Sequel in progress, part three
Aug. 17th, 2007 11:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maculategiraffePart Two
When Jesse woke, his face throbbing painfully, it was nearly dark. He lay very still, trying to figure out how much of what he could remember had been a dream. There was a brace on his teeth, and the bed where he lay was wide and soft, the room-- he turned his head cautiously-- certainly not any room in Presniakov's house. And someone was sitting beside him, someone whom he thought for a moment was Quen, but the brief illusion, caused by the dim light and perhaps by the other boy's concerned, almost tender expression, quickly resolved itself.
"Hey," said Bran softly. "You're awake."
Jesse nodded and lifted his head tentatively, then sat up, looking around. He saw a glass of water and three pills by the bed, and he looked at Bran, who nodded; Jesse snatched at them eagerly, swallowing the pills and draining the glass.
"Where's Quen?" he asked as soon as he was finished.
"Downstairs with the mistress," said Bran. "He sat with you for a few hours, but she wanted to talk to him, and we sort of thought you were out for the night. You want me to take you to your bedroom, or you want to go downstairs and see him?"
"See him," said Jesse, trying to mask his incredulity at the stupidity of the question.
"Right," Bran grinned. "Come on, then. I'll take you down."
Jesse followed Bran from the room and out, blinking, onto the lighted hall. As they passed another open door, a man of about Holden's age, dressed in the house's green, came out and slung a casual arm around Bran, halting him as Yves came out a few steps behind. Jesse eyed the stranger, and his clothes, uncertainly; the older man raised an eyebrow as Bran, his arms clasped fondly around the other man’s neck, kissed him and said, "Hi, Jer. This is--"
“I know who he is,” said Jer, looking Jesse up and down over Bran's shoulder.
"The famous Jesse," said Yves, smiling. "We've been hearing about you non-stop, you know. Glad you made it, kid."
"Yeah," said Jer as Bran pulled away. "Just don't get too comfortable. We’re running out of bedrooms.”
His tone was faintly hostile, and Jesse shifted nervously. Yves laughed.
“He’s doubling up with Quen,” he said. “And they’ll both be gone soon enough.”
“I should hope so,” said Jer darkly, still looking at Jesse. “This is getting out of hand. I don’t know why the two of them can’t just stay with Karl like normal runaways.”
“Because Jess isn’t a runaway,” said Yves, and leaned in to kiss Jer’s neck seductively or reassuringly, Jesse wasn’t sure which. “Not yet, anyway. Don't get so antsy. Remember, Inga’s leaving this week. Won't that be nice?”
“Oh, Inga,” said Jer dismissively. “I don’t mind her. It’s all these lithe little boys piling up in the spare bedrooms, with their silken skin and shy, appealing mannerisms. Bran, I expect you to twine yourself around the master non-stop until they’re gone, you hear? Remind him he’s already got a pet teenager to spoil.”
“But I’m almost twenty now,” said Bran, wide-eyed. "So he'll be needing a new teenager anyway after my birthday, right? Isn't that how it works?"
"Don't you get sarcastic with me, you little brat," said Jer, but he rumpled Bran's hair affectionately as Yves laughed again. “The other one's downstairs in the kitchen. Go on, get moving."
Bran ran a hand through his hair to try to straighten it-- but only succeeded in disarranging it further-- as Jesse followed him down the steps and across a hallway. Jesse could hear Quen's voice faintly, then a woman's, which as they came closer to an open doorway he could recognize as Alix's. He stopped instinctively before they reached the doorway, glancing at Bran, who looked back at him inquiringly. Jesse cupped his ear, and Bran nodded, leaning back against the wall to let Jesse listen unseen.
Quen's voice, full of emotion. “We'll pay you back. Once we're free we'll find jobs and we can start paying you back–“
A laugh. Alix's. “Don't worry about it.”
“But you--“
”Really, Quen,” said Alix. "Not that you're not extremely sweet to offer, but we do a good business and we don't have many expensive tastes. Our one real luxury expenditure is the financing of runaways. Please, let us indulge ourselves.”
A pause, then, “When will we leave here?”
“Now that's a bit of a complicated question,” said Alix. “If it were just a matter of two runaways, we'd get you out within the week. But everyone knows Jesse is here, so we have to give it some time. He can't just vanish.”
“Why not?” Quen asked a little bitterly. “Slaves vanish all the time.”
