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Jakey liked Henry. He wasn't far from his own age, although at times it seemed he forgot (at times it seemed everyone forgot). Ignoring that, Jakey liked him well enough.
Henry was kind to him, not only as though he meant it, but as if Jakey deserved it. It was nice. Henry was nice. Everyone thought so; even though Jakey could tell it pissed them off whenever Henry insisted on running in with his bleeding heart and telling them off for looting corpses or pillaged homes along the way. Despite that, it seemed the others respected him, and Jakey could tell it wasn't just because he knew his way around a sword.
It was embarrassing to admit the sheer frustration it brought him. Henry was a friend (or so he hoped). Jakey liked Henry! And yet he’d quickly become the center of his resentment.
Henry was new to the gang, and while Jakey knew the joining was only temporary, temporary member or permanent, the word member was still there! He had assumed the entire reason he’d kept getting pushed around and insulted was because he was new. Then Henry showed up. Fresh meat and a million miles away from the mercenary life until now (like Jakey was, although he tried to ignore that part), and it was still only he who got pushed around!
Henry wasn't getting yelled at to fetch water. Henry wasn't getting berated for taking an extra nanosecond to saddle his horse. Henry wasn't getting insulted at all!
Jakey liked Henry.
This did not ease his envy; which is what it was, he knew. He was jealous. How couldn't he be? Jakey couldn't understand it. He gets pushed around for being the newbie, and Henry’s just accepted? The gang treats him better than the bakery ever could, he was more than well aware of that fact. No one was beating him (at least while sober). Despite that, he couldn't shake the disconnect.
Being forced every patrol to hear Henry banter back and forth with Petr and Jan was enough to drive a man crazy. He couldn’t understand it. Henry gets to play along, and Jakey gets pushed to the side?
How could that be fair?
To make matters worse, they'd all dragged Henry into their stupid ring game, a game he'd been trying to get in on for months with no hope in sight, but Henry gets to play along on what, day one? Day two?
Henry got along with the others so well. How he'd gained such a rapport with the people Jakey had spent all his time trying to please was beyond alien to him. Jakey felt compelled to ask: how? How could Henry connect so easily when it was so hard for him? It wasn’t fair, but he liked Henry.
He liked him so much it made him hesitate far longer than simply thinking of Stephan did when it came to deciding whether he'd become another sellout in a sea of thousands. He’d cried the evening before the dreaded patrol came. He knew in the morning they’d be off, and he’d hold his peace because that’s all he could do, and they’d never see him again. No more Kuno, no more Petr or Jan, no more Stephan. No more Henry (he knew they’d say goodbye either way). It was gutwrenching. Jakey thought he knew guilt; he hadn’t realized just how wrong he’d been. He was sure he was right in this instance, though; he had to be.
They didn’t care about him; he knew this. He knew it because it had to be true; how else could he do this?
Stephan didn’t care when he’d switch Jakey’s dice to weighted so he’d always win on bad days. The Bearman brothers didn’t care when they’d slip a few groschen down his pocket and cause a scene so he’d have enough to get a sip of mead behind Kuno’s back. Dangler didn’t care when he’d spend hours teaching Jakey all the ways of a scout out of his freewill in hopes he’d take up the older man’s spot once age started hitting and positions started shifting. The Stone didn’t care when he’d leave homemade trinkets and bits of fresh bread, almost like a memento from his time before, by Jakey’s bedside after every intact book he’d pocketed from rubble to hand off to the enforcer moments later.
Kuno especially didn’t care.
When Jakey first joined, not yet accustomed to the vulnerability of sleeping outdoors, and rather than force him to brute force it and flail exhausted the morning after, Kuno let Jakey instead curl against him back-to-back like a pup and rest easy knowing someone would protect him; he hadn’t cared.
When Jakey could barely hold a sword straight without stumbling over himself, Kuno stayed in that dilapidated sheep pen, fixing Jakey’s stance and running drills till the pale dawn sky faded into a fiery orange despite their bounty being due the next day; he hadn’t cared.
None of them cared.
Still, he found himself facing an agonizing realization. He didn’t want them to die. Even if they didn’t care, he could, and he did.
He stiffens on his side, hand a hair away from the dagger stashed under his bag. The heavy crunch of leaves grows louder until it overpowers the symphony of crickets surrounding their camp.
It’s not till the stench of Rattay hits does he settle.
Rolling over, he idly watches Henry venture to eat his fill while staying as silent as possible. Despite everything, Jakey smiles at the scene with a look filled with what can only be described as bittersweet amusement. This isn’t the first time their guide returned while the moon was at its peak, and Jakey was sure once he was gone, it wouldn’t be the last; although he had a feeling he’d be the last to stay awake long enough to notice.
He liked Henry.
A sea of fireflies danced around the prairie grass. If he squinted, he was sure he’d spot a cricket or two hopping up in an attempt to fly beside them. When he was younger, he’d been told fireflies were simply lost stars too confused by the open air to find their way home. It’d been silly then, it should still be something silly now, yet ever since Kuno gave him a horse to name and called the band his ‘home’, he’d felt just as lost. The bakery wasn’t home. But a place like this, where the feel of being something other only grows worse day by day, surely couldn’t be either.
He barely registers Henry’s passing until his shoulders tense at the prickling feel of eyes on his front. He was sure that, given Henry’s view, he wouldn’t be able to tell if anyone was awake, whether they glanced back or not. And yet Jakey couldn’t bring himself to move. Not while knowing that in just a few hours, Henry’s blood might be spilled on his hands, even if not directly caused by his blade.
The moment passes, and Jakey falls to his back. Wide-eyed at the linen roof, while muffling his gasps for air.
He had always heard eyes were the windows to the soul, and although he’d never given it much thought, now he knew. He understood perfectly what they’d meant, for if he’d looked back, Henry surely would've known.