. It’s not much, but it’s enough to help in an emergency. The council doesn’t know about it—I was tired of dealing with them.”
“You’re nicer to them than they were to you,” I pronounced.
“‘If you’re on the path of right, and someone crosses it with wrong, you don’t need to turn. Build a bridge over their path and continue on your way.’ That’s an Icori proverb.”
“It’s very noble,” I said. “Were you thinking of it at the time?”
“Nah. I was just thinking no one should have to suffer if there was a relatively easy way for me to help.”
“It didn’t sound easy.”
“That’s why I said ‘relatively.’”
I smiled but couldn’t shake my guilt. “I wish Gideon had told me everything. I’m sorry for doubting you.”
“You didn’t know. He probably didn’t either.”
The honesty and humility in his voice pierced my heart. He was the hero in this story, not the villain. I sat up and reached over the crate. I couldn’t see, and in my fumbling, my hand accidentally jabbed Jago in the face. He made a muffled cry of either surprise or pain, and I quickly pulled back. “Sorry. I was trying for your hand, to hold it in a gesture of . . . I don’t know, solidarity. Admiration.”
“Well, that makes more sense,” he said. “I was worried you were trying to move in on my virtue, but it wasn’t the best approach. And then I was worried it’d get awkward because I didn’t really want to say anything in case that was some advanced technique you’d spent hours honing at the Glittering Court. Or worse, it was some technique you’d failed on, and that would be awkward too.”
“Good grief, Jago.” I flounced back down on my side. “You came up with all that? The whole thing took five seconds.”
“Well, I can think pretty fast.” Unable to handle the ensuing silence, he asked, “So . . . still want to hold my hand?”
“Eh, my emotional moment of being overwhelmed by your kindness is past. I mean, you still did a great thing.”
“Oh. Okay, but if you change your mind, you can just come over here. Or I’ll come to you. Whatever’s easiest.”
“Good night, Jago.”
When a few minutes passed, I thought he’d conceded. Then: “If you want to hold it another time, that’s okay too.”
I groaned. “If I agree to, will you let me sleep?”
“Good night, Tamsin.”
* * *
Our second day passed without incident, which was good, of course, though it also made for a lot of monotony. Jago never had a shortage of topics to discuss, but sometimes even he had to take a break from talking. Still, I came to enjoy his company more than I expected. Without the specters of the bitterroot or river passage hanging over us, we got along easily and developed a real rapport, though often it strayed into one of us seeing just how much we could exasperate the other.
He was a welcome diversion because when we weren’t talking, I spent most of my time ruminating. The land had become stark and barren, the forests giving way to endless snowy plains. With little to see in the outside world, I turned my thoughts inward on the many uncertainties clouding my future. Merry, the trip south, finding a husband, the Lorandians and Icori . . . it was a lot to wrestle with, especially because I had no solutions for any of it.
I used our lunch break to write a quick letter, and that was when a horrible, agonizing realization nearly knocked me over. “The picture!” I exclaimed, the pen slipping from my hands. It bounced off the sleigh’s seat and hit the ground. Jago, who’d been tending the horses, retrieved it.
“What’s wrong?”
I slumped forward, burying my face in my hands. How had it not occurred to me sooner? When the storm had hit on the Gray Gull, I’d rescued some letters and the picture Olivia had drawn. They’d all been kept safely under my mattress in the attic, and in lonely times, I’d take the drawing out and gaze at my family’s faces. After being locked up in isolation, I’d never returned to the Cole house, and the drawing had slipped my mind in the wake of my escape with Jago.
He climbed up now and tried to look in my eyes. “What’s wrong?” he repeated.
I lifted my head, my breath coming in gasps as I fought to not break down into total sobbing. “It’s gone! I left it at the Coles’. It was the last thing I had of them—of anyone I loved—and now—and now—”
I hopped down, unable to go on. I stalked away, pacing around our camp with no real destination as I swallowed back more sobs. I had the frantic, irrational notion that if I could keep moving, I could somehow escape my problems. Jago let me be, but finally, crushed by the weight of everything working against me, I sank to my knees and hid my face again, this time surrendering to the tears.
