A Day of Fallen Night (The Roots of Chaos)

‘I still don’t like it, Wulf,’ Thrit said.

They stood on a cobbled beach near Eldyng, Thrit shouldering his pack.

‘We’ve talked about this,’ Wulf said quietly.

They had argued about it, in fact, as they sculled an abandoned boat along the coast – one oar held by his mother, and the other by the Inysh woman, Canthe. She had been the one to offer the bones of an explanation to Thrit, which had not been received well (‘This all has the smell of a cult, frankly, and I don’t think Wulf should go near it’). She had explained that Thrit could not go with them, which had caused a little more arguing.

‘I understand why you need to do this. I do.’ Thrit sighed through his nose. ‘But the two of us are all that’s left.’

‘That’s why you should be far away from me.’

‘Not this again.’ Thrit grasped his nape. ‘Listen. Karlsten died because he saw danger in difference. He saw it in those women; he saw it in their dragon. Some people need to call others evil, so they can seem pure and righteous in comparison, or to purge contempt they hold in secret for themselves. Karlsten gave in to that. In the end, it swallowed him.’

‘He could be good. I remember.’

‘Believe he was born rotten, or that something rotted him. Either way, he was a churl – but it might help if the world was different. We could start by not scorning one another for our beliefs, or lack of them,’ Thrit said, with a bitter flinch of his mouth, ‘but perhaps it’s too soon for that. Perhaps it will take the end of the world.’

‘Aye.’ Wulf paused. ‘You really think that was a dragon?’

‘Like I told you, it’s been centuries since anyone last saw one.’

‘It attacked Tunuva.’

‘I know.’ Thrit looked grim. ‘That isn’t the story my grandparents told.’

The waves kept a tense silence from falling. Wulf thought of the road ahead, long and unknown.

‘I’d best be away,’ he said. ‘Will you stay in Eldyng?’

‘I think I’ll go to Inys, if Einlek will let me. Someone needs to make sure the Yscali heathen doesn’t get his teeth into Queen Glorian.’

‘I’ll meet you there, when I can. Look after yourself, Thrit.’

‘Wulf—’

Thrit clasped his arm, hesitating. His grip was firm, then gentler.

‘Thrit?’ Wulf said, only for Thrit to take him by the jaw and kiss him.

It was the swiftest press of lips, delivered almost in one breath. Wulf had just enough time to feel the softness and warmth of it. Before he could so much as close his eyes, or even understand what had just happened, Thrit took a full step back, looking shaken by his own boldness.

‘Sorry,’ he said, with a nervous laugh. ‘I did try to hint, quite often, but—’ He cleared his throat. ‘If I didn’t do that now, and you got yourself killed, I’d never forgive myself.’

Wulf knew he needed to speak – perhaps more than he had ever needed to speak in his entire life – but all he could do was stare. By the time he woke his tongue, Thrit was halfway up the beach, muttering curses to himself.

‘Thrit,’ he called, hoarse as a parched crow. Thrit stopped at once. ‘I’ll come back. Don’t . . . die.’

Wulf glimpsed a sweet and unexpected future, far away. Then he turned around and walked towards his past.