17. Colt

They had narrowly skirted death once again; it seemed luck was on their side. The power of Owen and Gilda's Essence could not be denied, but Colt wondered if something else was watching after them. He had never been religious, but he felt like thanking Alenar for staying alive this time.

They rode most of the morning in the cart until one of the wheels broke. Getting off, they all rummaged around the cart to find their belongings. It seemed everything was there, from their bags to weapons to the pots and tents. This bothered Colt for many reasons. If Rem meant for them to come out and get on the cart, did that mean he had also been double crossed by Quinnby? Or did he think Quinnby would let them walk away after the Cleansing? And that they would continue their travels with him?

This whole situation reeks of ill will.

"Where's my bag?" Brom wheezed.

Colt froze, and it dawned on him as they searched for Brom's bag—only to find it gone—that Rem never meant for Brom to make it out of Adelon Estates. It was no wonder he'd been beaten so badly. If they had let him loose to run through the tunnels alone, he would have been the first one to be brought down.

"He meant to kill Brom, with the hunt he had planned." Colt's brow lowered.

Brom's jaw tightened, his face pale from this disheartening news. "But what about my pots? They"re here."

"Rem knows we all use them," Owen said.

"That still doesn't explain why he wanted the three of you alive and not me." Brom seemed disturbed now, and he looked around dubiously at the trees.

Gilda shook her head. "It's clear that the man is deranged." She sighed. "I can't think in this muddy dress. There's a stream over here. Let's wash up and regroup. Then we can figure out what to do."

They untethered the two horses from the cart and let them graze while they washed in the stream. The water was deep enough to wet their shins, and they each stripped their dirty clothes off, Gilda staying in her undergarments, before letting their masquerade finery wash downstream. They washed as best they could, but Brom struggled and Colt grabbed his elbow to steady him.

Colt was sure the Hunters would be on them in no time, but neither Owen nor Gilda sensed anyone coming. They abandoned the cart behind some bushes and brought the horses along. As the afternoon began, they laid down near a cluster of rocks that would shelter and hide them. Brom seemed to be better, but he was sore, and it was hard for him to walk. Colt was sure he had several broken ribs.

Owen fell asleep before they could discuss the events of what had happened, but Colt was wide awake, so he took watch for the next several hours, letting Owen lay in his lap to sleep. Now dawn was breaking, and they needed to move.

Colt filled their waterskins at the stream and let Brom boil it over their small fire. When Owen finally stirred awake, Colt studied him closely. Memories of Quinnby pinned to the wall, blood dripping from his eyes and nose, washed through Colt's mind. And then there had been the fire Owen had spun from his hands. That purple fire had burned Rem. Colt couldn"t help but smile.

"Ow," Owen grumbled as he sat up and touched his head.

"You've got a big bruise. Do you feel alright?" Gilda asked. When Owen nodded, she said, "We need to keep moving."

Colt began to pack up his bag, while Gilda rolled up their blankets. Owen worked quietly and then fell still, his eyes distant as he looked down at his colorful quilt.

"We killed a lot of men…" Owen's voice was flat. "And Quinnby."

Colt and Gilda eyed each other before she sighed. "Possibly," she told him, coming up beside him. "But the man was mad, Owen. It's no worse than when we killed the Geesh back in Milarc."

"But Quinnby wasn't a Geesh."

"I can't tell the difference," Brom broke in, grunting in pain as he shifted before the fire.

Owen closed his eyes. "He was still human."

"I'm sure most of his fools survived," Gilda said. "You did a service to people like us by killing Kingsland."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" Owen shook his head and stuffed the quilt into his bag. "Because it doesn't."

Gilda swung towards Owen, fury in her voice. "Would you rather he killed us all instead? Fouryears, Owen. The man's lured Astrans into his home for four years from the Silent Road to perform dark rituals behind the Legion's back. And he's gotten away with it. And you're worried about killing him?"

Colt had never seen her so angry before, but she was right, and he hoped Owen would understand. Instead, Owen's shoulders slumped, and when he opened his mouth to reply, she held up her hand.

"Please, Owen. Just listen." For a long moment, Gilda stared at a space beyond them all, towards the trees, before she sighed and said, "Long before I came to Harold's clan in Milarc, I lived with a man." Her voice carried no emotion. "His name was Gideon, and he was very wealthy. For three years, I worked as a servant in his home. He was very kind to me, to all of us who worked there."

Colt exchanged a wary glance with Brom before he looked back at her and waited.

"We grew close and became lovers behind closed doors," she went on. "He had plans of making me his wife, which seemed to require that he fashion me to be someone else. He put me in heavy dresses and promised me a life with him. I loved him and felt he should know all of me. But when I told him I was Astran, he turned his back on me."

