I scowled. “Too late.”
Tyentso looked surprised for a beat, and then she snorted and rolled her eyes. “For a second, Scamp, I actually forgot how I ended up on this island. Yeah, you’re right. Way too late.” She leaned back and drank deep from her cup. “Aw, it’s a mess, but right now you’ve got bigger problems.”
“Sure, Relos Var. But I can sneak off the island before he realizes I’m gone. I am good at sneaking.”
“I wasn’t thinking of Relos Var,” Tyentso said. Her voice sounded odd. “Run back to camp, Kihrin. Right now.”
“What? Why would I—”
A wind picked up and tossed the grass on the cliff face, bringing with it the scent of molten metal and burning rock.
The Old Man landed in front of us.
32: LADY MIYA
(Talon’s story)
The vané took Kihrin to a four-story building nestled amongst other tall buildings. Nothing identified it as a Blue House except the number of men in physicker’s robes who came and went through its doors. All seemed to know Miya, gave her plenty of room and deferential bows, and addressed her as “Lady.” No one asked about Kihrin or how he’d come by his injuries until they chanced to cross paths with Master Lorgrin.
The healer grimaced. “I see the happy reunion went about as well as could be expected.”
Lady Miya’s look was disapproving. “Indeed.”
“I assume you’ll want to handle this yourself. The apothecary’s all yours.” He hooked a thumb toward a door behind him.
She nodded. “Thank you, Master Lorgrin.”
“Uh-huh.” He shook his head at Kihrin as they passed.
Inside, small drawers recessed into the walls filled the room from floor to ceiling. The air had a funny, herbal smell. Several tables took up the center, covered with scales, mortars, pestles, and large thick books opened to drawings of plants.
“Sit down,” she told him with a stern voice.
Kihrin did, feeling sullen and sorry for himself while the vané woman opened drawers and pulled out bottles, flasks, and bundles of herbs.
She slammed the ingredients down on the table, making everything jump.
“What did I do to you?” Kihrin said. “Upset I killed that guard? Or because I spilled coffee all over your precious Lord Heir?”
She picked up a heavy stone mortar and pestle and slammed it down on the table in front of him. “These are for you: mugwort, goldensheaf, blood of varius, carella, and white lotus.”
“No thanks, I just ate.”
Her upper lip started to curl. “You would not want the wounds to become infected and you do not know what diseases that woman may have sheltered in her body. Your wounds are most assuredly contaminated with her blood, lingering on the lash. Do you not wish to make a salve for your back?”
“Very funny. I don’t know how to do that.”
“Oh? You do not?” Her voice dripped sarcasm. “But you must want to heal. So heal yourself.”
“I already told you I don’t know how.” He stood.
“Ah.” She crossed her arms as if she’d won the argument.
Kihrin blinked. “Ah? What do you mean ‘ah’?”
“Wanting something is not enough. Talent and desire is meaningless without skill and training.”
Kihrin glared. “Is that a riddle?”
“This is not a game, young man. I am making a point. Are you understanding it?”
“Since I’m apparently an idiot, why don’t you just explain it to me?”
Her nostrils flared white as she grabbed back the mortar. “My meaning is that you do not have the training to deal with a man like Darzin D’Mon, so provoking him is much the same as walking into a tiger’s den after smearing yourself with fresh blood. You may wish to kill Darzin, but desire is not enough.”
“He killed my father! He killed Morea.”
“So? Does that make you more capable of besting him? Do you think fortune will favor you because your cause is just and your heart is full of vengeance? As you said yourself, he is a monster. One does not slay a monster with good intentions.”
“He has to sleep sometime.”
Lady Miya sighed. “My, and are you so young and yet already a professional assassin? A member of the Black Brotherhood? Or perhaps you have come to us much disguised, and are in truth Nikali Milligreest, famous throughout the Empire as the most skilled of swordsmen?”
Kihrin swallowed and looked away. The fear and hate of the earlier encounter began to ebb, leaving him weak and trembling.
“He makes me so angry,” Kihrin whispered.
“He makes me angry too,” Miya said. “But you must learn to control yourself. You will not live long in this House if you continue with this foolish behavior.” She added the ingredients to the bowl, measuring out portions by quick handfuls. “Darzin has enough choleric in him for both of you. You push him and he will respond in the nastiest, most vicious way he can imagine—and he’s made himself something of an expert in this area. This House has enough problems without you provoking him to do something the rest of us will all regret.”
“Provoking him? I didn’t—”
“Protest your innocence to someone who did not hear the entire conversation,” she said matter-of-factly. “I have known Darzin twenty years longer than you, and I tell you now he spoke true: he was on his best behavior this morning. That he treated you with kindness was an insult beyond your forbearance, and so, you lost your temper. As a result, he lost his. And because of that, two people died.”
“Don’t blame this on me. If you were listening the whole time you could have stepped in sooner. That woman would still be alive.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And what possible reason could I give for interfering with a D’Mon ordering one of his own slaves whipped? With you, I could intercede. I could do nothing to save that girl.”
“All you vané are supposed to know magic. You could have—”
“I may not allow harm to come to a D’Mon if it is in my power to stop it without the loss of my own life.” She picked up the pestle and began mashing the herbs and flowers.
Kihrin’s eyes widened. “You’re gaeshed.”
“Of course, I am gaeshed. I certainly would not be here of my own free will. I am the High Lord’s seneschal, and highest ranked of the serving staff of the palace. I am also the High Lord’s gaeshed slave. Darzin was hurting you, so I could intervene.”
“You could intervene? But you—?” He sat down again. “But I’m not a D’Mon. At best, I’m Ogenra.”
She looked oddly at him. “Who said you are Ogenra?”
“Well I—” He blinked. “I have to be. He said my mother was a slave. What else could I be?”