Chapter 378: A Pull

Chapter 378: Chapter 378: A Pull

Life...largely carries on.

​Time moves slower than it used to, but eventually the hours start to blur into days, and the days blur into weeks, and eventually Khobi decides to stop counting.

He’s been there before; counting the days in Briyagi like he’s counting down to his freedom only to find that the number keeps growing without an end in sight.

And even though it’s only been three weeks since that door was locked, he doesn’t see the point in keeping track this time. If it’s going to be forever, it’s better to not know.

​But it’s weird.

​Despite the locked door and the guards beyond, he doesn’t really feel like a prisoner. Not this time.

​Maybe it’s because he knows that if he really wanted to, he could just leave.

He knows the way up to the tower, and he’s sure he could figure out the way down the other side.

He knows where to find the drain that leads out into the city, and he’s won enough of Montrel’s gold by now that he could probably afford to rent a horse.

And even if he didn’t remember, he has the strangest feeling that Loac would tell him if he asked.

​He’s not sure why.

​(Maybe that’s why he doesn’t ask.)

​Either way, he doesn’t leave. And while he much preferred his old routine, Khobi quickly finds himself in a new one.

He gets three meals delivered fresh and hot to him every day –more, if he asks for them, which he always does –with snacks coming in between whether he asks for them or not.

He improves at cards, too –not enough to get the better of Mural (there’s still no knowing for sure whether or not the guy’s a cheat, but it’s telling that Binny is the only one who can outwit him), but plenty enough that Montrel has to seriously start watching his pockets.

Rogard takes to his new posting about as graciously as one might expect. And when there’s no one around he tries to keep his strength up.

The climbing helps with that.

​At least it’s warm here. Warmer, it seems these days; he hadn’t noticed at first but slowly it begins to occur to him that the nights aren’t quite so cold as they once were, and some mornings when he flings open the shutters there hasn’t been a fresh dumping of snow.

Some days he can’t even smell it in on the wind anymore.

​As for his nights...they’re filled with Loac.

But for all the hours they spend tangled up in each other, they never wake up as close as they did that one morning, and Loac doesn’t call him by his first name again.

​It gets to the point that Khobi has to wonder if maybe he imagined it.

Although he can’t fathom why he’d imagine such a thing.

​And then out of nowhere, at the dawn of the fourth week, the king comes to see him.

Personally. There’s no knock, no summons, no go-between, just the door swinging open to reveal him and Bongo standing in the doorway.

No greeting, either; just a pair of solemn, expressions and a curt order disguised as a request.

​"Walk with me, Khobi."

...

It feels good to finally be walking these halls again.

As much as he’s tried to combat the dust forming in his joints any way he can, all the days cooped up have left Khobi stiff and in dire need of stretching his legs.

A run would be better, but even though Bongo doesn’t appear to be armed, he gets the feeling that that bolting for it –regardless of how innocent his intent –wouldn’t be looked upon too favourably.

So he wrestles down his impatience and settles for the dreary, ambling pace that the king sets for them.

​If they were anyone other than who they are, and it weren’t so glaringly obvious that they weren’t it might be easy for them to be mistaken for father and son, taking advantage of the unusually pleasant weather for a casual stroll around the castle.

​But as it happens they are who they are, and the prevailing tension that hangs over whichsoever corridor they happen upon is positively palpable.

​In Khobi’s experience meeting with the king usually implies that he’s in trouble or about to be, but if he is then the king has given absolutely no indication of what for.

Or that he’s even in trouble in the first place.

(He figures that if the guards had ratted him out for the occasional excursion up to the rooftop his windows would have already been barred.)

​Come to think of it, the king hasn’t so much as said another word to him.

​In fact, if Khobi couldn’t feel his eyes on him even though he never looks at him –not even once –he’d get the impression that he’d completely forgotten he was there.

​It’s hard to tell if that’s a good or a bad sign.

​And the longer they walk the longer the silence endures.

​Confused, Khobi shoots a look back at Bongo who’s been dutifully keeping pace with them several feet behind, but he just nods for him to keep his eyes forward and to keep walking.

And for as little as Khobi trusts the king, he does trust Bongo, so he does as he’s bid. It’s clear from the purpose to the king’s strides that they’re going somewhere.

​Or perhaps more accurately, taking him somewhere, and from the path they take, he has a good idea of where.

​It may have been some weeks since he last combed these halls, but Khobi is well familiar with these particular ones.

Up until three weeks ago he’d come this way almost every day.

​As usual, the cacophany of the training grounds greet them well before it comes into view.

On clear days the sound carries spectacularly, and today, with the sky clearer and bluer than it’s been in months, the familiar clamour reaches Khobi’s ears long before he sees it.

A sigh of relief escapes him as it washes over him; echoes upon echoes of indistinguishable noise and the grating mash of steel upon steel.

​He’s missed being out in that; being a part of that.

​It’s louder than he remembers though, and as they draw up towards the balcony –Khobi gravitating towards the sounds on reflex –he realises why.