“Not from my house,” said Alix. “At least, not without a good reason. Don't worry, Quen. We'll get you both out. First we have to see to Jesse's teeth.”
“Yes,” Quen pursued. “What if they don’t– heal?”
“Then Jesse can vanish.”
A longer pause. “And if they do?”
“We'll use other channels,” said Alix cryptically.
“How long will it take?”
“I don't know. The doctor said a week to see if Jesse's teeth will survive. We can take advantage of that time to set something up just in case, but-- I'm sorry, Quen-- you might have to be patient for a little while longer.”
“No, I'm sorry,” Quen protested. “I hate to-- impose on you-- like this. And I hate that you're losing all this money. And--“
”It's okay, Quen,” said Alix firmly.
Jesse took a breath and stepped into the doorway, followed by Bran, who put a friendly hand on his back as Alix looked up with a smile. Quen turned around and then jumped up from the table and threw his arms around Jesse again, crushing him close and kissing his face till Jesse laughed softly at his lover's enthusiasm.
"I thought you were dead," he said in Quen's ear. "What's your excuse?"
"You were with him," Quen whispered. "Didn't we agree that was worse than being dead?"
"I thought we agreed it was worse than risking being dead." Jesse held Quen tightly. "Anyway, we're both--" As Quen finally released him, he glanced at Alix, not sure whether to follow his training and kneel to his new mistress or simply stand as Bran was doing beside him.
"Sit down," said Alix helpfully. "Are you hungry?”
“No, mistress,” said Jesse as he sat obediently, his stomach lurching at the thought of food. Quen sat down next to him, putting a hand over his; Jesse squeezed it.
"May I go, mistress?" Bran asked respectfully.
"Yes, dear," said Alix, and as Bran went, "Let's talk about the future, Jesse.”
Jesse nodded, his stomach twisting into double knots as Alix sipped from a delicate china teacup.
“You know my husband and me as the slave breakers. It's true our business is in slave training and retraining. But as we discussed earlier-- though I'm not sure how much you took in, you were in a bit of a state-- we have friends whose business, so to speak, is helping fugitive slaves. And Holden and I help when we can. Besides our financial contribution, we have contacts, and a certain standing in the community.” She sipped again. “Did you ever hear Lord Presniakov speak of a Nikol Argounov?"
Jesse flushed and tried not to look at Quen; the terms in which their master had spoken of Argounov were not ones he was anxious to repeat.
"Ah," said Alix. "Yes. And did he ever speak of Lady Tatiana Rostova?"
"Yes, mistress," said Jesse, rather intrigued now despite himself. "Lord Argounov's sister, right? Isn't she the one who married the--" Jesse caught himself, on the verge of repeating one of Presniakov's expletives. "The, uh, abolitionist?"
"The very one," said Alix gravely, looking as if she might know what he had almost said. "Lady Rostova and I first met when she came to visit for the occasion of her brother's wedding, and although we didn't agree on everything, we did rather hit it off. And ever since I-- since my own marriage-- we've corresponded. She lives quite near the western border of this country, you see, and as you note, she and her husband have certain principles."
"She's an abolitionist too, mistress?" Jesse asked, even more intrigued. "But-- your business--"
"As I said, we don't agree on everything. But she's a dear woman and she's been invaluable to us as a contact. She's not received in society here, of course, but she does visit her brother from time to time. If your teeth survive-- which I certainly hope they will-- I think we may have to arrange a visit with her. She might be interested in buying."
"Buying?" Jesse repeated, his hand tightening convulsively on Quen's. "Buying me? But--"
“Yes," said Alix. "If Lady Rostova's quixotic principles should stretch to accomodate buying a pretty young boy from the slave breakers, well, that would certainly give everyone around here a hearty chuckle. And if you should happen to manage an escape across the border quite soon after she takes you back home, that would be an even better laugh, wouldn't it? Westerners-- what can you do?”
Jesse blinked at her for a long moment, trying to take this in.
"That's just an option," she said. "First things first. We have to see to your teeth, and-- it may all take some time. I'm sorry. I know you'd hoped-- when you planned your escape--"
“That's okay, mistress,” Jesse said awkwardly. “I don't mind waiting.”
“It's just.” Alix sipped again. “People know you're here. And we have visitors.”
Jesse stared blankly at Alix, who was looking apologetic.
