The King Is Dead by Naomi Libicki

Author:Naomi Libicki
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: family drama, grief, loyalty, court drama, age difference, fantasy war, trauma healing, slow burn, fealty, whump
Publisher: Naomi Libicki

Chapter Ten

From Inelkel, Nirithu and Risokh took the northern road towards the palace, rather than the eastern road home. Risokh didn't argue when Nirithu insisted on carrying the tent and the water, and Nirithu didn't argue about otherwise dividing the gear equally. It rained often, but never as hard as on the first days of their journey, and bit by bit—because he couldn't find the time or energy to do it all at once—Nirithu waterproofed all of their gear that was practical to waterproof. With sunset, Nirithu would pitch the tent and Risokh would build the fire and cook the lentils and rice and whatever they'd managed to find along the road that day. Then he would retreat inside the tent and eat his share, while Nirithu ate his outside, under whatever shelter he could find if it was raining.

Apart from that, when it was just the two of them, it was easy to forget that there was anything odd about Risokh at all.

But although the roads were less well-traveled than they would be in the dry season, they weren't entirely deserted. And then, too, Nirithu and Risokh had to sometimes replenish their food supplies, and sometimes it rained hard enough to wash away the tent no matter where Nirithu pitched it, and it was seek out the nearest village or have nothing but raw herbs for the third day running, because there was no chance of lighting a cookfire.

Risokh proved an able enough assistant when Nirithu plied his trade as a physician; he handed Nirithu what he needed quickly and smoothly and was even able to hold on to a patient when Nirithu was putting in stitches, if the person held still and was quiet. But he never said a word among strangers, and he stayed close to Nirithu, and drew back when it seemed like anyone might touch him.

"He's my cousin," Nirithu would say, which was true, and, "he is a little... you know," which was likewise true, though the words stuck in his throat.

"Can't you at least give people greetings?" Nirithu said to him after a night they'd spent in a cowshed, at a farm where one of the sons had had a fever. The road was muddy and the rain was still falling and all their gear smelled of wet cow, and Nirithu was feeling annoyed with everything. "Can't you at least answer me, when I speak to you in company? We will be memorable."

"Oh," said Risokh. "I hadn't thought of that. But they're not likely to forget you in any case, are they? The young man seemed much better, I thought. It's only that they probably haven't heard of us—it's Piloru business, and they're all Walkers here, and I don't think they go to the city much."

"Maybe," said Nirithu, who'd been counting on that very thing—though he probably would have said bird-eaters instead of Walkers. For someone who refused to speak to anyone, Risokh was unfailingly polite. "But doesn't it trouble you, when they begin

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