Jago’s arm slipped around me, helping me up. “Now, now, this is no place to cry. That wind’ll freeze your cheeks. I’ll cover up the hold, and you can rest back there.”
“No, no.” I wriggled away from him and wiped my eyes with my sleeve. “I don’t want to slow us down. Let’s go. I’m fine now.” Neither of us believed that, not with my rapid breathing and constant sniffling.
He didn’t stop me from returning to the sleigh’s seat, where I sat in misery and gazed off at the bleak plains, their emptiness a match for what I felt inside. How had I forgotten about the drawing? Why had I ever even kept it in my room? I should have had it in a pocket at all times.
“Hey, can you help me?” Jago called a few minutes later.
I blinked a few more times and then made my way to him as he stood by Dove. “W-what?” I asked, not meeting his eyes.
“Can you brush them for me? Something’s wrong with Pebble’s trace, and it’ll take forever if I have to sort it out and then do their grooming.”
I dragged my gaze to the silvery duo. “I wouldn’t have the first clue how.”
“Here, watch.” He retrieved a box from the hold and showed me the grooming tools inside. After demonstrating how they worked, he removed the horses’ harnesses and crouched down to figure out the trace’s problem. Tentatively, I ran the comb over Dove’s coat, trying to imitate what he’d done. The gray mare lifted her head, and I jumped back, afraid I’d hurt her. But she seemed curious more than anything and soon turned away.
I felt slow and clumsy as I worked, constantly questioning myself and going back to make sure I hadn’t missed any dirt or matting. Jago was still puzzling over the gear, so I wasn’t totally dragging us down. Dove was sleek and shiny when I finished, and I took a step back to admire the results. She shook her head with a small whicker, and I like to think she approved.
Afterward, I did Pebble’s coat. When that was finished, I asked, “Can I do their manes?”
“Sure,” he said, not looking up. “But you don’t have to. It’s the sweat and wear I mostly want taken care of. They won’t mind getting pretty, though.”
Since he was still busy, I figured I might as well tend to the manes. I approached it like brushing my own hair, and he occasionally gave me pointers. There was a strange
sort of comfort in caring for them. The things I grappled with were usually intangible. Touching something real and solid and seeing actual results provided a satisfaction I never seemed to get these days. When I was done, I took turns petting each of the horses, and Jago finally rose in triumph. “Got it,” he said. “This should make it easier on them.”
He hitched them back up in no time while I cleared the rest of the camp. Before long, we were gliding across the snow again, never mentioning my breakdown.
Later, when we stopped for the night, he went to the horses right away as he always did while I readied the hold and set out our food. This time, I watched as he went through his nightly routine, feeding them and giving them another rubdown after the long day of travel.
“More dried-out biscuits,” he declared as he joined me at the fire. “I tell you, Tamsin, we eat like kings around here. And queens.”
“You groomed those horses in a fraction of the time I did.” I gazed into the flames, turning the biscuit around in my hands. “It wouldn’t have slowed us at all if you’d rubbed them down after fixing the trace.”
“There wasn’t much to do tonight,” he said easily. “You did such a good job earlier, I breezed right through it.”
“Was the trace even broken?”
He stalled by taking a bite of his food. “Horses are easy,” he said after a while. “Easier than people. If you’re good to them, they’re good to you. It’s nice, a creature that’s so uncomplicated, you know? I like to think it heals the soul.”
We finished the meal without saying anything else. When bedtime came, I paused beside the sleigh, resting my hand on its side. Jago had been about to climb in but stopped when he noticed me.
“Before I left, my sister sent me a picture—a drawing she did of our family. She’s good. It looked just like them.” I tipped my head back, watching as clouds moved across the night sky, occasionally opening up pockets of stars. “I kept it safe in the storm on the ship and hid it under my bed at Samuel’s. I never had a chance to get it back, and now, it’s like . . . I feel like they—everyone who’s against me—managed to take one more thing from me. And sometimes I wonder how much is left for them to take. How much more do I have inside of me to keep on going?”