The small fire crackled, providing a cone of warmth to those sitting nearby. Paedrin and Hettie were hidden in the shadows beneath a giant shade tree, their backs against its trunk, their shoulders touching. Their camp was being guarded by spirits, it was said, but Paedrin was more concerned about some of the people inside the camp than by the threats lurking outside it.
“Poor Annon,” Hettie whispered, leaning her head against his shoulder.
Paedrin saw the Druidecht sitting by the fire, his hands playing with the flames—unburned. It was eerie how he could do that. But probably no more eerie than a Vaettir being able to float.
“Yes, he is a poor man. I pity him.”
“Love develops differently for different people. For some, love comes softly. But the Romani people have a saying. Whilst kicking and biting, love develops.”
“Ah, how very true,” Paedrin said with a chuckle. “Though I would prefer another kiss to a bite. I recall Master Shivu having a different sentiment. He said”—using his best imitation of Shivu’s voice—“?‘Marriages are all happy; it’s having breakfast together that causes all the trouble.’?”
Hettie shook her head and offered a silver-threaded laugh. She was quiet for several long moments. “What I see between Prince Aran and Khiara is painful too, though in a different way. She loves him. You can see it in her eyes. But he loves no one. He rejects her with his very politeness. I pity her too.”
“It is strange to watch,” Paedrin agreed. “But I know why it is.”
“You do?”
He nodded vigorously. “He expects to die in the Scourgelands. He is preparing himself for it. He is preparing her for it. He will make no emotional attachments until the Plagues are banished forever. He is simple that way.”
“Do you think we will survive this quest?”
“I plan to.”
“I’m trying to be serious, Paedrin.”
“What odds do you think Erasmus would give us? I miss that strange bird. Of all the Preachán I’ve known, I will miss him the most. I am sure he would have offered a prediction by now. It would have been wrong.”
She butted him with her elbow. “I said be serious.”
“Whatever for?” he asked. “This is about as hopeless a situation as one can be in. I may as well find some humor if I can.”
Their banter was interrupted by Kiranrao marching toward them, his face a mask of anger.
“I hate that man,” Paedrin said softly, his eyes narrowing.
“Shhh,” Hettie warned.
The Romani reached them, his expression curling into a sneer seeing them so close to each other. He felt Hettie ease away from him, just slightly enough that it caused a prickle of resentment.
“Come, Finder,” Kiranrao said, looking down at Hettie. “I would speak with you.”
“Is she yours to command?” Paedrin said in a warning tone.
He saw Hettie tense, but he did not care. He looked up at the man, feeling the magic seeping from the blade at his waist. The Iddawc was no longer seeking someone to master it. It had found someone it could master.
“I do not wish to waste many words arguing with you, Bhikhu,” Kiranrao said in a flat voice. “Tyrus promised her asylum in Silvandom in return for aiding in his quest. When the dawn chases away the shadows, it will chase away any hope of that safe hold. We are renegades, all of us. But while the Arch-Rike insists that no one will shelter us, I can assure you that we Romani will shelter each other. Come, girl.”
Paedrin felt Hettie start to rise and he grabbed her arm. “You do not have to go with him.”
She looked in Paedrin’s eyes and he saw the conflicting loyalties. “I know I don’t,” she said, cupping his cheek with her hand. But she stood anyway.
Kiranrao smirked with satisfaction. The look he gave Paedrin was full of enmity. “Come, girl. The stars make no noise.”
Paedrin watched them walk off together, his heart turning blacker with each step they took.
“Must you provoke him?” Hettie sighed wearily.
Kiranrao glanced at her. “Yes.”
She sighed again. “What do you want?”
“To understand your loyalties. You are Romani.”
“I am a Bhikhu now. You got the blade you wanted. You used me to get it. Our bargain is complete. I owe you nothing.”
He looked at her approvingly. “I like a girl with fire in her blood.”
“You already have a vial of it with you. The price was paid, Kiranrao.”
He shook his head slowly. “There is always a debt, girl. You know that. Your talents are wasted as a Bhikhu. You will grow bored of it eventually. And I am patient. I wanted to speak with you because I have a sense that Tyrus is going to fail again.”
She stiffened and cursed herself for the involuntary reaction.
“You sense it too, good.”