Rheuben was missing.
Loren couldn't make himself believe it. Kiera had tried to help support him when they staggered around the newly-won city, peering at every human-shaped face. The froglocks were always polite, especially the ones at the hastily-constructed morgue, but firm—they would have to be going, and soon, if they couldn't identify a body as friend, family, or mate. Kiera understood; they had a city to rebuild. Loren shook his head helplessly and wandered on.
Eventually, when it became apparent that they weren't going to find him in Gukta, Kiera guided his steps north, towards the desert and Freeport. "Perhaps he went home ahead of us," Kiera suggested, but Loren looked away.
"I didn't want it to be like this. Rheuben should be here, being happy for us."
"He would be." Loren glared daggers at her for the insinuation, and she fell silent.
After they made camp one night, huddling together against the strong night wind, their tent the only protection from the whips of dust and sand, Loren spoke. "I think he deserted, Kiera," he said, tightening his grip around her waist.
"What makes you say that?" she said, squirming in his arms so she could look at his face. She hadn't given that idea the first consideration, until now.
"He's never killed people before," he said. He wouldn't look at her. "He stays in the city mostly, does smithy work for the Temple. It's not that he isn't an experienced fighter, but that's against... you know. Undead. It's not the same as fighting things with brains." Loren paused. Kiera didn't know what to say. Suddenly, the knight met her eyes, narrowing his eyes fiercely. "He's not a coward!" he said, as if Kiera had called him one.
"I never said he was," she answered, extracting an arm from his embrace to stroke his hair. "If you're right, he's not afraid of death. He's af- he doesn't want to take a life," she amended.
He nodded. "He'll be in Freeport," he said, pursing his lips. "The temple's there."
Kiera decided not to question.