“Thank you.” Tessia smiled and continued on her way. Thinking about what Malia had said, she decided things were going as well as anyone could expect for the former slave. He probably wasn’t used to friendly chatter, and it would take time for him to learn how to befriend people.
Leaving the house, Tessia crossed to the stables and slipped through the open door. Then she stopped, surprised by the scene before her.
Two of the stable servants were peeing into a bucket.
Before she could look away, the young men glanced up. Expressions of horror crossed their faces, and streams of urine veered from their intended paths – one across the trousers of the other – as they hastily covered themselves.
“Having a good look?” Birren jeered, recovering from his embarrassment enough to try to joke about it.
“Yeah.” Ullan followed. “Looked to me like she was checking us out. Impressed, were you, Tess? Want a closer look?”
She suppressed a laugh. The banter was typical of young men their age, and what she’d have expected in this situation – before she’d become an apprentice. She didn’t have the heart to increase their discomfort by reminding them she wasn’t Tessia the healer’s daughter any more. “I was wondering if it’s true that all boys get bigger when they get older. Didn’t look like you’d grown much since that time my father and I treated you two for... what was it again? Warts?”
They winced.
“We can make them get bigger,” Birren told her, grinning.
“You’d be scared.”
She snorted derisively. “I’ve seen much scarier things helping my father. Where’s Hanara?”
Ullan began a cheeky reply, but Birren stopped him with a low hiss, then nodded towards the end of the building. Hanara was sitting at a table, cleaning and polishing a saddle. She walked towards him. Harnesses and tools were lying nearby, waiting to be mended or cleaned. He looked up as she approached, and his frown faded a little.
Though the man’s face was typically Sachakan, broad and brown-skinned, it was quite different from his master’s. It was finer and more angled, youthful but scarred. She was glad of this, because while it was impossible not to think of Takado whenever she thought of Hanara, at least looking at the former slave did not stir unpleasant memories of his master’s face leering at her.
“I’m here to change your bandages,” she told him.
He nodded. “You’ve not seen anything scary,” he told her, standing up and taking off his tunic. “Nothing truly scary.”
Realising he had overheard the youths, she sighed and began removing the bandages around his chest and shoulder. “Probably not, but don’t be too quick to judge. I’ve seen more of the insides of people than most Kyralians have. Some nasty injuries and a few fatal ones that I doubt I’ll ever forget.”
“The dead are not scary. They cannot do anything to you.”
“But they smell almost as bad as those two back there.”
He smiled faintly, then grew serious again. “You should not let them speak to you like that. You are a magician now.”
“Apprentice,” she corrected. “You’re probably right. But then, I should have knocked or called out, not just walked in on them.”
“You should not have to knock.”
She gave him a level look. “This is Kyralia. Even magicians are expected to have good manners.”
He met her eyes for the briefest moment, then quickly looked down.
The wounds he’d suffered, even the cut her father had made to reach his broken ribs, had sealed into red, raised scars. She probed where the breaks in his bones had been, asking if he felt pain. He shook his head each time, and didn’t look as if he was trying to hide any reaction.
“You look completely healed to me,” she told him. “I don’t think you need any more bandages. Be careful not to pick up anything heavy, or strain bones that were broken.” She shook her head. “It’s amazing how fast you heal. I’m not sure you even needed our help.”
“I would have healed badly – crooked. Your father stopped that happening.” He paused. “Thank you.”
Tessia smiled, her heart lifting. “I’ll pass your thanks on to my father.”
“You, too,” he said, pointing to the discarded bandages.
“You’re . . .” He frowned, and gestured vaguely towards the stable door. “Not like...”
Was he talking about the stable boys, or had his gesture been meant to encompass more? The village, perhaps. She felt a stab of concern.
“Are the villagers treating you well?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I am a stranger.”
“Yes, but that is no excuse for... bad behaviour. Hanara.” She waited until he looked up and met her gaze. “If someone does anything mean to you – anything, ah, un-Kyralian – you tell me. It’s important. Just as you must live like a Kyralian now, by our laws and ideals,
He gazed back at her.
“You do understand me, don’t you?”
He nodded.
Letting out a sigh of relief, she gathered the old bandages into a bundle. “I must go. I have lessons to learn.”
He nodded again and suddenly seemed glum.
“I’ll come here to talk to you now and then, if you like,” she offered.
Though his expression did not change, a warmth entered his gaze. As she left the stable, she imagined she could feel his eyes on her back.
She considered the likelihood of Hanara’s writing poetry for her as she re-entered the house and headed back to her room to drop off the bandages and her bag. He probably couldn’t even write. But if he could, would she welcome it?
Reaching the stairs, she heard her name called and turned to see Malia hurrying towards her.
“Your father’s here, Apprentice Tessia,” the servant said. “Says he needs your help this morning – something urgent in the village.” Her brow furrowed. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”
“Tell him I’ll be right there. And could you tell Lord Dakon?”
“Of course.”
Hurrying upstairs, Tessia quickly deposited her burden in her room then backed out again. She checked her stride as she nearly collided with Jayan at the top of the stairs. The young man paused and looked at her, the annoyance in his expression changing to the smooth politeness he had adopted around her of late.
“You look eager for your lessons this morning,” he said.
“I’ll have to miss them today,” she said, wishing he’d move aside and let her past. “Father’s here and it’s urgent.”
“Ah, skipping classes again, are we?” He smiled and shook his head with mock disapproval – or was it really mocking? Was that a hint of true disdain she detected in his tone? She felt anger rising.
“At least I’m doing something useful with what I know,” she snapped, meeting his gaze and silently daring him to object.
His eyes widened in surprise. Stepping back, he let her pass, and watched her hurry down the stairs. She heard him mutter something, catching the word “idiot”.
