“Me?” Ōbhin growled.
“You are a skilled swordsman.” Dualayn glanced at him, eyes hard in the diamond light. They looked like agates with black pupils swallowing eternity. “It’s beyond your blade. You are a master at fighting. You know how to move, when to act and react. How to read your opponents. That’s a talent few others have. Avena is no different. She’s intelligent. As smart as my son. If he had lived . . .” Dualayn shook his head.
“You didn’t?” groaned Ōbhin. “Aliiva’s Motherly Tone, say you didn’t do that.”
Dualayn glanced down to his lap. His hands rubbed together. “I learned a lot from Chames. I was so certain I had it all figured out. I didn’t think I needed any tests. I was so wrong.”
“You killed your own son?” Ōbhin croaked, his hand drifting to his sword.
“He was sick with spring fever. I had him sedated in my lab. I had it all worked out. I had practiced on cadavers. I was certain I could remove his brain and insert the obsidian mind without incident. I hadn’t developed my heart pump. That’s important. It’s a ruby jewelch—”
Ōbhin’s sword whisked out. His hand trembled as fury gripped him. Avena suffered so much guilt believing it was her fault Chames had died. She castigated herself time and time again for begging him to take her out of the house and on their picnic. All that blame she’d piled on herself. She’d buried herself in the garbage heap of self-recrimination. She thought she was as foul as the refuse she covered herself in.
She wasn’t. Dualayn was.
“I wish the mob had killed you that day in Kash,” snarled Ōbhin. He loomed over the scholar. The man’s pudgy face whitened. Sweat broke out across his temples. “I wish they had torn you apart. I killed and maimed for you that day. I butchered frightened men to protect your life because I thought you were someone worth guarding. That you were making the world a better place.”
“I am,” he protested. “I made a mistake with Chames. Like I had with my wife. I hired the wrong man. He was supposed to fix her.”
“You were supposed to fix Chames, and look what happened.” Ōbhin brought the sword closer. “And Avena? You were only supposed to save her life, not butcher her. Now, look at what is happening to her. She has obsidian in her skull.”
“It’s harmless. Wives’ tales. Superstition. The eighth gem is no different from the others.”
“To her, it is everything foul and wicked, and you put it in her brain when you were healing her.”
“I will fix her,” Dualayn objected. “That’s why we’re here. I learn from all my mistakes.”
“No, you don’t. You still think people are just things you can play with. That you can use for your own gain.”
“Progress has a price.” Dualayn looked away from the sword. He trembled, sweat beading on his upper lip. “I didn’t always believe that. I had to be taught this lesson. It’s regrettable, but I won’t apologize for it.”
“I don’t see you paying the price.” Ōbhin’s thumb rubbed against the button set in his sword’s crossguard. All he had to do was press it . . .
He did.
The sword hummed to life. Dualayn flinched. He threw wild eyes at the blade.
“I can cut your brain out right here,” Ōbhin said, his voice a harsh whisper. He leaned in. An intimacy had fallen over them. Something private. He moved the sword closer. “Huh? I can vivisect you right now. Let’s see what I can learn from direct observation.”
“Please,” Dualayn said. He shrank back into the chair. “You need me. To fix Avena. To shut down the crystalmen.”
Ōbhin pushed the button again. The sword’s buzzing stopped. The razor edge of his tulwar gleamed in the light. He pressed it lightly against Dualayn’s scalp, just enough to let him feel it. “One day, you’re going to pay progress’s price.”
*
Avena’s crying slowed. Stopped. Fingers held her the entire time. She found comfort in his arms; a different sort than Ōbhin gave. She held Fingers back, her arms barely able to wrap about his wide girth.
“I had a wife,” Fingers said, his words slow. He broke the silence of the room.
“I know,” Avena said. “She cheated on you. I’m sorry.”
“No, she didn’t,” he said, his words creaking like a rotten floor devoured not by worms or beetles but by grief and pain. “Not ever once did she betray her promise to me. She loved me fiercely, but I hurt her. Bad.”
Avena looked up at him. Anguish gleamed in his haunted eyes. “How bad?”
His body shook. “I killed her.” He sniffed as he fought back his emotions, fighting to keep his pain bottled up. “I didn’t mean to. I’ve been pretending that she’s alive, that she just cuckolded me because it made it easier to live with it. I loved her so much. I still do. No matter how much she hurt me or how angry she made me. No matter what she forced me to do that day. I loved her so much, the only way I can live with myself is to make myself hate her. She left me no choice. I need to pretend I was doing the right thing when I hit her. That I’m a good husband.” He snorted with disgust. It almost became a choking sob. “I even pretend that I send her money.”
“Fingers,” she whispered, confused. Shocked.
“But I’m not a good husband.” He broke away from her and stepped back. She swayed, off-balance. “Not in the least, Avena. I killed her. I cracked her in the head with my hoe so hard I broke
