"They carried your chair here. They're going to hear why."
The captain looked at the two soldiers.
The younger one still had blood in the creases of his fingers. He was trying to rub it off with his thumb, seemingly unaware of what he was doing. The other stood beside the door, his arms at his sides. He had served under the captain, followed his orders, probably eaten at the same table. Since they had opened the ledger, he had not addressed him by his rank.
The captain lowered his eyes.
A drop fell from his sleeve onto the floorboards.
The archivist followed it with his gaze, then nudged a bundle of papers out from under the desk with his foot. Paper scraped against wood. In that cramped room, every movement seemed to disturb something.
Nyros waited, seated before the wounded man.
He had drawn his chair close enough that their knees almost touched. Lamplight caught on the dark ridges of his armor; his face, tilted slightly downward, remained half in shadow.
"His name," he repeated.
The captain ran his tongue over his cracked lips.
"Your brother…"
Nyros straightened a fraction.
"What about my brother?"
The man glanced at the open ledger, then at Nyros's hand resting on his thigh.
"Does he really remember nothing?"
Nyros's chair creaked beneath him.
By the door, the young soldier stopped rubbing his fingers.
"Be careful what you say next."
The captain gave a brief, joyless smile. He was afraid; Thalen could see his breathing grow shallower every time Nyros moved. Yet he had just found something to cling to.
"That's why you're here, asking all these questions. You can't ask him."
Nyros placed his hands on his knees.
"You're going to give me that name."
"And when he remembers?"
The captain had spoken louder than he intended. His voice broke on the last word, and he had to catch his breath. Pain shot through him; he pressed both hands against his thigh, his shoulders hunching forward.
Nyros watched him fold in on himself without moving.
"When he remembers the road," the man continued. "The shackles. The people telling him where to go… What will you do?"
Thalen felt the air turn cold along the edge of the desk.
Beneath the captain's chair, the shadow had spread beyond the wooden legs. It stretched toward the nearest soldier's boot. The man stepped back at once, then froze, ashamed of the noise he had made.
Nyros did not look at him.
"Go on," he said.
The captain hesitated.
He had wanted a reaction. Now that he had Nyros's undivided attention, the words seemed harder to get out.
"You have plans of your own."
Tharion turned toward him.
"You know nothing about—"
"You'll need someone to carry them out."
The captain stared at Nyros. He no longer dared look away.
"You'll make him train. Teach him to fight again. And when you need him, you'll ask him to come. For you. Because you're his brother."
Nyros stood.
The captain pressed himself against the backrest. One leg of his chair skidded across the floor with a sharp clack.
Thalen spread his wings on instinct.
But Nyros did not raise a hand.
He stood before the man, his arms at his sides. His jaw shifted once, as though he had swallowed whatever he had been about to say.
"You think that erases what you did?"
"No."
The answer came at once.
The captain swallowed with difficulty.
"No, it doesn't. But he… when his memories return, he might wonder whether you took advantage of what he'd forgotten."
This time, Nyros looked away.
It was the smallest movement, toward the edge of the desk. Thalen saw it nonetheless. He also saw Nyros's fingers curl into his palm, then slowly force themselves open.
The captain noticed.
"What have you told him?"
"Enough."
Tharion had taken a step forward.
Nyros raised a hand to stop him.
For several seconds, nothing happened. A door closed in the corridor. Voices drew nearer, then faded away. The smell of hot food still drifted into the archives, mingling with the leather of the ledgers and the blood drying on their clothes.
Thalen watched Nyros.
He would have preferred to see him angry. Anger, at least, gave him gestures, words, something Thalen could respond to.
At last, Nyros pulled his chair back, but did not sit. He rested his hands on the backrest.
"Yes. I need him."
The captain's lips parted.
"Don't rush," Nyros added. "I'm not finished."
His voice had changed. It did not carry as far. The soldier by the door leaned forward slightly to hear him.
"There are things I need to do. Things his strength would help us accomplish. I won't pretend I've never thought about it."
He lowered his eyes to his hands.
