"Dun' go gettin' weepy on me."
"Wun' plannin' t'make a scene."
Fagan heard all three conversations being had, as Kasoria went along the line of men. The first was the usual growling and grousing he'd come to expect from them. It seemed a whole distinct language to The Band. A mixture of insults, mild threats, bloody reminisces, and curt orders. They prided themselves on feeling nothing for the blood they shed or them men they rode with. Each was an island entire, indifferent to all others.
"Dun' be too much of a cunt t'Maxine."
"No fuckin' promises."
Then there were the words that spoke only in the eyes. Mostly Kasoria's. The way he met their gazes and stares and was always the first to look away. The diplomat noticed that and frowned. It was... telling. More than a change, or even an admission. A confession. Letting them see the shame there, the mistake that had led them to this courtyard they'd first a season ago. Now he would be leaving alone, and they might not see him again.
Kasoria looked up and up at Miki. Made his gaze and then pointed to his eyes with two fingers... then turned them outward, sweeping across The Band and the delegation.
Watch them.
The big man smiled. Manclin always shook his head slightly when he did that. Of all The Band, despite his scars and size and the brutality he knew him capable of, he seemed the least fitting to be among them. The big man reached out into the space between them, clenched his meaty hand into a loose fist... then pressed the fist to his chest.
Take care.
With Raand in particular, Fagan heard the final conversation. The one just implied with the others. Made clearer in the manner between these two, oldest comrades. The last break had been a whirl of hasty, unplanned activity. Most of the delegation had been ignorant of it, or just uninvolved. They watched, confused and questioning, as the most fearsome of their guardians packed his things and took one of their horses. Nothing else. No partner. No gold. No package or letter or commission on behalf of Etzos. He was just... leaving.
Kasoria stopped in front of Raand, leaning on the worn oak flanking the gate. The big bald man stepped into the light and let the sun gleam of his dome for a moment. He looked down and saw Kasoria sigh.
"Bollixed this up fer us, Kas."
"Aye. I know."
No implication, there. Kasoria held out his arm. Raand looked at it for a trill. This man had screwed them. He'd smeared the name of Etzos with his bloodlust and his lack of control. He'd weakened The Band by getting himself banished from them while they were still in Yaralon. He'd proven himself a hypocrite, all his endless droning about discipline and professionalism and making hard choices for the greater good... where had all that gone a scant few nights ago? When it was actually needed? When ignoring it had cost so much?
Only a trill. Then he grasped it. Tight. Fagan's lips quirked at the edges.
All their growling, all their snapping, like wild dogs or mad wolves... but they're still a pack.
"Until that day."
Kasoria said the words back to him, then hauled himself atop the horse. This wasn't forever, of course. Just while they were still in Yaralon, which would be for the rest of Saun. Passage to Nashaki, then Athart, around the cusp of the continent, on to... Scalvoris.
The thought made him think of her. The one not here to wish him goodbye. The one who'd swallowed all that droning and suffered his sneering because she wouldn't listen. And in the end...
Aye. Well done, old man.
The gate of Targon's manse opened, and the bustling street lay beyond it. Kasoria gave a final look at Manclin. The diplomat answered with a firm nod. They'd talked immediately after Kasoria and the Burned Emperor had finished their chat. He knew about Sutton. His unofficial banishment. It was the... politic, thing to do. Manclin could appreciate that, even if he didn't like it. The old monster was growing on him.
And you'll see him again.