An ache swelled in Colt's chest, and he noticed Owen staring at her in deep consternation. Beside him, Brom stared into the fire, a lost look in his eyes.

Gilda cleared her throat, avoiding both their gazes as she straightened her back. Her expression was stone, but her eyes held the glossy sheen of tears. "I managed to get away, and rather than let me be, he sent a Wielder after me. And that Wielder was the first man I ever killed."

Owen's mouth fell open, and Colt looked down, knowing where she was going with this story.

"What happened to Gideon?" Colt asked.

She raised her brows. "I didn't hear anything more from him. I traveled north and met with a lovely woman who took care of me. You see—" She paused, the muscles in her jaw tightening. "I didn't know until a month later that I carried Gideon's child. I carried the baby for seven months. When he was born, he didn't live through the night."

A strange sensation filled Colt"s heart. Was it pain? He usually didn't feel pity for others, but this didn't feel like pity. It felt like his own heart was breaking. When he looked up, he saw a tear roll down Owen's flushed cheek. And dammit, that pained him too.

But Gilda only smiled and wiped his tear away with her hand.

"I'm sorry, Gilda," Owen said softly. "What you've gone through…"

She shook her head as water rimmed her eyes. "I was never the same after, but when I met you, something in me changed. I couldn't help my baby, but I can help you. Someone who would be around the same age as him now." She took his hand in hers. "You're my child, now, Owen. And whether you like it or not, I will kill for you. All of you." She stared at Brom, then Colt, and he blinked at her in surprise. "Now you need to see it the same way. We can't let people like Kingsland continue to torture Astrans, or anyone at all."

Owen leaned forward, and she embraced him tightly, kissing him on the head before smoothing his hair back.

"Thank you for telling me." He pulled away and clasped her hands.

Colt had no words for her. What could he say that his face didn't already relay? But his feelings towards her softened, and he could now see why she was always harsh in everything she did. It was a front to keep herself safe.

Taking a breath, Gilda cut her eyes over at Colt, then she cleared her throat and said, "Brom, let's start packing the bags on the horses. You'll be the one riding since you're the most injured." Brom seemed to happily oblige, allowing Gilda to help him up from the ground, and they left.

After getting his bag ready, Colt glanced at Owen. For a long moment, they were both quiet. The air between them was strange, as if there was much to say, but neither of them knew where to begin.

Owen sucked in a deep breath as he pulled his overcoat on and said, "I'm sorry."

Colt's brow wrinkled. "What for?"

"For not being able to sense that something was wrong with this whole thing, with Rem." He kept his eyes downcast.

"This isn't your fault." Colt shook his head. "You hear me?"

Owen pinched the bridge of his nose. "I felt almost possessed when I took hold of Quinnby. I didn't like the dark feeling it gave me, as if I was made to do horrible things. Perhaps I am…" He hung his head and shrank, looking defeated.

The ache that tore across Colt's chest made him move forward. When he grabbed Owen's clammy hands and turned them palms up, Owen met his eyes. It was remarkable that there were no burns on his hands, only the black residue from the purple flames he'd conjured. "You feel that energy before it comes out, don't you?"

"Yes. I've always felt energy, even if I didn't understand it as a child. It's how I read people." Owen met his eyes now. "I sense them by taste or smell."

"So you've said." Colt raised an eyebrow and smiled. "What am I to you?"

"Lemon."

Colt blinked. "Lemon? A lemon? Really?"

"And honey." Owen smiled faintly. "For your sweet side. The lemon is more of a smell than it is taste. It was more lemon when I first met you."

"Interesting." Colt nodded. "Any other odd flavorings or smells I should know of? Do you smell a wet dog with Brom, or taste salt with Gilda?"

Owen gave a quiet but hearty laugh, which Colt was glad to hear.

"Hm," Colt hummed. He ran his thumbs across the lines in Owen's dirty palms. "These are powerful hands. Hands that make fire. Hands that can also make me feel good." He brought them up and planted his lips against them, and Owen let out a breath.

It ignited something deep in Colt's stomach, to know that these same hands that could kill and produce such strange fire could also be so gentle with him. "If I could do what you could… Do you know how many people I'd scare off just by holding a flame in their face?"

Owen looked down. "I didn't know I could do it. Remember when Amias told us about the Dark Flame? He said Shadowborns could produce a purple flame, and I could even possibly heal with it. But it used a lot of my energy just to make that fire." He frowned. "I felt very weak after."

Sighing, Colt pulled Owen against him, until their foreheads touched, and they held each other. "Whatever happens, Owen, whatever dark feelings come over you, I'm always going to be here to help you get through them. I'll never judge you or shame you, and I'll never abandon you. You're stuck with me." When Owen let out a shaky breath and tightened his hold on Colt's arm, Colt said, "I know you think you're a terrible person for what happened, but you're the kindest soul I've ever known."

