“I don’t know—maybe.” Mawyndul? didn’t like being too definitive. He loathed revealing a position, fearing it would be the wrong one. Somehow, he had managed to impress the Curator of the Aquila, who so often impressed everyone else, and he very much enjoyed having someone respect him. Mawyndul? feared opening his mouth and ruining everything.
“Aren’t you curious?” Imaly tilted her head toward the fane, who was crossing the square, heading back toward the Talwara with Vasek whispering into his ear.
“Not really.”
“Still angry at him?”
Mawyndul? didn’t answer.
She continued to stare. Imaly wasn’t going to let this go.
“He sided with Vidar,” Mawyndul? said—not because he felt he couldn’t avoid answering, but because he wanted to. He was angry and wanted to voice his outrage even if it might mean appearing petty or childish.
“Don’t you think Vidar deserved some compensation? The Fhrey was nearly executed for something he didn’t do.”
“It’s still embarrassing. I saved the whole building and everyone in it, and my reward is expulsion.”
“You weren’t expelled.”
“Replaced—it’s the same thing.”
“No, it’s not, and you know it. Besides, would you have wanted Vidar as your senior again? To go back to being the junior councilor?”
Mawyndul? shook his head. He hadn’t thought of that. The idea sickened him.
“There you are. It wasn’t a career for you, just a learning experience, and I’d say you learned a great deal. More than your father ever intended. What’s more, you endeared yourself to the Aquila. They won’t forget your heroism. Most owe you their lives, and when you become fane, you’ll discover that goodwill to be invaluable.” Imaly sat down on the steps, taking care not to bang her arm.
Sitting there wasn’t unusual. Many Fhrey sat on the stairs that led to the Airenthenon, enjoying the view it afforded of the plaza and the river. Some even picnicked or taught classes there, taking advantage of the natural amphitheater it created. Mawyndul? just found it odd that she would sit there. The difficulty Imaly had in getting up and down more than validated his sense that such an act wasn’t natural for her.
“When you think of it,” Imaly said, “leaving the Aquila is the best thing that could have happened. You made friends that day, and now you won’t have the opportunity to lose them.”
Mawyndul? looked at her, stunned on multiple levels. First, he wasn’t aware of having any friends, except perhaps Imaly herself, and he felt presumptuous for even having that thought. The day after the rebellion, Mawyndul? had hidden himself away, terrified of seeing anyone who had been in the Airenthenon that day. He was certain they hated him. After all, he had been the one who invited Makareta. Second, if he did have these phantom friends, why would he risk losing them by staying?
She must have noticed his expression because she added, “Right now, you’re a hero, and everyone will remember you that way. But if you stayed a member of the Aquila, well…familiarity erodes pedestals. Eventually you’d be on the wrong side of an argument—we all are at some point—and your legend would diminish. This way, Mawyndul?, Savior of the Aquila, will remain frozen in everyone’s minds, pristine and perfect. What more could a future fane want?”
He smiled and sat down beside her. The old lady had a way of making things seem better. He felt bad about her arm, the way she clutched it. He pointed. “I can fix that for you.”
Her eyes widened and she leaned back. “No, thank you.” She caught herself and took a breath. “I mean, that’s very generous, but I’m, well, I’m old-fashioned. I prefer to let nature take its course.”
“You’re just scared.”
She raised her brows, and with her good hand, Imaly indicated the devastation of the battlefield memorial around them. “Absolutely.”
“I was offering to fix your arm, not challenging you to combat.”
“And I wasn’t rebuking you, but I’m aware of the inherent complications that can result from taking shortcuts.”
They looked down at the market. Only a few of the vendors had returned. Those that were brave enough to do so had little business. People had shifted most of their shopping to stands along the Greenway. Since the battle, Florella Plaza had become a haunted place fit only for ghosts. Mawyndul?’s sight was naturally pulled to a familiar spot where once stood a stand that sold outlandish paintings—melodramatic landscapes of the frontier created by those with imagination rather than firsthand knowledge.
“Did they find her?” Imaly asked.
Mawyndul? continued to stare at the empty square, at the sawdust and the rubble. “No. Not that I’ve heard.”
“Have you looked?”
“No.”
“You liked her.”
“A lot of people liked her. Then she went insane and tried to kill my father. That has a tendency to change things.”
“But you still want to see her.”
“She’s probably dead.” Saying the words was harder than he would have thought, and afterward he swallowed twice.
“They never found a body?”
He looked at Imaly then. “Miralyith don’t always leave bodies.”
He anticipated awe or perhaps fear. Instead, Imaly appeared amused. “Such the expert in magical combat now, are we?”