The glove had split across one knuckle. He picked absently at the torn edge with his thumb, then stopped.
"But if he refuses, he refuses."
The captain was still watching him.
"And you'll let him leave?"
Nyros drew a breath through his nose.
The answer took long enough that Thalen understood he was doing more than choosing his words.
"It would hurt."
He looked up.
"I'd probably ask him to stay. Maybe more than once. But I won't have him put in chains because he doesn't want me anymore."
The captain turned his face away.
Nyros walked slowly around the chair. When he spoke again, his gaze had settled on the sheet stitched into the ledger.
"He was always there."
His thumb brushed over the wooden backrest.
"Even when I was unbearable. Even when I wouldn't explain anything to him. He stayed, and eventually I started taking it for granted. Believing I could turn around whenever I wanted, and he'd be right behind me."
He broke off.
Thalen had never heard Nyros struggle for so long to find his next words.
"So yes, now I want him to know how to defend himself. I want him to be able to sleep without someone coming to decide he's had enough rest."
His hand tightened on the backrest.
"And I want to be there if he needs me."
The captain shifted in his seat. The cloth around his thigh had darkened along the edge of the knot.
"You're not answering my question."
Tharion gave him an incredulous look.
The man lowered his voice, but continued.
"What if he remembers and hates you? What if he thinks you used him too?"
Nyros stared at him.
"Then he'll tell me."
"And if he wants to kill you?"
Silence fell so abruptly that Thalen could hear the faint sputtering of the wick.
Nyros watched the captain for a long moment.
Then his shoulders sank.
"I'll let him."
"Nyros," Tharion said.
There was concern in his voice now.
Nyros turned his head slightly.
"I know what I'm saying."
"You can want to protect him without—"
"He's all I have."
The words cut across Tharion's.
Nyros stood motionless after saying them. His gaze dropped to the floor, as though he regretted letting them slip in front of so many people.
Thalen folded his wings more tightly against his body.
The captain was no longer smiling.
"If it ever reaches the point where he wants me dead," Nyros continued, "I'll want to understand why. I'll listen. But I won't hurt him to save my own skin."
His voice caught slightly.
"Not him."
Tharion ran a hand over his face. He seemed to be searching for an answer that would not make things worse. He gave none.
Nyros sat down again.
This time, he left more distance between himself and the captain.
"You want to know what I'll do with him when he remembers? I'll ask him what he wants."
The captain gave a slight shake of his head.
"You say that now."
"Yes. Now. And I'll have to be able to do it on the day I don't like his answer."
Thalen looked up at him.
Nyros was watching the captain without trying to intimidate him any further. It made his words harder to dismiss.
"If he tells me he believes the defectors. That he wants to join them…"
He paused.
"I'll ask him to explain. I'm not going to stop being his brother just because I don't understand right away."
"You would follow them?"
"I would follow him."
The captain frowned.
Nyros leaned forward, his forearms resting on his thighs.
"If he chooses a path that makes him your enemy, I'll be with him. And if he wants to save you, if he becomes the hero you're waiting for, I'll be there too."
He slowly shook his head.
"I'll argue with him if I have to. I'll tell him when I think he's wrong. But I won't abandon him just to teach him what it feels like."
The young knight lowered his eyes. Beside him, his comrade finally moved away from the doorway, letting air flow in from the corridor.
Thalen looked at the line in the middle of the page.
Confirmation of the subject's exhaustion.
He could no longer read it without seeing the belongings that had fallen into the mud, just as the captain had described them. The bread. The sock. That hand still reaching for a sleeve as the shackles closed.
Nyros followed his gaze.
When he turned back to the captain, his exhaustion had become visible. It hollowed his face around the eyes and weighed on the way he held himself.
"My plans can wait. They might never amount to anything."
He laid his palm on the edge of the ledger, beside his brother's name.
"I want him to have a life."
For a while, the captain said nothing.
Then he lowered his head toward his bandages. His hand shook as he tried to smooth a crease in the cloth.
Nyros let him.
"Now," he said, "give me that name."