***
Egey Bashi tried not to blink as he watched Mik and Arin ride out through the gate side by side. If he blinked, he would disturb the pooling tears. Everyone would see him cry. He prayed none of his peers were watching him now. A safe bet, or so he hoped, since everyone’s eyes were glued to the pair of riders on the road below.
Arin sat in her saddle with such ease that she seemed at one with her horse—a slender bay whose reddish coat mirrored the tint of her hair. Her cloak trailed behind in the warm breeze, allowing glimpses of her outfit beneath. Her skin. Egey Bashi swallowed and looked away.
Mik looked disheveled next to her, even in the best outfit the Citadel could muster for the occasion. His posture in the saddle was passable for a novice, but he couldn’t possibly match Arin’s. Perhaps he will, one day. He would make a great warrior, his Majat training the one good deed Egey Bashi could credit entirely to himself—even if in the process he also managed to break his heart.
Before they neared the road bend, Arin turned in her saddle, glancing at Egey Bashi. Their eyes met and held each other’s for a very long moment. Then she rode out of sight.
Mik, in her wake, never looked back.