Owen pulled him into an embrace, and they stayed that way for a long moment before he said, "Thank you, Colt. You're always so good to me."

"I always will be." Then Colt remembered the chocolates he still had in his pockets. Hoping they would make Owen feel better, he drew out one of the many bundles of napkins and unraveled one. The sweet treats from the masque were decidedly squashed but were still edible. Mostly.

Owen's delightful smile reached into his eyes, making them beam. "You kept my chocolates?"

"Of course, my sweet." Colt gave one to Owen and then popped one into his own mouth. The chocolate was smooth, and indeed very sweet, just like Owen. He rolled the delectable morsel around in his mouth, surprised at how good it tasted. He didn't often care for chocolate, nor could he afford it, but this was good.

"Damn, that's delicious." Colt picked up another one and bit into it before giving the other half to Owen, who ate it graciously. Then Owen leaned up and took Colt's bottom lip lightly between his teeth to lick the rest of the chocolate off, giving a little laugh.

The act made Colt's cock stir, and if they'd been alone, he'd have pushed Owen against the nearest tree and had his way with him after doing such a thing.

"Maybe I should save these last two for when we're alone," Colt said, folding the napkin back over the last chocolates and putting them into his pocket.

Owen shrugged and smiled. "I could think of a thing or two we could do with melted chocolate."

Colt blinked at him, surprise etched across his face. "The things you say sometimes…"

Before he could say more, Gilda and Brom returned with the horses, and Colt cleared his throat and adjusted his trousers before picking up his bag.

As the morning sky brightened, the group stepped through the woods and began their journey. Winter was less than two weeks away, and already, the ground was frozen. Gray clouds moved in, and light snow swirled through the air. Colt was grateful for the enormous trees of Calwick that provided them plenty of protection from the wind, and he was also grateful that, for whatever morbid reason, most of their belongings had been waiting for them.

"We'll have to move much more cautiously now," Gilda said as she rode one of the horses alongside Brom. "Our guide is no longer with us, so we need a new plan."

"We can't go to Merrowcrest," Brom cut in, his speech low. "Rem may suspect we'll still head that way."

Owen looked down as he walked. "I can't ever get a reading on Rem, and that scares me. I'll never know if he's approaching."

"I can't sense his presence, either," Gilda said. "Very strange. But we'll be able to sense his men should they come this way."

Brom looked up, his hood low over his head. "We'll stay alert, but we still need to figure out where we're going from here." He winced and held his side.

Owen looked ahead, frowning. "It'll have to be someplace we can stay for most of the winter, until we're able to pick back up again and go… wherever we're going."

"We'll figure it out," Colt said. "Until then, we should find somewhere for Brom to rest, maybe find a healer. Every time he groans in pain, it makes even me hurt."

"Can't help it," Brom said, grunting.

By late afternoon, they hadn't covered as much ground as they'd hoped, as Brom slowed them down, and he was in too much pain to keep going. While they made camp, Colt hunted and caught them rabbits.

As they relieved the horses of their weight and bags, Gilda prepared a fire as Colt and Owen skinned and gutted the rabbits. Then they all settled against the base of an elm trunk and looked out over the branches of the trees gathering a dust of snow.

Taking out his new journal, Owen flipped it open to a page and sketched the trees and the grass, and Colt marveled at how he could make them look so real. He noticed the tip of Owen's pencil was wearing down and offered to cut off some of the wood for him, which Owen seemed grateful for.

Colt smiled, glad to see Owen in higher spirits now, though now he was so worn down with exhaustion, he felt his own mind becoming weighed down by their troubles now.

When the food was ready, Gilda took bowls of food from Brom and handed them out—smoked rabbit with a side of pecans drizzled with honey.

"Sorry about how plain it looks." Brom winced as he tried to sit against the tree with his own bowl. "I lost my special spices with my bag," he said sadly.

"It looks good anyway." Owen took a bite of the rabbit hungrily and raised his brows. "It's good."

"If I had my nutmeg and cinnamon, those pecans would be out of this world." Brom sighed. "I can see myself doing this for a living."

"Doing what?" Colt mumbled between bites of rabbit meat. "Cooking?"

Brom picked at the meat. "Cooking, baking. I know you've all teased me about it before, but when Harold started killing innocent people in our group, it became too much for me, so I didn't mind being the cook. Joren and I, wherever he is now, that's how we met. He was the one who convinced me to leave with him and a few others."

"And then you left Joren." Owen stifled a laugh with his fork.

"I didn't leave him behind. I saved his hide and got captured." Brom picked up the meat with his fingers. "But I will say, if I do ever settle somewhere, give up this living on the road, I could see myself opening a café."

"And what would you name it?" Gilda asked, looking at him curiously.

Brom shrugged. "Don't know yet. Have to think about it."

"Maybe… O'Malley's," Colt pondered.

