She should talk to someone, to Dualayn, to Ōbhin, but none of them had noticed anything was wrong with her. Dualayn had his patients, and Ōbhin saw her as useless, not worth his time. She’d lost him.
“Avena?”
The sound of her name drew her introspective attention. She looked up to see Fingers and Dajouth lounging in the servants’ dining hall off the kitchen. A row of well-maintained, if simple, tables with study chairs. They were eating noodles with chopsticks in a broth of pork and onions.
“The cook made something this late?” Avena asked in surprise.
“She thinks it’s supper,” said Dajouth.
“Oh, Avena, there you are,” said Kaylin. The fleshy woman wearing a sleeveless sleeping gown and a heavy apron over it strode out with a bowl of steaming broth with thin noodles. “I don’t know where everyone is. They should be sitting down for supper.”
“They’re busy with something important,” Avena said. The woman had been confused since her husband’s death two years ago. Dyain had been the butler before Pharon. The man had fallen and broken his neck. Grief had ruined the older woman’s mind. She dwelled in a shadowy version of the past.
“I bet that’s Dyain’s doing. That man’s always tryin’ to ruin my careful work.” She said it with a fond smile. Then she glanced at those two. “Kadayn and Bran, eat up. Now. I didn’t slave away for you to just push it around with your chopsticks.”
“Right away, ma’am,” Dajouth said. “The bounty of your kitchen is only matched by the beauty of your face.”
Kaylin arched an eyebrow. “What would a boy know of beauty? If your mother heard you say those words, why, she’d wash your mouth out with soap.” Then she turned to Avena and blinked. “What are you doin’ here so late? Sneakin’ food out of my kitchen?”
Kaylin snatched the bowl back and marched back into the kitchen, muttering under her breath.
“She’s gotten worse,” said Fingers.
“Yeah. Who’s Kadayn?” Dajouth asked.
The older man snorted. “You think my mother named me Fingers?”
“It fits you,” Avena said. “Better than Fingers. If you two are not busy, I need a patient carried out of the laboratory.”
“I am always at your disposal, lovely Avena,” Dajouth said, rising with smooth grace. He swept her a bow.
Through the heavy dullness draped over her, a small giggle bubbled out of her. For a moment, she felt mirth at his flowery attempts at flirtation. The laugh died, swallowed by her malaise. Her face relaxed into uncaring.
“If you flirt with every woman you meet, they’ll all hate you,” Fingers said. “They talk, women do. You do something to one, and the rest will know in an hour. All judgin’ you.”
“How can they be mad if I pay them all compliments?” protested Dajouth as he rose, setting his wooden chopsticks across the bowl.
Avena grimaced at his poor manners.
She led them back through the house. She hadn’t remembered walking into the east wing. They passed white-plastered walls decorated with the occasional painting or bust. A runner of red carpet ran over the marble flooring to protect its finish. It was Homphrial marble, quarried from up north. Blue and red veins ran through the stone, giving it a unique, and expensive, look.
Fingers and Dajouth took up the stretcher with the woman. She slept thanks to a distillation of poppy. She would wake up in the morning recovered. Then she’d be on her way with a small purse of silver rays to aid her.
Avena supervised as they transferred the woman to the bed, not jostling her. She was young and clean now, the dirt washed from her face with patient care by Avena earlier. The woman had a mix of Lothonian and Tethyrian blood, her skin a light tan, her hair pure black. Her mixed heritage gave her a delicate cast to her high cheekbones.
“You okay?” Fingers asked.
She nodded.
“Perhaps you’d care to go for a walk, Avena?” Dajouth asked. “The night has cooled off and the moons are out. They’re bright tonight. Along with the stars.”
“If you have the energy to ask a pretty girl to a promenade, then you can check the perimeter for any sneak thieves trying to crawl over the wall or swim across the lake,” Fingers growled.
“But . . .” Dajouth snapped his jaw shut, a petulant twist curling across his lips. “Right away, sir.”
Fingers shook his head as the young man stomped off. “You’d never think Bran was the younger of those two. You might only have a winter on Dajouth, Avena.”
“Maybe,” she said, a tingle fuzzing her hand. It felt distant from her, alien. She rubbed at it, struggling to remember it was her hand. The smothering weight grew, the emptiness widening to embrace her.
“Are you really okay? I’m worried about you, lass.”
The tingles raced up her hand. Her body felt remote again. She wondered if she was about to drift off into another strange dream while untethered from her flesh. What if she wasn’t real at all? Was she actually Avena? Did she belong here?
“Avena!”
A strong hand seized hers. She gasped, suddenly aware of all her flesh again. She was half-crouched. She shook her head, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Fingers gripped her, the rough pads of his digits anchoring her. She felt tethered to her body.
“You almost fainted.”
“The heat of the day was too much,” she said as she straightened.
“No, that’s not it at all.”
She paused. She normally didn’t speak of it, but the words tumbled out. “My emptiness is getting worse. I think it’s devouring me. I don’t think my mind healed right.”
“Nothing Dualayn can do?” Fingers asked, guiding her out of the guest bedroom.
“He saved my life. I shouldn’t be here. I should be grateful for what I have.” She forced a
