Something Chames, her first love, had also given her.
“You’d like him,” she whispered to Chames as she laced up her boots. “He’s direct and honest. Once you get him to open up. If you earn his trust, he doesn’t hold back.”
Boots tied, she stood. Her legs were a little stiff. A week’s sleeping had reduced her weight. She’d been ravenous. When she wasn’t sleeping, she’d feasted. She’d broken her fast on a heavy meal of fermented beans coating toast with thin slices of fried ham, and not the canned variety that flowed out of the factories and sold to the poor of the city.
She grabbed her binder and thrust it through a loop in her belt. The iron rod’s weight felt comfortable on her side.
She marched forward, her short hair swaying loose about her shoulders. That was . . . different. She’d been braiding her hair since childhood. She’d never cut it so short, only trimming it to keep it from falling too far down her back. Now it tickled her neck and brushed her cheeks with every step.
It irked her. She liked twining ribbons in her hair. A nice mauve went well with her brown locks. She pondered new ways to style it as she descended the stairs. Maybe I can gather it into twin tails on the sides of my head like Onderian children.
She’d seen children like that roaming through the Onderian quarter where the people from the Lothon’s southern neighbors lived in Kash. They came to find work and new beginnings in the largest city in the Arngelsh Isles. The girls looked cute with their short hair gathered up in the two tails that thrust from the sides of their heads.
At least it won’t itch my neck, she thought as she reached the bottom of the stairs.
She nodded to Jilly and Chobay as they swept the entry hall. Dualayn was back into research. He had a do not disturb sign out. She sighed, wanting to get in there and tinker more on her creation. She had ideas for a bodysuit of emeralds to strengthen every bit of her. A network of them that she could don and doff. There would be vulnerabilities with the wire. If they were cut, it would short out the entire network.
And there’s the problem of joints. Too much flexing could snap them. Maintenance would be necessary.
As much as she exercised and trained, Avena couldn’t quite match even scrawny Bran in strength. They were similar in weight, Bran having only a stone on her, and he wasn’t much taller, but he had just enough of an edge on her. Against Cerdyn or Fingers, she didn’t stand much of a chance in a direct contest of brawn.
She needed brains. To think when she fought. Her jewelchine invention was one such tool.
The others were gathering for the daily exercises at the fourth hour from dawn, midday still two hours away. A gray overcast hid the sun, keeping things cool until it burned through and allowed summer to shine.
Ōbhin stiffened when he saw her.
The pain in his face stung. She had failed him badly. She had been there to watch his back, and instead her injury had allowed Creg to escape. They’d lost their chance to find out some solid answers in a way that wouldn’t endanger Dualayn by angering the Brotherhood.
“Is it wise to be out of bed so soon?” Fingers asked, his brow heavy and face tight. He popped his knuckles as he studied her approach.
“I’m fine,” she answered.
“She’s fine,” Smiles said, rolling his eyes. “Only a week ago, you was spasmin’ in Ōbhin’s arms, a piece of metal as long as my arm thrust into your head. But now you’re ‘fine.’”
“Yep.” She forced herself to smile. “If you’d been hit in the head, nothing would’ve happened.”
Smiles’s grin grew and then he burst into laughter. “True, true. My Jilly can tell you that there ain’t nothin’ betwixt my head. Why I can take a thumpin’ and keep goin’.”
“You’re not training with us any longer,” Ōbhin said.
Avena stiffened. “I’m recovered.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He turned his back on her, his leather jerkin creaking around his torso. “I never should’ve taught you to fight. It’s not a woman’s place.”
“A woman’s place?” she demanded. “When did you get to decide where my place is?”
“It’s my guard to run.”
The others tensed. Bran swallowed while Dajouth released a nervous laugh. “I know she’s a pretty thing, but she’s a better fighter than me or Bran. She’s as good as Smiles.”
Ōbhin shrugged. “It was a mistake. Men fight, women tend the house. Way it’s supposed to be.”
“I see,” she said, her voice frigid. Pain tore through her soul. She no longer wanted to win back his approval. Anger bubbled in her. “Then don’t let me stop you. Go on, do your exercises.”
“You’re still here.”
“And?” She planted her hands on her hips. “I think you made it quite clear that I’m not a part of your guard, so you can’t give me orders. I can stand here if I want to.”
Ōbhin shrugged, still not looking at her.
That infuriated her even more. Was she that weak? How badly had she messed up? She couldn’t remember the fight. It was all hazy. A patchwork quilt stitched together wrong. What mistake had she made?
Smiles muttered, “Not what a smart leader would do.”
She gave him a sharp look. The simulacrum’s memory of Smiles’s life seemed complete. It made her doubt what she’d seen the night of the attack. The real Smiles had said those words over a month ago when only she and Ōbhin had been around to hear them.
“Never give an order you know won’t be obeyed,” were Smiles’s words on the subject.
Right now, Ōbhin was being an idiot by giving her