"As much as that would satisfy you, I think not." Brom smiled, and they all laughed softly.

When Colt set aside his bowl and looked up at Gilda, seeing her moving her hands over a bundle of sticks on the ground, his brow furrowed.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Trying to make fire like Owen," she responded.

Owen sat his bowl down. "You've moved fire before."

"Yes, but I've never been able to create fire."

"It's because he's… well…" Brom started.

"Cursed," Owen finished for him. When they all went quiet, he cleared his throat. "It's alright, I've accepted it."

Gilda dropped her hands with a frustrated grunt. "You're not cursed, Owen. You're just different, and there's nothing wrong with that. But I suppose from now on, you might as well be in charge of our camp fires."

"But his fire is purple," Colt remarked. "That would be too suspicious to anyone who may see us."

"Well, it was just a thought." She got up and collected their dishes. "I can take first watch tonight, if you two want to clean these."

"No." Colt shook his head. "I'll take first watch."

Owen slumped forward and sighed. "Colt, you've barely had any sleep since we left Coopersburgh. Your eyes are so red."

"Don't care."

"Then I'll keep watch so you can sleep."

It was true he'd gotten little sleep the night before, but his worry constantly jolted him awake at every sound he heard. And then he'd often check to see if Owen was beside him.

"If you keep watch, I'm just gonna go with you," Colt said.

"For gods' sakes, both of you just go to sleep," Gilda broke in. "I will keep watch through the night. Owen is right, Colt, you look the most exhausted of us all."

Colt nodded tiredly, and he and Owen washed the dishes before packing them away, then went to their tent on the other side of the tree. They left their boots on in case someone found them in the night.

Colt glanced at the flap of the tent, his mind working with worry. It was easy to tame those thoughts when he was walking or conversing with his companions, but when it was time to settle down at night and sleep, all his troubles came rushing back to him. Troubles that haunted him, concerns he had about Owen.

"You okay?" Owen asked.

When he didn't reply, Owen gripped Colt's shoulder with obvious reassurance, but Colt only continued to unroll their blankets to make a pallet. As Colt sat on their makeshift bed, he caught Owen looking his way, clearly not letting him out of the question.

Colt didn't want to talk about this, but the obvious hurt in Owen's eyes over not talking about their day, as they were apt to do now before laying down to sleep, was enough to make Colt relinquish his thoughts.

"We were lucky Rem helped us," Colt said. "He kept us off the main roads, knew where to go, knew where the guards usually patrolled. He was our way out, and he betrayed us. And now…" He didn't want to put this burden on Owen. "And now…" he stated again, looking down at his hands.

"Colt, what is it?" When Colt shook his head, Owen reached towards him and took his hands. "You're upset about something, and I feel helpless unless you tell me."

The weight of everything they'd experienced, everything Colt had done, brought his head low. He closed his eyes against it. "It's everything, Owen. It's that man I killed in Covehaven. I'm afraid of what I did and the consequences it'll carry. Not just for me, but for both of us. I'm afraid of what happened with Rem, that we have more enemies now, that we're always running and can't catch a break." His breath stuttered, and the tent felt hot despite the cold. He pulled out of Owen's grasp to rub his forehead, but he missed his warm touch instantly. "It's the first time in my life that I'm more worried about someone other than myself, about you, and I can't keep ignoring that it scares me."

"Colt…" Owen pulled him down to their pallet, and tugged him to lay so that he leaned against Owen's chest for a change.

He liked this. This position allowed Colt to wrap his arms snuggly around Owen's middle, and he sighed contentedly into Owen's solid chest as the man pulled their blankets over them. Then Owen ran his slender, rough fingers through Colt's hair, and the tingling sensation it gave his scalp brought a moan to his lips.

"I'm glad you told me about all this," Owen said from above with surprising conviction and a whole lot of warmth. "I'm scared, too, of losing you, but as you told me, you're stuck with me, Colt O'Malley. You're always looking out for me. So tonight let me look after you."

Hearing Owen's affectionate words made Colt feel better, and he held Owen tighter as the fears of the past few days melted away. How had he fallen so damn hard for this man? And when? Had it been when they'd landed themselves in prison, and Colt was told Owen was complying for Colt's release? Or was it somewhere along the road in Milarc, or had it been the moment they'd first met?

He closed his eyes, going over the memory of seeing Owen's face that day in Emberton, when he'd bounded up to his porch, only to see Colt sitting in his rocking chair, and stopped frozen as if he had no idea what to do. What a beautiful soul Owen turned out to be, but somehow Colt had already known that, and by now, he was so attached, he couldn't think of living without Owen Greene.

Despite their troubles, despite the horrors they had seen, Colt wouldn't change the path his life had taken. Owen was his lover, his rock and comfort, and this thought alone eased him to sleep.