As they shared the bowls around, Owen said. “Here’s to Mehta. Let’s hope he survived.”
Flora scoffed. “Why bother?”
“You really have a problem with him, don’t you?” Owen asked.
“Wouldn’t you? He’s a simple-minded brute who kills people for a living. I was in his jail cell for several weeks. They tortured me. Trust me, I know him well.”
Owen frowned. Flora could tell he didn’t agree, but Owen wasn’t usually one to argue.
Cecile said, “Sometimes I wonder about that.”
“What do you mean?” Flora asked, surprised by Cecile’s comment. Cecile knew just as well as she what an animal Mehta was.
“Well, he could have treated you much worse.”
“Worse than torturing me?”
Cecile raised her eyebrows. “It was Thorpe and his men that tortured you. Mehta was there, and he did his job, but I don’t think he liked it. I actually think he was tormented by it. He would stare at you through the bars, like you were some impossible puzzle. He gave you warm clothes. He went for walks with you. It could have been worse.”
“He burned down an entire town,” Flora said.
“I’m not saying he isn’t a brute,” Cecile said, rejecting a particularly tough piece of meat back into her bowl. “He is what he is. But he was a good ally, a friend even. The only reason we left him in Grand Caverns is because we would have died trying to save him.”
Flora snickered. “That’s ridiculous. He’s just a merc. He lives for his contracts and that’s all.”
“What contract? He certainly didn’t sign one with me, or with Madison. No, the truth is, I don’t think Talon would be alive today if it wasn’t for him, and it had nothing to do with any contract.”
Flora tried to think of a good retort. She remembered her conversation with Mehta on Montalto. She was sure he mentioned something about being under contract.
“He has another contract.”
“Who with? He certainly hasn’t been helping the railroad. And it can’t be with the Essentialists after what we just went through.”
It was true that it didn’t make much sense. Flora remembered being emotional in her conversation on Montalto. She said some… cruel things. She lashed out at Mehta, telling him he was responsible for Granger’s death. Was it possible she was imagining things?
“Then there was the dish,” Owen added. “He helped us destroy it, insisting he come along when he found out you were going. He also chased down Cecile’s man when he was lurking on the estate grounds, when you were about to leave Monticello. And, of course, like Cecile said, he saved your son’s life. It’s almost like he’s working for you, Flora.”
She let out a shrill laugh. “That’s ridiculous. He was strong, a good warrior, I’ll give you that. But that’s utter nonsense.” Flora stood up, her stew half-finished, then made her way to the tent. Her heart was beating unusually fast.
Before she was out of earshot, she heard Talon say quietly, “My mother has a tendency to run away from things.”
The other comments had been flesh wounds, but this last remark from her own son was a dagger in her chest. She relegated herself to her tent to ruminate on their words, to try not to succumb to her turbulent emotions. She didn’t want to be in a state when Talon came to the tent.
She should be thankful that Talon was alive—that she had another chance with him. She told herself she would win back his confidence. She had to show him she could be a good mother.
When Talon arrived back at the tent, he quietly prepared for bed, thinking she was asleep. He was much more organized than her. He had already packed everything for the next day.
When it became quiet, she whispered, “Talon, we’ll go back for Skye and Clover soon. I promise you. Then we can be a family again, without Reed. I promise I’ll be a better mother.”
There was silence for a moment, then Talon responded. “It would be better to leave them with Finch Coralwood and his family. They’re much safer there.”
It was said matter-of-factly, but intentional or not, it was yet another barb. He didn’t think she could protect her own children. Maybe he thought they were just better off without her.
She could no longer be proud, no longer keep it together. She closed her eyes and began sobbing softly. “I’m so sorry, Talon,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry for what I’ve done to you.”
She imagined him reaching out to touch her shoulder, to let her know it was okay. But when she looked over through the dull moonlight, she could see his form facing into the wall of the tent, unmoved by her sorrow.
So she sobbed again, softly though so Talon wouldn’t hear. Her muffled sobs continued for some time. She felt desperately alone that night, her tears her only company in her transition to a troubled slumber.
Flora was awakened by a loud noise, like two sticks crashing together. She turned to see that Talon wasn’t in the tent, and neither was his pack. She could hear grunts and a number of additional percussions coming from outside.
She stumbled out of the tent flap to follow the noise. It was coming from about twenty yards away, down a shallow decline in the terrain. Here she saw Talon sparring with one of Cecile’s men. Cecile’s man was holding a large tree branch that he was using as a staff, whereas Talon only had his hands.
Talon’s body moved in quick bursts, punching the man twice in the chest, and then kicking his legs out from under him. The man stood up slowly, but Talon managed to hit him in the face, driving him back down into the forest floor.
Two other Quebecker men were running down to the scene, followed by Cecile and Owen.
“Talon, stop this!” Flora said.
“I will have no part in this fool’s errand,” Talon said. He squared off against the two new opponents. His body was tense, his center of gravity low. He somehow looked thicker, denser, yet his body glided across the leaves effortlessly.
The two men looked at Cecile, and she nodded. They then circled Talon until they were on both sides of him.
“Stop this!” Flora yelled.
“I’m sorry. We can’t let him go, Flora,” Cecile said.
In a flurry of limbs, Cecile’s men moved in to grab Talon. They snared his arms, but then Talon reacted with lightning quickness. One was flipped over Talon’s back, and the other was hit hard in the groin with a well-placed elbow. Talon then slammed the elbowed one in his face with the palm of his hand, bloodying his nose.
The man who had been flipped over his back managed to wrangle Talon in a headlock, only to be thrown over Talon’s front side, and for Talon to place him in his own headlock. Talon held him for some time while the man tried to elbow Talon in the chest. Talon simply absorbed the blows while the man’s strength waned. Eventually the man slumped to the forest floor next to the other with the bloodied nose.
By now Cecile had drawn her pistol and pointed it at Talon.
Talon stared back defiantly. “You can’t hold me against my will. I will not do as you ask.”
Cecile’s eyes squinted as she considered the situation. “There is much you don’t know. I can explain, if you give me the opportunity.”
“I need no explanation. You seek Old World tech to fight against Old World tech. That says enough.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“Talon,” Flora pleaded. “I made a deal with these people. We saved you in order to make this trip.”
“I didn’t ask to be saved,” Talon countered with a note of anger, “and you made a deal, not me.”
Talon shook his head and carefully navigated around the ailing men on the ground, ignoring Cecile’s pistol. He pulled his pack from the ground while staring down Cecile. “Find some other way,” he said. “You can throw your lives away in the fever lands without me.”