“There’s a darkness inside of you,” Mother had said while walking out of the barn. She’d lugged the large pail of whitewash father had mixed to coat the house the next day. “I need to wash it out of you.”
“I stood there while . . . while . . .” Avena trembled now. She was that little girl again. Evane had raced up to their mother without concern. Avena had followed, gripping her own flowers. She held them in her tight fist as Evane thrust hers out.
“Aren’t these bright, Momma!” Evane had said. “They don’t need washing.”
“Just you,” Mother said. Her eyes were wide and bloodshot. She had a large smile on her lips, dimples shining.
“My mother drowned Evane in a pail of whitewash,” Avena whispered. “To wash her clean of the darkness inside of her.”
Ōbhin took a step back. He cursed in his language.
Evane’s arms flailed as Mother held her face beneath the thick, white liquid. Bubbles burst across the surface. Avena stood there, gripping her flowers, unable to move. She knew it was wrong, knew Evane drowned. Her sister’s thrashing legs kicked off her right shoe, her big toe thrusting out of a hole in her stocking.
“Just washing her clean,” Mother had said. “See, she’ll be white and beautiful. A deva come to spread Elohm’s Colours.” She’d smiled, so big and broad, so full of certainty. “You’re next, Avena. You’ll be as pretty as Evane.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Avena said, the trembles growing. Her entire body shook. She stared at Ōbhin. The memories squeezed her throat. “I stood there mute while Evane drowned. I watched her go limp. Mother held her down for what seemed like forever. And she kept smiling at me, telling me how beautiful Evane was, and laughing with a broken cackle. I killed my sister. I could have screamed for help. Father was in the field. He wasn’t far away.”
The pity and horror in Ōbhin’s eyes drove her gaze downward. She played with her fingers. “Father . . . He saved me. As Mother was leading me to the whitewash, her hands covered in the lime, he charged up and hit her with his hoe so hard it snapped the handle. She landed dead beside Evane.”
Ōbhin’s gloved hand gripped her shoulders. “Avena,” he whispered. “I . . .”
“Father looked down at me, and I knew that he hated me. Despised me for being weak. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t save Evane. I just stood there helpless. He left. I never saw him again. He just dropped the broken handle of the hoe and stumbled away.”
“Because he’d just killed his wife,” Ōbhin croaked, his voice raw. “You were a child, Avena.”
“I can’t ever be helpless again,” she whispered. “I couldn’t just stay back and fight. I didn’t help Ni’mod in time, and he died, and then . . . You and Smiles . . . I had a binder. I could have helped you. I didn’t mean for him to get hurt, but . . .”
Ōbhin pulled her into his embrace. She closed her eyes tight, hugging him back. She hadn’t told anyone about that day, not even Daughter Heana who’d spent two years coaxing Avena to speak. With Ōbhin, it was easy. Like her, he understood what it meant to make a mistake. To let someone die.
He’d killed like she had. His method was merely more direct.
“We’ll keep training,” he whispered. “You won’t have to feel helpless, Avena. Okay?”
She sniffled and nodded. “I didn’t mean to hurt Smiles.”
“I know.”
“I have to go,” she said, the memories retreating. They wouldn’t strangle her today. She could keep going on. Most days, she didn’t even think about it. It had been intruding lately. She had to do better at keeping it buried. “Dualayn will need my help.”
“At least you can do something useful,” Ōbhin said, releasing the hug.
She looked up at him. “What happened before we left the hospital?”
“I spoke with Ust.”
Her heart tightened. “You humiliated him, but isn’t he working for the Brotherhood? Doesn’t your boss want Dualayn protected?”
“Grey isn’t my boss,” Ōbhin muttered. “And yes, Ust should stay away from Dualayn, but when did ‘should’ ever stop a man from shattering gems out of spite? I think . . . I think he stole Carstin’s body for that bastard Dje’awsa.”
A shiver ran through her. “What are you going to do?”
“I almost killed Ust,” Ōbhin said. He glanced down at his gloved hands. He rubbed at the blood staining them. “It would have been easy, right there on the street. He threatened everyone here.” His eyes flicked to her. “I almost murdered him in front of witnesses. It comes too easy. Violence.”
“Then we’ll need to be vigilant.” She drew in a steadying breath. “I’ll help. When you say I’m ready.”
He nodded. “Go. Be useful. I need to make sure the riot doesn’t spill out of the city and come find us.”
She glanced to the east at Kash’s walls, a gray haze on the horizon. Did the smoke seem worse? Shuddering, she turned and marched to the house. She had people to help heal.
*
The sun sank behind the blackberry hill. The riot seemed contained to the city. Ōbhin finished a circuit of the outside wall, a dull ache throbbing through his shoulder. He could move his arm with only a slight stiffness. He rubbed at it through his leather jerkin.
“Ōbhin.”
His path had taken him by the stables. Miguil leaned out front, the pensive look on his face twisting his effeminate features. It emphasized his cheekbones. His thin lips
