And she needed all the men to stay behind a small hillock so she could bathe without being watched.
Well, Ōbhin could watch, she thought and warm fantasies of bathing with him, washing the dirt from his muscular body, filled her mind.
Later, as the sun set behind the trees, she saw her chance to speak with Dualayn. The others were cooking dinner, laughing in the way of men who wanted to prove that danger and death they’d endured hadn’t affected them. The scholar was sitting on the wagon bed, writing in his journal.
She crept from the fire, her skirt whisking about her legs. It felt strange to wear feminine garb after what felt like a lifetime in the dark of the ruins. The bodice felt snug about her bosom, restricting her breathing. She reached the wagon and scrambled up with ease.
“I really don’t have much to say to you if you are just going to berate my methods,” Dualayn said, not looking up from his writing. “I made peace with it a long time ago.”
“You knew that thing had replaced Bran.”
Dualayn paused. “Yes.”
“That thing killed Smiles and Bran. Do you care?” She leaned forward. “They were your employees. Bran grew up at your house. He was a little brother to Chames for a while.”
Dualayn closed his book. Pain flickered across his face. “I did not . . . instruct the infiltrator to kill them and replace them. I was only made aware of what happened to Smiles after he was dead. There was nothing I could do.”
“So you do care. About some things.”
“I care about many things. I have failed many times. I am grieved by each one. I am not happy that your transference wasn’t as seamless as I’d hoped. The interference pattern wasn’t supposed to happen.” He looked up. “I thought I had it all worked out.”
“And those you were supposed to heal?”
“I healed more than I killed. I performed my experiments on the poorest of Kash. On the vagabonds. The sickly. The deformed. Those who were already parasites upon society. I couldn’t help most of them. I ensured their deaths weren’t in vain.”
“Like Smiles’s and Bran’s were?”
Dualayn sighed. “The infiltrator is astounding. It can not only change its shape to any form, but it can adopt the truth of a person’s life. Become them. It is my greatest work, and I can’t even take all the credit for it.”
Avena shook her head. “No, no. Dje’awsa made him.”
Dualayn snorted. “That sorcerer? I studied what he did with Ust. Crude. Unrefined. No true artistry. No understanding of how gems can be fully utilized. His is a savage practice. It is keyed off blood, I think, and the use of obsidian. I don’t fully understand it. It seems to violate all natural laws. I created something more elegant with the infiltrator. I created a network of jewelchines within him, all bound by black iron wires. That’s the true key to most of his abilities. Emeralds for strength, topazes to heal him, heliodors to give him speed.”
“And to change shape?” asked Avena, loathing her curiosity. She worked her tongue across the roof of her dry mouth. Why did this last revelation shock her? How could this monster produce one more hurtful truth? Memories of fatherly gestures, comforting hugs, a shoulder to cry upon swam through her thoughts. They sought to blunt her hatred, to dull it.
She honed it on fresh anger.
“That was the White Lady’s doing.” Dualayn shifted. “I do not understand how she did it, but it was part of my arrangement with Grey. He wanted the infiltrator for his business among other things. The White Lady pointed me in the direction and gave the infiltrator the ability to embrace another’s truth.”
“When?” asked Avena in confusion. “The White Lady didn’t visit our estate until after Ust’s attack.”
“Ust delivered the infiltrator to my labs,” said Dualayn. “Pharon facilitated. Let him in through the gates. He had the keys to the postern gates, you know. He liked to slip out into the grove to meet his lover.”
“I . . . knew that,” Avena said, her cheeks warming. Memories rose of the night she’d caught her promised locked in a passionate embrace with Pharon.
“I worked on the infiltrator for days. I hardly slept.”
“Who was he?” Avena asked, struggling to remember. Dualayn had spent so much time in his lab. Especially after they’d returned. He was obsessed with his recorder and his macabre experiments. And I was busy learning to fight so I could spend time with Ōbhin. I didn’t even realize my attraction to him.
“It was that associate of Ōbhin. What was his name . . .?” Dualayn leaned back.
“Carstin?” gasped Avena. “He died! I was there when he passed away in your lab.”
“Did he?” Dualayn stared at her. “I almost thought you knew I was up to something when you questioned the ingredients I used to make the anesthesia. I taught you too well.” He chuckled.
She glared at him.
“Anyway, it put him into a deep coma, and he was sustained by what the White Lady’s kiss did to him.”
Avena’s forehead tingled. The White Lady had kissed her on the temple, and her body had trembled like a note had hummed through her flesh.
“Whatever she did to him, it let him survive being buried alive and now allows him to change into another person. He’s rather unique. I tried to duplicate him several times, but it takes a healthy person to survive the implantation. The problem with using the poorest of the sick for—”
She slapped him. Hard. Then she whirled around and hopped off the end
