“Miguil,” Ōbhin said, nodding.
“Just wanted to apologize,” mumbled Miguil. “For not stopping when you fell off.”
A flash of something dark washed through Ōbhin. He buried it and said evenly, “You panicked. It happens.”
Miguel flushed deeper. “I’m a coward.”
Ōbhin had been thinking on that word. He’d thrown himself into the fight without thought. He’d rushed at the bloodfire knowing Ni’mod’s skill exceeded his own. He could face danger, but things that mattered? He’d run from what he’d done to Taim. Fled Foonauri.
“Avena rushed to the fight while I sat on the driver’s bench.”
Ōbhin clapped his hand on Miguil’s strong arm, squeezing. “You joined the fight.”
“Because she had. How could I just sit there and let a woman fight?”
“You think you can’t be both scared and brave, but you have to be afraid for it to be courage.” Was I afraid of the mob? The bloodfire didn’t frighten me. I didn’t care about anything. What do I have to lose? I destroyed my honor when I plunged the dagger into Taim’s chest. I lost Foonauri, if I ever even had her. Now . . . “You joined the fight. That’s what matters. We were all afraid.”
“Avena wasn’t,” Miguil said.
“She’s headstrong.” The pain in her eyes lingered in Ōbhin’s mind.
Miguil snorted. “Yeah, she is. She wants something, she gets it.”
The words made Ōbhin shift. “You know I would not intrude. She’s besotted with you.”
Miguil frowned in confusion. “Do you think I’m jealous of you and Avena?”
Ōbhin felt the ground shift beneath him. “Well, the way you glower at me . . .” He put on a jovial grin. “And you did try to abandon me. It’s one way to get rid of a suitor.”
Miguil looked away.
“A joke,” Ōbhin said.
“I guess I was a little jealous,” Miguil said, his words almost forced.
Ōbhin opened his mouth to press that, something felt off about the response, but footsteps drew his attention. He turned to see Dualayn striding out of the house. He wore his undershirt, the sleeves rolled up his arms. He looked wearied. His hands had the gleam of drying water on them.
“How is the shoulder?” Dualayn asked as he approached.
“Fine,” Ōbhin said, rolling his right shoulder. Only a dull ache remained. Topaz healers were amazing. They’d just reached Qoth when he’d gone into exile. He’d never expected to meet their creator. “How are the patients?”
“Two will recover,” Dualayn said. “The third I am not so sure about. I plan on spending the night working on him. I have discovered a few treatments I’d like to attempt.”
“In that, uh, thing you found?”
“The Recorder, yes.” Dualayn’s expression grew almost ecstatic. “The things I am learning. The translating is slow, but the White Lady’s primer is proving effective.”
Ōbhin wanted to press, to ask what Grey and this mysterious woman wanted from the Recorder. What knowledge was Dualayn supposed to uncover for them? And how does it fit in assassinating a religious leader?
“I dosed Avena with a sleeping draught,” continued Dualayn, his attention turned to Miguil. “She seemed perturbed.”
“It’s been a stressful day,” muttered Ōbhin. Her confession echoed in his mind.
“The high refractor slain.” Dualayn’s face paled as he shook his head. His hands rubbed together like he washed them. “Tragic. I can’t believe the king would order something like that.”
“No,” Ōbhin said. He hesitated, split on whether to speak on his suspicions. Instead, he asked, “I’d like to hire more guards. Four isn’t enough.”
Dualayn shrugged. “As you see fit.” He stretched his back, joints popping. He groaned and said, “I have a patient that needs my attention. Thank you for saving us today, Ōbhin.”
Ōbhin nodded and glanced towards the blackberry hill. Was Handsome Baill up there right now, or something else? Why did they take your body, Carstin? What is going on?
*
Thirty-Eighth Day of Compassion, 755 EU
Avena didn’t like the new guards, especially Cerdyn.
The way that man looked at her made her feel naked. His eyes stripped her as she approached where the guards trained. Ōbhin had spent the three days since the riots hunting for new help.
Probably spent drinking in taverns, thought Avena. Where else did he find these three?
Aduan, a tall man with blotchy skin, actually came from a tavern. He’d been a bouncer at the Plucked Rooster, a friend of Smiles. Aduan stood tall, his tan skin bleached milky white in spots and splatters, and his right eye had turned red. He wore a heavy felt cap drawn low over his brow to hide his mottled features.
What offense did you cause Elohm to be marked? had been her first thought followed by a flush of embarrassment. She knew the condition, milkstain rash, was benign. Dualayn couldn’t restore the flesh with his healers. He didn’t know the origin, but it was hereditary.
“Ah, Madam Avena, come to spar with us again?” asked the youngest of the new guards. Dajouth was her age, twenty winters, with the blond hair and fine features of a Roidanese from the west. He had the accent, too, a roll to his R’s and a honey smoothness to his words. “You are looking as lovely as a wild rose blossoming to the morning sun and arrayed with a crown of dew upon your pretty petals.”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “You know I am promised, yes?”
“And I cannot pay you compliments?” he asked, clutching his sparring rod in his hand. He had something tucked beneath his shirt worn on a cord. “Is there a crime in showering a woman in praise?”
“A man should be modest in his words and only shower his wife or promised with poetry, for surely what is spoken on the tongue dwells also in the heart. If darkness is spake, then what lurks in the
