There hasn’t been a riot in a week. Maybe she’ll be fine.
He hesitated, torn. He wanted to be at her side, a shield against any harm, but the way she’d looked at him ripped at his heart. He glanced at the sun. It was two hours from noon. A warm, bright day.
Qasigh, let your protective Tone resonate around her, he prayed.
As he returned to his waiting men, ignoring their questioning looks, worry hummed through him. He felt plucked by it like a lyre tuned too much, his string on the verge of snapping.
Chapter Nine
“Doesn’t even think I can walk through Kash alone,” Avena muttered as she marched across the Tendril Bridge into the Breezy Hills Slums.
Wreathed in anger, she hardly noticed the street urchins and neighborhood youths who flocked around her, crying out her name or calling her fair lady. Without thought, she pulled the purse out of her pocket, scattering the brass glimmers, the smallest denomination of Lothonian coins, to them. The coins could buy them a day’s food. It was the least she could do.
It did little to satiate her rage.
“He knows I can fight,” she hissed at herself, barely over her breath.
The children were laughing and swarming around her, wearing worn shirts and ragged dresses, dirt streaking cheeks. She cast out another spray of glimmers, the brass coins falling like seeds cast from a farmer’s hand.
From her father’s hand.
There was another man who didn’t want anything to do with her. Who didn’t think she was good enough. He was a hazy memory now. She hadn’t seen him since she was seven. Thirteen years had muted her memories. She could see Evane like a bright flame, and visualize her mother alternating as a warm sun or a dark void.
That terrible day played in Avena’s mind as she marched through the slums, leaving behind the empty leather purse and the children to play their games. It had been one of her mother’s dark days. The darkest. Mostly, her mother was a bright and happy woman, but sometimes the Black would creep into her. She would sit listlessly, sometimes not even getting out of bed. Father would ignore Mother, performing extra chores around the farm, working himself to the bone until his knuckles swelled and he collapsed exhausted at night in the chair by the central hearth, stained from working in the field. When Mother brightened, she’d do the work of two women, laughing and playing, full of life and energy.
That day, Avena and her twin sister had sought to bring flowers to brighten their mother’s dark day. Only something had gone wrong. Their mother had been utterly replaced, like a darkling had crept into her skin and wore it like a puppet. She’d wanted to make Avena and Evane clean.
She’d drowned Evane in whitewash while Avena stood by frozen with fear and disbelief that their mother could do something so awful. Father had saved Avena’s life by killing Mother. Then he’d walked away. She’d never seen him again.
Avena wasn’t good enough for her father, and now she feared she wasn’t good enough for Ōbhin. She didn’t know how to prove herself if he wouldn’t let her train. Wouldn’t take her on secret missions against those who threatened Dualayn.
When Ōbhin had asked her to come with him to seize Creg, a rush of euphoric joy had filled her.
She rubbed at her head, feeling for the wound. She felt whole, mended by the topazes. Not even a scar remained. She kept rubbing the spot and, for a moment, her nerves fuzzed like they had when she’d first awoken. Avena stumbled and struggled to remember what she’d done to cause her injury and lose Ōbhin’s trust in her.
“You okay?” a man asked her, his voice soft.
She blinked and realized she was on her knees. She didn’t remember falling. She shook her head and looked up to see one of the city guards. He wore a tabard of green and blue with Lothon’s white stag.
“You all right, madam?” he asked, gray hair peeking out beneath the leather cap he wore. He helped her stand.
“Just . . .” A shiver ran through her. She couldn’t remember falling. “I’m recovering from an injury. Thank you for your assistance.”
He nodded. “My pleasure to help.”
Then she realized she’d walked the length of Angle Road through the Breezy Hills and Roida Slums to reach Patience Gate. The stone archway, piercing through the thick curtain walls which marked the original bounds of the city, were painted yellow. Traffic flowed in and out, farmers pushing handcarts laden with fresh produce, laborers in rough clothing, skilled craftsmen carrying canvas bags laden with the tools of their craft. A carriage trundled out, the coat of arms Duke Mesayn Thastom painted on the door, the guard sitting beside the driver holding a crossbow.
She gave the helpful guard a smile as she headed into the city itself. Ostensibly, she was delivering a letter for Dualayn. He’d left it outside of his lab labeled for Refractor Charlis. Avena needed her bosom friend’s advice so had leaped at the chance to deliver the letter.
How could she show Ōbhin she was useful without driving him away? Fingers’s warning echoed in her mind. She had no idea. How can I show him I’m strong again if he won’t let me near him? It’s an impossible snarl.
Patience Gate led into the southern half of old Kash. The Ustern bisected the city. She could see the Pillar, the ancient tower from which the kings of Lothon used to reign, thrusting gray over all the buildings. The smaller Rainbow Belfry marked the location of the Temple of the Seven Colours, the seat of Elohm’s temporal power. There, the new high refractor sought to quell the fracturing chaos threatening to send
