He knew nothing about the Spehari rider he’d shot at. The man’s name was apparently Karn…and that was all he had. He wasn’t exactly going to ask Komo about the man—he’d messed up badly enough as it was.
As the sunlight through his narrow window faded toward darkness, he heard a new voice in the office. Hardin’s voice.
Teer wasn’t sure of the time, but he was sure he hadn’t been unconscious for more than the night. If Hardin was already there, the hands must have seen what happened and ridden through the night to get back to the ranch—and Hardin must have been mounted practically by the time they were done talking.
Despite everything, the thought that Hardin had dropped everything to come warmed Teer. It wasn’t going to change anything, but at least his mother’s husband was trying.
“Hardin,” he heard Komo’s voice greet the other man. “I’ve been expecting you. Come into my office; it’s about the only place in this town with any privacy.”
“Talk quickly, old friend,” Hardin’s voice replied. “I didn’t even tell Alana about this before I started out. She’s going to—”
It turned out that if both Teer’s cell door and Komo’s office door were closed, Teer couldn’t hear anything from the office. That suggested Komo’s door was better designed than the rest of the doors in the place—there might even be magic to it.
Teer didn’t know. He only really knew that magic was a thing that existed and how some bits of it worked. He didn’t know if you could cast a spell on a door to make it block out sound.
If he focused, he could barely make out murmuring through the two doors. Whatever Hardin and Komo were talking about, he couldn’t hear them.
Even when the shouting started a few moments later, he couldn’t tell what they were saying. He couldn’t make out which of the two men was shouting, though he guessed it was Hardin. If Komo had just told the rancher what he’d told Teer…
There wasn’t anything Hardin could do. While the Wardkeeper was authorized to handle most minor conflicts and crimes and could do quite a bit for blatant major crimes; anything involving a Spehari had to be judged by the Spehari magistrate.
And while Hardin was wealthy and influential by the standards of an Eastern Territory wardtown, he had nothing to offer a magistrate.
Teer’s sense of time was normally extremely precise, but the sameness of his cell was already starting to wear on him. All he was really certain of was that it was nearly dark by the time the Wardwatches opened the cell and let Hardin in.
“One of us needs to—”
“Get. Out.” Hardin snapped at Niles. “I’ll shout if I need you.”
Niles retreated, locking the door behind him and leaving Hardin and Teer alone.
“I’m sorry,” Teer said quietly.
Hardin had clearly been sitting and regaining his breath for a bit, but his riding leathers were still marked with fresh sweat. Teer’s guess that he’d mounted up and ridden out immediately on news had obviously been bang on.
“You should be,” Hardin said. He walked over and took a seat on the bed. “I don’t know if I can fix this, Teer. I fucked up and you’re paying for it.”
“You didn’t pull a gun on a man who did nothing but have pointed ears,” Teer murmured.
“You were drunk and you were angry and you were lost and all of that was my fault,” the rancher replied. “Well, maybe not the drunk.”
He sighed, looking down at the floor.
“Ohlman wasn’t supposed to surprise you with the job offer,” he said, stating the obvious that still needed to be said. “I don’t know what reason he gave you, but it was probably true enough.”
“That you were worried about the hands looking to me instead of Alstair,” Teer said.
“It wouldn’t be fair to either of you, Teer,” the older man told him after a moment. “Alstair wouldn’t have been able to run the ranch, not with the hands used to taking orders from you. But he’d own it and get the money. You’d get nothing but whatever stones I left you in the will.
“I needed a better way. I got started with Atrach and Ohlman back when. I rode with them for six turnings, even running cattle to the armies during the war.” He shook his head. “I was trying to help you get set up on your own, but I…”
Hardin shook his head.
“I was a coward and I failed you,” he said. “I needed to talk to you about all of this, but there was always something else I ‘needed’ to do. And then suddenly you were gone, halfway to Alvid with a hundred eighty head of cattle and a job offer waiting for you that was going to come with a kick in the guts.
“I failed you,” he repeated. “And all of this…all of this is on me.”
“You didn’t pull a gun on a man,” Teer said. “That’s what I’m here for and that one’s on me.”
They were silent for a long time.
“I’ll do what I can,” Hardin murmured. “Komo’s unbribable, even by an old friend. There are options. I will do everything—”
“No.” Teer cut him off. Everything held too much possibility. There were half a dozen hands on the ranch, every one of them an expert rider and at least a decent shot. It wouldn’t be the first time a rancher had called his hands out to make war—and while six or seven on four wasn’t a fair fight, neither was the Unity against anyone.
The Sunset Rebellion and the war Teer’s father had died in had proven that.
“I won’t have anyone else suffer for my actions,” he told Hardin. “You won’t add to the list of crimes, Hardin. Promise me that. No bribes, no…nothing stupid.”
He couldn’t even say aloud that he didn’t want Hardin to ride out for him. Even whispering, he didn’t trust the walls of his cell for secrecy.
“I am not going to stand
