53. Hector

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

HECTOR

O nce we'd talked to the southerners, the first thing for me to do was disassemble the bolt throwers.

There were twice as many guards up on the wall as I'd ever seen, and those nearest me were watching warily as I disassembled the first bolt thrower I'd put up there only months before.

The Cranes didn't like giving up an advantage, but—well, we'd still have the pieces. If it came down to it, we could reinstall them. It'd take a bit of time, but I had to hold onto the idea that the war was really over. Peace would be easier for me than for the people who'd fought and seen their loved ones die or turn hard and bitter after so much bloodshed. The best thing I could do for Nemeda was lean into the opportunity as much as I could and hope that made it easier for everyone else.

Killian had already agreed, even if he remained somewhat skeptical, and his people adored him. The southerners were right—Killian bore the marks of a lifetime fighting for his people. He would be the last person to risk any of them if he didn't believe there was a chance this could work. He was too practical to let my optimism risk their safety.

Perhaps I was not so different from Paris after all, it had just taken a journey this far south for me to dig into the little spark of hope I'd buried up in Urial.

Bodhi, the southerner's elected war leader and Carlyle's brother, had seemed genuinely affronted to have denied Nemedan "gods" anything. I didn't know how much any god would play in what came next for the Nemedans, but as long as the southerners agreed to our plan, it didn't matter. Faith could take any shape, so far as I cared, and while I didn't think Nemedans held faith in any particular deities, they had faith in each other.

That'd proven just as strong.

As such, I couldn't blame them for being careful. The Cranes had prepared for a battle, and we'd denied them one. Maybe that was for the best, but no doubt it'd be difficult to accept that a fight wasn't coming as soon as they let their guard down. It could take years or longer, but the peace would hold. I needed it to hold. There was too much precious potential here, and I'd do whatever it took to keep the future I wanted.

A future that walked toward me, between torches lining the wall. The warm firelight turned all his silvery magnificence golden, and I watched him approach, holding my breath.

"I thought I might find you here." He glanced at the bolt thrower I was working on.

"No time like the present."

Killian arched a brow at me. "This could've waited for tomorrow. You've done plenty today already."

"It's... a show of sincerity and good will." The southerners were so offended by the bolt throwers that I wanted to show our willingness to abandon them. It would take time to remove them all, not least because some Nemedans struggled with the idea of casting their weapons aside, but if I had to do each one on my own, I'd start here and see it done.

"And you suspect that if you can do all of the work ahead at once, that will solidify this peace?"

I scoffed. "Oh, no. I don't have that much power."

"Don't you?"

The way Killian was looking at me then made heat rush into my cheeks. I glanced at the bolt thrower.

"I am willing," I said slowly, "to do any work ahead of me that will keep you and our people safe. The faster, the better. And this? It's a small thing."

He sighed, turning toward the imposing weapon as well.

"They are very fine," Killian said wistfully, dragging a hand along the polished wood. We'd sanded it down to keep from giving soldiers splinters in the middle of battle, polished it—all right, yes, a little indulgently. No need for such weapons to be pretty, but there was an impulse amongst the Crane, even now, toward beauty.

When Killian's gaze fell on me, it was with a certain amount of... pity? That wasn't precisely the feeling he was conveying, but close enough that I wanted to laugh.

I smiled to myself as I removed another bolt.

"Will you hold right here?" I tapped a stretch of metal, and he put his hand just where I'd said while I loosened the attachments. Once the metal piece was free, he lifted it loose and set it on the floor.

"Killian, I spent my life working to maintain my family's holdings in a kingdom we cannot ever return to. I spent all that time and energy for nothing."

Killian grimaced, but he stayed quiet. I'd seen the man lash out with words like a whip, but with me, at least, he'd gotten so careful, and the consideration warmed my heart enough to tell him the truth without leaving him scrambling to figure out how to comfort me in my time of loss.

He had to see how much I'd gained in return for letting go of this one project. Having him safe and free was worth everything I'd ever given up.

"And I wouldn't change any of it. If we hadn't fled Urial, I wouldn't be here. Wouldn't have found you or a place I belong. I enjoyed putting my mind to the problem of these bolt throwers. Creating them, working together with Abram and the others, finding my place in the smithy and in Nemeda—all of that was worthwhile. But the end result? Another weapon wasn't the right solution, and holding onto these now, out of pride, would do more damage than good. I can admit that it wasn't always easy for me to let go of things I once thought were important, but this is easy. There is too much good in my life today to get caught up on projects that aren't worth saving. In Urial, this would've felt like a blow, a failure. Today, I've won. I am delighted not to have to see these weapons in practice. I hope I never do."

I stepped back, hands on my hips and lips screwed up. What would we do with them? We weren't getting rid of them right away, only taking them down, but I hoped this could work and we'd never need to put them back up.

"Perhaps we could repurpose them," I said. "Rope and tension might make it easier for the Owl clan to control the fall of trees they harvest, or?—"

I stepped back to get a better look at the whole thing, and Killian caught me with an arm around my shoulders to keep me steady.

When I looked up at him, Killian's eyes shone at me mirthfully, his lips curled into the truest smile I'd seen since receiving word about the southern approach.

"What?" I asked.

"You're already trying to cleverly tinker your way into another project." He slowly slipped his arm around the small of my back and pulled me in for a soft kiss.

I shook my head, grinning. "We'll both be plenty busy with building the arena. I don't need another thing to think about."

"Mmhmm." He sounded like he believed me about as much as I believed myself, but I didn't care when he dragged his lips across mine.

I took a deep breath, enjoying the firmness of his chest against mine, the warmth of his skin through cloth. He'd never put his armor back on. If I had my way, he'd never have to.

I could stay there all night, up on the wall, kissing him while the guards fretted over us taking down a weapon they'd been so excited by only a couple months earlier, but it was better to get the work done. Then, I'd bring him down to the palace, cozy up with him in bed, and if it took hours or days or months, I would watch him shed the mantle of violence.

I pressed on his chest and he let me edge him back a foot or two. "Come on. Let's get this finished. I'm hungry."

"You know, once upon a time, the Cranes had some masterfully inventive cooks in our number."

I arched a brow, and my stomach rumbled. "You think there are still people interested in that?"

He shrugged. "I'd wager so. We'll certainly find out. Maybe rediscover some traditional dishes."

I bit my tongue against the urge to lick my lips. I couldn't wait for what came next.