She couldn’t imagine Pharon would be up to anything nefarious. He was devoted to managing the household. He kept the books, paid the staff, and ensured supplies were carted in daily from the surrounding farms and shops.
“Avena,” a voice called.
She blinked, staring down to see Miguil beneath her window. He was dressed in his pants, the top buttons of his rumpled shirt open. A flutter ran through her, his face illuminated by the porch jewelchine torches, the steady light painting his handsome, near-beautiful features.
“Thieves,” she said in excitement, leaning out.
His eyes widened. “Truly? How’d they get in? One of the gates?” He glanced at the grove gate. “Was one left unlocked?”
His question stirred through the delight she always had at her promise’s face. “I don’t know,” she said. “Um . . . did you see anything when you checked the horses?”
He woke in the middle of the night to do that.
“No, no,” he said. “Just horses. You know.” His hand rubbed at the back of his neck. “Thieves, huh?” His face darkened. “I see Ōbhin has them in hand.”
Miguil’s jealousy always amused her. He had no reason to worry. She was promised to him. Ōbhin was too broken. Their night of drinking, the fuzzy haze that she could remember, had educated her about him. Killed a man for a woman. The guilt had ripped out something from him. That vital part that made a person alive.
Though he seems more like he’s living right now. She knew that was easy to fake. You just didn’t think about that emptiness. You filled it with other things. Healing. Cleaning. Romance with a handsome man.
Solving puzzles.
Her eyes slid to Pharon talking with Ōbhin now. What were you doing out in the dark?
*
“What is this ruckus?”
Ōbhin turned from his conversation with Pharon to see Dualayn marching from the house, the maids and cooks gathered behind him on the porch. Ōbhin hadn’t seen his employer since Carstin’s funeral. The man looked haggard, hair wild, his clothing rumpled and stained.
Are those the same clothes he wore at the funeral? It had been eight days since Ōbhin had arrived.
“Just some thieves,” Ōbhin said, holding back the information about Ust. The man was petty, but would he do more than steal a corpse and unleash boys to cause problems? Would he risk attacking a man under the Boss’s protection? “My guards captured them.”
“Oh, I see.” Dualayn looked around. “Good, good. And it’s night. The date?”
“Very nearly the thirty-fifth, sir,” Pharon said.
Dualayn blinked. “Truly? My, oh, my. I hadn’t realized. Well, the Recorder is just fascinating. The things I’m learning and . . .” He blinked. “The thirty-fifth, you say?”
“In a few more hours,” said Pharon. “Sunrise will be upon us.” The butler yawned. “Oh, my, it is late. I am hoping to find my bed and get some more rest. Unless you need anything, sir?”
“Well . . . thirty-fifth . . . I think we should visit the Daughters tomorrow. Have, eh . . . ?”
“Miguil, sir,” Pharon supplied.
“Have him ready my carriage. We’ll go to the Daughters after breakfast.” Dualayn patted his waistcoat and then plucked out his pocket watch. “Oh, my, the hour. Hmm, I shall seek my bed, too.” The old man turned and headed back to the house, unconcerned by Smiles and Fingers marching the two boys towards the main gate.
“Doesn’t he want to know more?” Ōbhin muttered.
“You captured the boys,” Pharon said. He gave Ōbhin a friendly, even admiring smile. “Well done, I say. And you’re injured. You should have that looked at.”
Ōbhin waved. “Just a scratch.” Then he noticed the watching women and shoved his hands behind his back. “What are these daughters?”
The butler blinked. “Oh, yes, yes, they don’t have the Daughters of Elohm in Qoth, do they? A monastic order. All women.”
“I had guessed that.”
“There are seven orders, of course. These are the Daughters of Patience. They run the Hospital of the Prism’s Grace, ministering to the poor of Kash what medicine they can. Dualayn goes usually once a week to render what aid he can. Sometimes, he takes the sickest back here to heal them in his lab.”
“Do they recover?”
“Some.” Pharon shook his head. “You must understand, he is trying experimental treatments on those who are dying. Sadly, he is not always successful.”
Ōbhin nodded, darkness rippling through him. “I’ll make sure he’s guarded.”
“Very good.” Pharon yawned. “Mmm, Miguil, a word before I retire.” The butler headed over to the groom standing beneath Avena’s window. She was leaning out, staring down at her promised with the bright cheeks of a maiden. Ōbhin remembered their near kiss.
If she wasn’t promised . . .
Least you won’t end up dead on my blade, Ōbhin thought, his chest throbbing. Wreathed in black guilt, he headed for the servants’ entrance to find his room and bandage his wound.
What to do about Ust . . . Shame he’s not like those boys. Embarrassing Ust wouldn’t scare him off but only engender more enmity.
Chapter Fourteen
Thirty-Fifth Day of Compassion, 755 EU
The carriage wheels clattered over Tendril Bridge, carrying them over the narrow ravine of Blue Tendril Stream as it flowed north toward Lake Ophavin. Ōbhin shifted, glancing down into the reed-choked waters. Something dark writhed in the flow. Eels? They crossed the bridge and he lifted his head to study the start of the Breezy Hills Slums, a grimy and rundown squalor at odds with the picturesque estates that Dualayn and others maintained along the lakeshore.
His hand drifted to his sword as the carriage entered the slums, following Angle Road towards the walls of Kash which covered the horizon. In alleys, drunks lay snoring, faces covered in patched cloaks
