/n/jackal-among-snakes-1520/c-659
chapter-658

Drinking alcohol was really just drinking scummy water for Argrave—his black blood, coupled with all the other myriad ways that his body had changed since using the Fruit of Being, made both water and rubbing alcohol equally intoxicating. Which is to say: not at all. As time went on, it became clear Durran had become much the same way. Nevertheless, both of them drank pisswater in honor of Garm. He’d be pleased.

Argrave spent the first while regaling the so-called King of the Scorched Sands on the merits of Garm’s choices in the Shadowlands. There were tales to tell that were good enough they seemed tall, but each and all were the truth of the matter and nothing more. They talked well into midnight, and Argrave appreciated the night far more now that he’d experienced total darkness. The night, at least, had some stars shining, and a large red moon overhead.

Gradually, though, something loosened and mellowed Durran—it couldn’t be blamed on alcohol. His repartee slowed to a lull, before disappearing altogether in way of a more honest form of the man Argrave had come to know.

“I like your city, Argrave,” Durran admitted. “I don’t know if I’ll end up staying here—though, that depends a lot on Elenore. I can show her the desert, but I can’t make her like it.”

Argrave rested his arms on the table between them. “She’s a city rat, but she’s also tough. I think she could do both.”

“Yeah, but there’s no parliament in the Burnt Desert. And there’s no you.” Durran took another drink, grimacing at the taste. “She’s given herself fully to this cause of ours. She has a lot to offer. She can do things I can barely imagine. Sometimes… I struggle to see my place in things.”

“You’re important to us,” Argrave said in assurance. “Don’t doubt it for a second.”

“Please. I really only know how to fight—and as we’ve proven, Orion is infinitely more suited to that than I am.” Durran raised his tankard. “Not that I mind. To Orion, savior of the city.”

Argrave narrowed his eyes. “Are you trying to goad me into playing the surrogate father that points out all your good qualities? This sounds like a ploy to get me to say nice things so you can make fun of me.”

Durran laughed. “No, I’m just… a little lost.” He looked at Argrave. “What do you need from me? What do you want from me? I want to do more. I want to do better. I want to pay you back for that golden meal you fed me, because you deserve it. Look at Garm. Man was more jaded than anyone I’ve ever met, and still, he… did that.”

Argrave leaned back in his chair. “I think… I think I get what the problem is.”

“Yeah?” Durran looked at him.

“Yeah, I do.” Argrave tapped the table. “I think I’ve been stifling you.”

“What?” Durran narrowed his eyes. “You’re not responsible for my failures. I’ve—”

“No, it’s true.” Argrave nodded. “You don’t work best being given orders. You work best given free rein, left to your own devices with an objective in mind.”

“Oh yeah?” Durran laughed. “Tell me more about me.”

“I need you to go back to the Burnt Desert,” Argrave continued. “And I need you to tie up all the loose ends that I’ve been putting on the backburner. I need you to deal with the automatons that the subterranean mountain people use, for starters. I need you to be the King of the Scorched Sands. I need an independent actor to get things done, without consulting anyone but their own judgment.”

“So… ‘go home, stop wasting my time,’ yeah?” Durran raised a brow.

“Yeah.” Argrave nodded, and Durran looked genuinely surprised he’d agreed. He leaned into the table. “Listen… if you wanted somebody to tell you sweet nothings and say they love you, you’d be hashing this out with my sister. But you’re talking to me. That says a lot about what you want to hear. Sometimes, someone wants someone to tell them to man up. Why? Because it works.”

“Hell…” Durran looked into his tankard. “Maybe you’re right. No—you are right,” he amended. “No ‘maybe’ about it. I just… lost a lot of confidence, having been given this gift only to have such a poor showing.”

“So go home, ruminate on things, and fix it,” Argrave ordered. “I trust you. I do. You’re capable. Make sure that your homeland is ready to receive the calamity. No one knows the Burnt Desert better than you.” Argrave paused, then added, “Actually, I probably do, but let’s ignore that. I’m cheating, what with the wiki and all. It can’t be helped.”

“Prick.” Durran laughed. “You know… I’ve been thinking. Garm said that he didn’t want you to name any of your children after him.”

“True.” Argrave nodded, then joked grimly, “He’s a little less say in the matter, now.”

“I was thinking… maybe Elenore and I could,” Durran suggested. “Respect his wishes, but carry on the name all the same.”

“And who knows? Maybe Garm will resurrect once more, possessing the body of your child just as I possessed Argrave. After all, he might’ve left his traces on you somewhere.” Argrave raised his tankard, enjoying the horrified expression Durran sported. “To Garm.”