“You have to keep acting like a slave,” she said. “Just until we can sort this all out. I'm sorry.”
Jesse looked down at the table, his mouth suddenly dry, then back at Alix.
“Okay,” he said. “Sure. I've done it for years, I can-- It's just, my mouth.”
Alix regarded him with friendly incomprehension, waiting for more.
“I can-- I mean, it's okay, right, that I can't use it? Everything else is fine, my-- my--“ He found himself blushing crimson and strangely angry as Alix continued to examine him attentively, as if waiting without impatience for him to start making sense. Surely she must realize what he was trying to convey.
“Jesse," said Quen softly. “She just means you have to be polite, say master and mistress, keep your eyes down when there's people around.”
Jesse stared at him, then at Alix, who looked utterly confused.
“What did you think I-- oh, gods. You thought I meant sexual service."
”You said act like a slave,” said Jesse, hearing the edge that had crept into his voice, but too angry and humiliated to stop. “Maybe that means something different to you and your-- contacts-- but you know whose slave I've been. Do you really think-- I mean, for Njord's sake, what did you think I was going to think? I--"
Quen's nails dug into Jesse's wrist; Jesse gasped and stopped.
“Quen, dear,” said Alix gently. “I think Jesse is still tired. Why don't you take him up to your room?”
The telephone rang, and Jesse jumped so hard that Alix's teacup sloshed, then bit his lip, fighting his reflexive urge to drop to the floor. Instead he stood, shakily, clutching Quen's hand, as Alix hurried ahead of them from the room to answer the telephone.
“I'm sorry,” he said unhappily to Quen when the bedroom door had closed behind them. “I’ve just had sort of a long day, you know? Do you think she’s pissed at me?”
Quen put his arms around him and kissed him.
“It's okay,” he said. “Everything's going to be okay now.”
“Gods,” said Jesse, tears pricking in his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time in this very strange day. “I wish I could believe that. I really do. And maybe you're right. I just can't--”
Quen kissed his ear. “You think it's too good to be true?"
"Good things usually are," said Jesse grimly, and then abruptly yanked Quen closer. "Except you. When I thought you were dead-- but you fucking did it, Quen, you made it. You must have been so brave and smart and fast and-- I'm so damn proud of you, baby. You're the survivor. You're the toughest of all."
Quen blushed and buried his face in Jesse's shoulder just as the quick, rhythmic knock came at the bedroom door. It opened and Alix came in without waiting for a response, her face grave. Quen pulled back, looking worried.
“Quen,” Alix said quietly. “Jesse. I’m not sure if this is good news or bad news.”
Quen swallowed and grabbed Jesse’s hand.
“That was Tara on the phone,” Alix said. “She says there’s a perfect opportunity– she didn’t say what, they don't like to say more than they have to. But she says there’s practically no risk and opportunities like this don’t come along every day and... she wants to take Quen now. Tonight.”
Jesse felt the blood drain from his face.
“No!” said Quen immediately. “Not without Jess.”
“Yes,” said Jesse, after a pause to get his voice under control. “Sweetheart, you’ve got to. You can’t turn down something like this. I’ll be fine. You can be... getting everything ready for me, when I come. I’ll know you’re okay and you’ll know I’m okay and... and we’ll see each other soon.”
“No,” Quen nearly snarled. “I’m not leaving you behind. Not again.”
Jesse smiled calmly into his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. It's not like leaving me with him. The, um-- the master and mistress--” He avoided Alix's eye. "You trust them, right?"
Quen nodded, then flung his arms around Jesse and held him so hard that Jesse struggled to breathe.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
“Yes,” said Jesse again, swallowing a treacherous sob before pulling back to smile at Quen. “This is good news, baby. Don't cry. I'll see you soon.”
But Quen did cry. Jesse held his shaking lover in his arms, looking up at Alix with a face he tried hard to keep blank and unreadable.
"I'll give you two a few minutes alone, then," she said quietly, and left the room, shutting the door behind her.
"Quen," said Jesse, and stopped.
"What?" Quen choked out.
"Nothing," said Jesse, who had started to say, Promise you won't try to come back for me. But that was stupid. Doubly stupid because he had almost said it ten days before, at Presniakov's. And he'd known, even then, that Quen wouldn't go at all if he knew Jesse didn't believe they could both make it.
