“Didn’t foul my britches,” Dajouth said, his cheeks pinking. “I kept my head. I felt the air movin’, that slight breeze from the entrance. The inhalation. Deeper in the cave, there’s the exhalation, but near the mouth, air flows inward. I just moved forward slowly, feelin’ the current on my face until I found my way out.”
Bran shook his head, still oblivious to the noodle. “I hope that don’t happen in the ruins. Our torches goin’ out.”
“We’ll have jewelchine lamps,” Avena said. She stirred her chopsticks through her broth before picking up her bowl in her left hand. “And we’ll be together, so if one of ours does go out, it won’t matter.” She drank from her bowl, draining the broth.
“True,” Dajouth said. “Though, I took this girl down into the caves and turned off the lights on her. Y’know what happened?”
“She screamed her head off and then slapped you like the idiot you are for scarin’ her,” said Fingers. “Don’t even claim you flipped up her skirt and doused your wick.”
“Her screams can still be heard today,” said Dajouth. His eyes slid to Avena still drinking her broth. “Some women won’t be scared, though. They know how to face the danger and appreciate a man who can give her a taste.”
He winked at her.
Ōbhin snorted with laughter.
Avena set her bowl down with a hard thump. “I’m going to retire. This was a long day.” She rose and then bent over. “Blessed night, my bright diamond.”
The words surprised him, but the kiss was welcome. Her lips tasted of the turnip broth, but he didn’t mind. Blood spilled hot through him. Bran sniggered; Ōbhin did not care at all. Avena broke the kiss and had a smile playing on her lips.
“Blessed night,” he said, his voice hoarse. His cheeks burned from such a public display. Kissing in Qoth was for the bedroom when a woman could remove her mask.
Dajouth scowled. “So you and her finally . . .”
“Yep.”
The younger man leaned back. “Well, I had to try, y’know? I could see she was buildin’ a fire to warm you, but so long as you didn’t sit at it, I thought it might warm me just as well. You can’t know wot will turn a woman’s affections. Like to be chased, they do.”
“They do?” Bran glanced at one of the barmaids, a girl not much older than him. She was pleasantly plump with a bright smile. She drifted through the room, chatting with the locals.
He stood up and darted over to her, boasting about their adventure to the heart of the forest and the buried ruins they would dive into. The barmaid had a patient look on her face as she listened.
Dajouth shook his head. “He don’t know he’s got a noodle on his chin.”
“Just matters that he tries,” Fingers said, nodding in approval. “Boy needs to grow up. Have his first woman.”
“I don’t think she’s impressed,” Dajouth noted. The woman’s attention wandered as Bran kept animatedly speaking to her.
“Nope. But he’s tryin’. As you say, Dajouth, you can’t know a woman’s heart. All you can do is throw yours out before her and see what she does with it. Like baitin’ a trap. You never quite know wot beast’ll wander into it. Maybe wot you expected to catch, maybe somethin’ surprisin’, or maybe they’ll just snatch the meat and run.”
“You think women are like wild beasts?” Dajouth said. “No, wait, ‘course you do. You think your wife’s tryin’ to kill you.”
Fingers grunted. “Just sayin’, Bran’s a good kid. Want him to find some happiness. We’re goin’ into trouble. This ruin sounds dangerous.”
“Yeah,” Dajouth said, glancing up at the ceiling. “Is it really a good idea to take that untrustworthy bastard with us?”
“We’ll never find what we’re looking for without him,” Ōbhin said. “The only reason he’s still breathing.”
“Just sayin’, goin’ underground is dangerous enough. It might be safer to leave him above. Have someone guard him while the rest of us go spelunkin’. You know, don’t risk the guy who can actually fix Avena once we find it.”
Ōbhin studied Dajouth. Is it you?
Fingers chuckled as Bran led the barmaid across the room to a private corner. “Good for him. He sold that adventure and danger. Farm girls get bored.”
“You sound proud of him. Like he’s your son or something,” Ōbhin noted.
“Never had a son. Bran’s about the closest, I guess. Known him since he was, oh, ten or so. Good lad, if a little excitable.”
“If Bran can get a barmaid to talk,” Dajouth said, standing up, “I might try with the other. She’s got a nice smile.”
Fingers grunted as Dajouth slipped from the table.
“I thought you never had children.” Ōbhin furrowed his brow. “You said that, right?”
“Huh?” grunted Fingers, still watching Bran. He’d settled the barmaid sitting at another table. He leaned over her while her eyes looked more animated now.
“You said you never had a son, but it’s like you were implying you had daughters.”
“Never had daughters. Never had sons.” He shrugged. “Good thing. Woulda made leavin’ my wife harder. I’d mighta hurt her worse if’n there was a child or two tyin’ me in place.” He stared down at his hands. “I know I woulda hurt her worse if we had children. Small blessin’ we didn’t, I suppose.”
“You ever going to stop pretending to the others why you really left her?” Ōbhin asked. Fingers had confessed to Ōbhin before Ust’s attack that his wife wasn’t the village whore like he claimed.
“No.” He shook his head. “Never gave me a single cause to think she mighta strayed. A good woman. Too good for a bastard like me. But if I don’t make myself hate her, I’d just hate myself for hurtin’ her. Then
