Angelfire | The Whispering Wall #3

Seventy Eight: Theatrics

He should have been happy. Grateful. He should have been losing himself in the moment, allowing himself a brief reprieve from the worry of past weeks. Grace had organised him a birthday party, for god's sake.

Yet all the food they'd prepared tasted like ash in his mouth, and all he could think about was the plan he'd made with Akiva.

He spotted the leader of Marick's spying party across the bonfire and followed him with his eyes, cold anger tightening in his chest. There were five of them, as far as Akiva had managed to discern. He'd had names, too, but they meant nothing to him; the men weren't using them here anyway, and knowing names would only make it harder to do what he needed to do. As far as what his task at the lodestone was, they still had no clue. But it wouldn't matter if the plan came off the way they wanted.

"Unless something has gone disastrously wrong since we left," Akiva had said, "Arlen should have set his challenge by the time we get back, and Marick will either be too busy to give a shit about what happens out here for a good long while, or he'll be dead." Jordan had frowned at him, and the assassin had scowled right back as if he could sense it. "Arlen's not going to be dead, Cal. Don't so much as fucking think it."

For all his bravado and wise words, Jordan could tell the assassin dreaded what they would return to. He felt something of it himself. What if Arlen was killed before they returned? What the fuck would his life look like if there was no one between him and Marick?

The odds were bad. They both knew it. Especially if Marick was working with Caelum's resources behind him – and where had his men got Caelumese weapons from if he wasn't?

His hand drifted to the chill blade at his side. He still hadn't mentioned it to anyone, and the middle of his own birthday party certainly didn't feel like the right time.

"You are probably the most miserable birthday man I have ever seen, my friend," Koen said, marching up to him with what had to have been his third slice of the gigantic cake Nika had made for the occasion. The Unspoken had somehow whipped up a megalith of a celebration cake both without Jordan noticing and without an oven.

Jordan blinked. "Birthday man?"

Koen shrugged. "Your sister said you call them birthdays. And 'boy' felt a bit diminutive for a grown man who smokes like a chimney and swears like it's going out of fashion."

He snorted despite himself. "I see the logic."

"What troubles?"

"Nothing much. Just tired." He looked around him again, and suddenly felt terribly guilty. He'd barely left his spot at the edge of the gathering area, and though it was being used as a general excuse to celebrate, Grace had put this together for him, and he was over here being an ungrateful sod and thinking about everything but.

"I have eyes. And a brain." Koen tucked back into the cake. "In case you forgot. Which you must have, if you thought that was convincing."

"Sorry." He sighed. "It's not really anything I can talk about. But I really am exhausted."

"I'm sure you are. So is Astra, funnily enough."

"Mind your own, Koen."

"I do try. But my bedroll is right next to your tent."

Jordan aimed a swipe that the Unspoken ducked with a laugh. He was grinning despite himself.

"I won't make you join in the celebrations," Koen said, straightening up and giving Jordan a playful shove. "But if I may pitch a reason to do so, you might actually see Yddris and Nika getting along. I've been watching all morning and it's fascinating."