Part Four
When Jesse woke, his face throbbing painfully, it was nearly dark. He lay very still, trying to figure out how much of what he could remember had been a dream. There was a brace on his teeth, and the bed where he lay was wide and soft, the room-- he turned his head cautiously-- certainly not any room in Presniakov's house. And someone was sitting beside him, someone whom he thought for a moment was Quen, but the brief illusion, caused by the dim light and perhaps by the other boy's concerned, almost tender expression, quickly resolved itself.
"Hey," said Bran softly. "You're awake."
Jesse nodded and lifted his head tentatively, then sat up, looking around. He saw a glass of water and three pills by the bed, and he looked at Bran, who nodded; Jesse snatched at them eagerly, swallowing the pills and draining the glass.
"Where's Quen?" he asked as soon as he was finished.
"Downstairs with the mistress," said Bran. "He sat with you for a few hours, but she wanted to talk to him, and we sort of thought you were out for the night. You want me to take you to your bedroom, or you want to go downstairs and see him?"
"See him," said Jesse, trying to mask his incredulity at the stupidity of the question.
"Right," Bran grinned. "Come on, then. I'll take you down."
Jesse followed Bran from the room and out, blinking, onto the lighted hall. As they passed another open door, a man of about Holden's age, dressed in the house's green, came out and slung a casual arm around Bran, halting him as Yves came out a few steps behind. Jesse eyed the stranger, and his clothes, uncertainly; the older man raised an eyebrow as Bran, his arms clasped fondly around the other man’s neck, kissed him and said, "Hi, Jer. This is--"
“I know who he is,” said Jer, looking Jesse up and down over Bran's shoulder.
"The famous Jesse," said Yves, smiling. "We've been hearing about you non-stop, you know. Glad you made it, kid."
"Yeah," said Jer as Bran pulled away. "Just don't get too comfortable. We’re running out of bedrooms.”
His tone was faintly hostile, and Jesse shifted nervously. Yves laughed.
“He’s doubling up with Quen,” he said. “And they’ll both be gone soon enough.”
“I should hope so,” said Jer darkly, still looking at Jesse. “This is getting out of hand. I don’t know why the two of them can’t just stay with Karl like normal runaways.”
“Because Jess isn’t a runaway,” said Yves, and leaned in to kiss Jer’s neck seductively or reassuringly, Jesse wasn’t sure which. “Not yet, anyway. Don't get so antsy. Remember, Inga’s leaving this week. Won't that be nice?”
“Oh, Inga,” said Jer dismissively. “I don’t mind her. It’s all these lithe little boys piling up in the spare bedrooms, with their silken skin and shy, appealing mannerisms. Bran, I expect you to twine yourself around the master non-stop until they’re gone, you hear? Remind him he’s already got a pet teenager to spoil.”
“But I’m almost twenty now,” said Bran, wide-eyed. "So he'll be needing a new teenager anyway after my birthday, right? Isn't that how it works?"
"Don't you get sarcastic with me, you little brat," said Jer, but he rumpled Bran's hair affectionately as Yves laughed again. “The other one's downstairs in the kitchen. Go on, get moving."
Bran ran a hand through his hair to try to straighten it-- but only succeeded in disarranging it further-- as Jesse followed him down the steps and across a hallway. Jesse could hear Quen's voice faintly, then a woman's, which as they came closer to an open doorway he could recognize as Alix's. He stopped instinctively before they reached the doorway, glancing at Bran, who looked back at him inquiringly. Jesse cupped his ear, and Bran nodded, leaning back against the wall to let Jesse listen unseen.
Quen's voice, full of emotion. “We'll pay you back. Once we're free we'll find jobs and we can start paying you back–“
A laugh. Alix's. “Don't worry about it.”
“But you--“
”Really, Quen,” said Alix. "Not that you're not extremely sweet to offer, but we do a good business and we don't have many expensive tastes. Our one real luxury expenditure is the financing of runaways. Please, let us indulge ourselves.”
A pause, then, “When will we leave here?”
“Now that's a bit of a complicated question,” said Alix. “If it were just a matter of two runaways, we'd get you out within the week. But everyone knows Jesse is here, so we have to give it some time. He can't just vanish.”
“Why not?” Quen asked a little bitterly. “Slaves vanish all the time.”
