He didn’t know when it had happened. He told himself he was doing it to protect Dualayn and the others, but he knew that while Dualayn was a good man, it was Avena that he’d come to focus on. He didn’t know when the shift in priorities had occurred. Maybe when she’d coaxed him out of the darkness.
Some days, he almost felt like he could take off his sable gloves and don a better color. A nice purple, the color of a warrior. Purple represented Qasigh, the Tone of Fatherhood. It was no coincidence that amethyst jewelchines produced shields and bands of restraining energy. They resounded with a father’s love and desire to protect his family, just as healing topazes resounded with the Tone of Motherhood, spreading compassion and care, the tender love of a mother.
He could be rid of the Black and walk in the light. To do so, he had to keep Avena alive. He couldn’t do that if he led her into danger.
When he’d turned his back on her, it had ripped out his heart. Pain pulsed through his soul. He never wanted to give her anguish, but he saw no other way. What sort of man protected by hurting the ones he cared for?
Loved.
He loved her. He knew it now. And he would never have her. Never be worthy of her. She could do so much better than him.
As he organized his men for their morning exercises, his gaze slid to Smiles. I could just cut you down. That would protect everyone. Then I could leave.
He was doing it again. Fleeing. Why was it so easy for him to be a coward?
Anger flared at his stupidity. He should just go to her. Talk to her. Reason with her.
She’s too stubborn to back down, he told himself. I never should have taught her to fight. She’s a woman. It’s a man’s duty to bleed in their place. We’re strong so we can protect them. We brave the wilderness and face the black-faced bears, the white leopards, and the winter snows to keep the home and hearth safe.
He struggled to believe those words as another part of him whispered: She didn’t need your help fighting all those Green-Faced Boys. Trounced them all.
He focused on the memory of her lying bleeding. The cost of his failure. If he’d taken her to any man but Dualayn, she would be dead.
The front door opened, the creak echoing across the lawn. His gaze flitted past Jolene pushing Bravine and her wheelchair past a small group of sheep grazing, and landed on Avena stepping out of the manor. Mauve ribbons gathered her hair into two small tails above her ears. He tensed, fearing she meant to join their training again.
Then he noticed the dark-red dress she wore.
He relaxed.
She wasn’t dressed for training. She must have finally accepted that she didn’t belong with Ōbhin. She was better than swinging a sword or a stave. She didn’t need to risk her mind. She’d invented a jewelchine. How many people in the world could claim that? Dualayn had no heir. She was practically his daughter. She would inherit his knowledge, even his fortune.
She’ll make something bright with this world. It’ll resound with the Seven Harmonious Tones, drowning out Niszeh’s discord.
He watched her march down the path from the house, descending the gentle slope of the hills. One of the sheep baaed at her passage. It was skinny, shorn a few weeks ago. She marched back straight, her skirt swishing with her passage. The summer sun caressed the softness of her cheeks, her lips. She passed out of sight for a moment behind a rhododendron bush in full bloom. She emerged on the other side, nearer to the main gate.
Cold fear screeched through the warm melody singing through him. She marched for the gate alone. His feet moved before he could stop himself. He crossed the distance to her in long strides. She whirled at the sound of his approach, her expression hardening. Her chin lifted.
He didn’t want her to hate him, only to stay away from him and remain in safety where she belonged. However, he could suffer her anger, her loathing, if it meant protecting her. He slowed to a stop before her, his tulwar swaying as it hung from his heavy belt.
“If you’re going out, you need an escort.”
She arched her eyebrow. Her hair gathered in the two short tails on either side of her head made her seem younger. Vulnerable. “I’ve ventured into Kash alone before. I’ll be fine.”
“Kash isn’t the same as it used to be. I’ll send one of my men with you.”
“Is there a riot?” She glanced to the east. The grove of trees beyond the estate hid the curtain walls of central Kash. “I haven’t heard the bells calling the guard.”
“Doesn’t mean there won’t be one.”
She patted her satchel as she said, “I’ll be fine, Ōbhin. I don’t need you to worry over me.”
Avena took a step forward. He seized her arm, the sable of his gloves contrasting with the red of her dress. She shot a fierce gaze at his hands before her dagger-sharp eyes flicked up to his. She ripped her arm free of his black grip.
“I’m not yours to command! I go where I will! You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not going unarmed.”
He wanted to seize her by the scruff of the neck, haul her inside, and tie her to her bed, but she was already marching to the gates. She pushed them open enough to slip through them while he stood rooted. He
