5. Hector

CHAPTER FIVE

HECTOR

I was avoiding Paris.

While I didn't particularly enjoy his ire, I felt worse when he stared at me hard, not blinking for so long that his eyes began to water. Or—or maybe he was just on the edge of tears.

I didn't want to think about it. I couldn't give him what he wanted. Our family's position in Nemeda had to be unassailable, and the only way to guarantee our safety was to serve as every other Nemedan had done before.

Things would get twisty and complicated, people whispering behind our backs that we were other, different, untrustworthy, until gossip became reality. If we weren't Nemedan, it weakened Brett's position. He'd be less able to shelter Paris and Helena.

This was how I kept them all safe. This was how I knew that they had what they needed. It was less than I could do for them back in Urial, but more than nothing.

And, well, I'd sent Paris south for the good of the family, hadn't I? Now it was my turn.

Rather than sit there at the clan meeting and allow him to stare balefully at me while his new husband worried at his side, I made myself scarce. Right on the coast, the Herons boasted a large marketplace, fruits and vegetable of a thousand colors ripe and shining all around.

In Urial, we had had potatoes. Carrots. Sometimes hardy greens. There weren't many vegetables that appreciated the cold, and just looking around the plenty here was overwhelming.

Only I wasn't there for vegetables. My family and I had fled with only what we could carry, and while we'd recovered much while staying with the Hawk Clan, I intended to provide for myself rather than lean further on Brett's generosity.

Only, as I moved deeper into the market, past stalls selling food, meat roasted on sticks, fried dough covered in caramelized sugar, I realized that I did not know what to purchase for myself.

Not only had I had servants in Urial to provide for the basics of survival, but I'd... well, I'd never been a soldier.

I knew how to fight well enough, if we were in a proper duel with rapiers or sabers, but I'd never truly fought for my life or anyone else's.

Surely the Cranes would have preferred weapons I would have to learn, but I needed clothes of a more practical sort, and—and another pair of boots.

Shoes sounded wonderfully uncomplicated, so I headed in that direction. Only, at the cobbler's stall, I came up short. There were dozens of styles, some intricate and some very plain, and gods, I couldn't even do this, could I?

I wandered over to a leather set with fine stitching along the sides. They looked very nice. Handsome. I'd have admired a man in these shoes.

But did I want to stand out like that?

I reached for them, and then a throat cleared across the display counter from me. I looked up to see the giant eagle—Brett's friend.

"Ah, little Hawk owl," Orestes said, grinning with his hands on his hips as he looked down at me. "You don't want those."

I couldn't help but flinch. I... wasn't that.

Paris could transform himself into a beautiful snowy owl now, and Helena showed absolutely no fear at the idea of contracting Avianitis. Her boldness even seemed reasonable, given that she and Paris were full siblings?

But me? I only shared one parent with them. Half a bloodline.

Perhaps that was why I'd gotten so upset the night before. It wasn't that Killian didn't believe in love, and if I kept repeating it to myself, perhaps I'd believe that it had nothing to do with the fact that he'd rejected me—though that still stung.

No, it was the idea that I was more susceptible to Avianitis than Paris and Helena were, that I was different, that I didn't really belong with them.

But gods, if not with them, where did I belong?

"Not a Hawk or an owl, I'm afraid."

Orestes's brow wrinkled. "Don't know about that. At the very least, the Hawk's claimed you."

"I—" Truth told, I wasn't sure what to say to that. I was grateful to Brett, and in a sour part of my stomach, I was bitterly jealous that he'd manage to save my family when I couldn't. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful. Chief Brett has been exceptionally kind, and I shudder to think what would've happened to us without his aid. I only—I'm struggling to place where I fit in all of this."

Orestes was silent for long enough that I looked up from the boots I'd been staring at. His expression was open, too patient. He was waiting for me to elaborate.

I sighed. "I'm not Nemedan, and I've—I've never been the sort for fairy tales like Paris and Helena. Only, come to find out, there is magic. Or something beyond my understanding. And it's deadly. Except not for... Don't get me wrong! I'm delighted that Paris is safe, that he has this—this whole new world to explore and a whole new way to do it. I simply don't have as much faith in myself as I have in them."

It was more than I'd told anyone, and the only reason I could do it? Orestes didn't look like the sort of man who'd give himself over to grand emotional displays. I'd explain, we'd grimace awkwardly at each other, and it'd be over.

Orestes's brow furrowed. "Why not? Paris took to Nemeda well—way I hear it, Avianitis wasn't near as bad for him as it's been for most survivors. And you don't seem too worried about Helena."

Weakly, I laughed. "Well, you try telling Helena what she can and cannot do. If I were to try and put her off following her heart, she'd only do it faster. But, I guess, it's more than that." I swallowed roughly, glancing back down to fiddle with some of the leather detailing on the right boot. "My mother died. Uh, years before Paris was born, and Helena shortly after him. Their mother was—was good to me. But whatever is inside them that makes them, well, them , I don't have it." Another uncomfortable laugh, and I waved my hand through the air, dismissing the thought. "Like I said, they have fairy tales. I have ledgers. But as long as they're safe and happy?—"

My throat was too tight to go on. I shrugged, pressing my thumbnail into the leather. "Forgive me," I croaked, "but I would let them keep their wonder if they can."

Orestes hummed, and I regretted saying anything at all, until he lifted up another pair of boots and slid them across the counter to me.

"You want these."

I stared at them. They were plain, but sturdy looking.

When I met his eye, he smiled.

"They'll last you," he promised.

"Thank you."