“Not from my house,” said Alix. “At least, not without a good reason. Don't worry, Quen. We'll get you both out. First we have to see to Jesse's teeth.”
“Yes,” Quen pursued. “What if they don’t– heal?”
“Then Jesse can vanish.”
A longer pause. “And if they do?”
“We'll use other channels,” said Alix cryptically.
“How long will it take?”
“I don't know. The doctor said a week to see if Jesse's teeth will survive. We can take advantage of that time to set something up just in case, but-- I'm sorry, Quen-- you might have to be patient for a little while longer.”
“No, I'm sorry,” Quen protested. “I hate to-- impose on you-- like this. And I hate that you're losing all this money. And--“
”It's okay, Quen,” said Alix firmly.
Jesse took a breath and stepped into the doorway, followed by Bran, who put a friendly hand on his back as Alix looked up with a smile. Quen turned around and then jumped up from the table and threw his arms around Jesse again, crushing him close and kissing his face till Jesse laughed softly at his lover's enthusiasm.
"I thought you were dead," he said in Quen's ear. "What's your excuse?"
"You were with him," Quen whispered. "Didn't we agree that was worse than being dead?"
"I thought we agreed it was worse than risking being dead." Jesse held Quen tightly. "Anyway, we're both--" As Quen finally released him, he glanced at Alix, not sure whether to follow his training and kneel to his new mistress or simply stand as Bran was doing beside him.
"Sit down," said Alix helpfully. "Are you hungry?”
“No, mistress,” said Jesse as he sat obediently, his stomach lurching at the thought of food. Quen sat down next to him, putting a hand over his; Jesse squeezed it.
"May I go, mistress?" Bran asked respectfully.
"Yes, dear," said Alix, and as Bran went, "Let's talk about the future, Jesse.”
Jesse nodded, his stomach twisting into double knots as Alix sipped from a delicate china teacup.
“You know my husband and me as the slave breakers. It's true our business is in slave training and retraining. But as we discussed earlier-- though I'm not sure how much you took in, you were in a bit of a state-- we have friends whose business, so to speak, is helping fugitive slaves. And Holden and I help when we can. Besides our financial contribution, we have contacts, and a certain standing in the community.” She sipped again. “Did you ever hear Lord Presniakov speak of a Nikol Argounov?"
Jesse flushed and tried not to look at Quen; the terms in which their master had spoken of Argounov were not ones he was anxious to repeat.
"Ah," said Alix. "Yes. And did he ever speak of Lady Tatiana Rostova?"
"Yes, mistress," said Jesse, rather intrigued now despite himself. "Lord Argounov's sister, right? Isn't she the one who married the--" Jesse caught himself, on the verge of repeating one of Presniakov's expletives. "The, uh, abolitionist?"
"The very one," said Alix gravely, looking as if she might know what he had almost said. "Lady Rostova and I first met when she came to visit for the occasion of her brother's wedding, and although we didn't agree on everything, we did rather hit it off. And ever since I-- since my own marriage-- we've corresponded. She lives quite near the western border of this country, you see, and as you note, she and her husband have certain principles."
"She's an abolitionist too, mistress?" Jesse asked, even more intrigued. "But-- your business--"
"As I said, we don't agree on everything. But she's a dear woman and she's been invaluable to us as a contact. She's not received in society here, of course, but she does visit her brother from time to time. If your teeth survive-- which I certainly hope they will-- I think we may have to arrange a visit with her. She might be interested in buying."
"Buying?" Jesse repeated, his hand tightening convulsively on Quen's. "Buying me? But--"
“Yes," said Alix. "If Lady Rostova's quixotic principles should stretch to accomodate buying a pretty young boy from the slave breakers, well, that would certainly give everyone around here a hearty chuckle. And if you should happen to manage an escape across the border quite soon after she takes you back home, that would be an even better laugh, wouldn't it? Westerners-- what can you do?”
Jesse blinked at her for a long moment, trying to take this in.
"That's just an option," she said. "First things first. We have to see to your teeth, and-- it may all take some time. I'm sorry. I know you'd hoped-- when you planned your escape--"
“That's okay, mistress,” Jesse said awkwardly. “I don't mind waiting.”
“It's just.” Alix sipped again. “People know you're here. And we have visitors.”
Jesse stared blankly at Alix, who was looking apologetic.
“You have to keep acting like a slave,” she said. “Just until we can sort this all out. I'm sorry.”
Jesse looked down at the table, his mouth suddenly dry, then back at Alix.
“Okay,” he said. “Sure. I've done it for years, I can-- It's just, my mouth.”
Alix regarded him with friendly incomprehension, waiting for more.
“I can-- I mean, it's okay, right, that I can't use it? Everything else is fine, my-- my--“ He found himself blushing crimson and strangely angry as Alix continued to examine him attentively, as if waiting without impatience for him to start making sense. Surely she must realize what he was trying to convey.
“Jesse," said Quen softly. “She just means you have to be polite, say master and mistress, keep your eyes down when there's people around.”
Jesse stared at him, then at Alix, who looked utterly confused.
“What did you think I-- oh, gods. You thought I meant sexual service."
”You said act like a slave,” said Jesse, hearing the edge that had crept into his voice, but too angry and humiliated to stop. “Maybe that means something different to you and your-- contacts-- but you know whose slave I've been. Do you really think-- I mean, for Njord's sake, what did you think I was going to think? I--"
Quen's nails dug into Jesse's wrist; Jesse gasped and stopped.
“Quen, dear,” said Alix gently. “I think Jesse is still tired. Why don't you take him up to your room?”
The telephone rang, and Jesse jumped so hard that Alix's teacup sloshed, then bit his lip, fighting his reflexive urge to drop to the floor. Instead he stood, shakily, clutching Quen's hand, as Alix hurried ahead of them from the room to answer the telephone.
“I'm sorry,” he said unhappily to Quen when the bedroom door had closed behind them. “I’ve just had sort of a long day, you know? Do you think she’s pissed at me?”
Quen put his arms around him and kissed him.
“It's okay,” he said. “Everything's going to be okay now.”
“Gods,” said Jesse, tears pricking in his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time in this very strange day. “I wish I could believe that. I really do. And maybe you're right. I just can't--”
Quen kissed his ear. “You think it's too good to be true?"
"Good things usually are," said Jesse grimly, and then abruptly yanked Quen closer. "Except you. When I thought you were dead-- but you fucking did it, Quen, you made it. You must have been so brave and smart and fast and-- I'm so damn proud of you, baby. You're the survivor. You're the toughest of all."
Quen blushed and buried his face in Jesse's shoulder just as the quick, rhythmic knock came at the bedroom door. It opened and Alix came in without waiting for a response, her face grave. Quen pulled back, looking worried.
“Quen,” Alix said quietly. “Jesse. I’m not sure if this is good news or bad news.”
Quen swallowed and grabbed Jesse’s hand.
“That was Tara on the phone,” Alix said. “She says there’s a perfect opportunity– she didn’t say what, they don't like to say more than they have to. But she says there’s practically no risk and opportunities like this don’t come along every day and... she wants to take Quen now. Tonight.”
Jesse felt the blood drain from his face.
“No!” said Quen immediately. “Not without Jess.”
“Yes,” said Jesse, after a pause to get his voice under control. “Sweetheart, you’ve got to. You can’t turn down something like this. I’ll be fine. You can be... getting everything ready for me, when I come. I’ll know you’re okay and you’ll know I’m okay and... and we’ll see each other soon.”
“No,” Quen nearly snarled. “I’m not leaving you behind. Not again.”
Jesse smiled calmly into his eyes. “Don’t be stupid. It's not like leaving me with him. The, um-- the master and mistress--” He avoided Alix's eye. "You trust them, right?"
Quen nodded, then flung his arms around Jesse and held him so hard that Jesse struggled to breathe.
“Are you sure?” he whispered.
“Yes,” said Jesse again, swallowing a treacherous sob before pulling back to smile at Quen. “This is good news, baby. Don't cry. I'll see you soon.”
But Quen did cry. Jesse held his shaking lover in his arms, looking up at Alix with a face he tried hard to keep blank and unreadable.
"I'll give you two a few minutes alone, then," she said quietly, and left the room, shutting the door behind her.
"Quen," said Jesse, and stopped.
"What?" Quen choked out.
"Nothing," said Jesse, who had started to say, Promise you won't try to come back for me. But that was stupid. Doubly stupid because he had almost said it ten days before, at Presniakov's. And he'd known, even then, that Quen wouldn't go at all if he knew Jesse didn't believe they could both make it.
Part Four
