“Knowin’ about somebody is on the other side of the Territory from knowin’ ’em.”
She’d fully intended to be grudging about it, but thinking about the old warhorse, Viv couldn’t help but warm to her subject. She was anxious over every growing mile between her and the Ravens, but in something of a surprise, it turned out she missed the man too.
“Well,” she began, “he’s obviously a brilliant fighter, but he’s also like this uncle of mine. The man talked my ear off when I was five, showing me how to chop kindling in one stroke, but if you asked him what he did yesterday? He’d answer in one word or less if he could get away with it.”
“All business, huh? I can respect that.”
“I guess. But an uncle who’s all business. If things get hard between you, you’re still family.”
“Stoic uncle. Got it. So, who else? C’mon, what’s it like to share a tent with the Ravens?”
Viv huffed a laugh. “Just don’t share one with Tuck.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Trail rations don’t agree with him. Let’s leave it at that.”
13
“Absolutely ridiculous,” groused Highlark as he finished unwrapping the bindings around Viv’s thigh, exposing her now-messy wound.
“Eight hells,” said Gallina, leaning over from her cot to examine it with interest. “You’re walkin’ on that?”
“She shouldn’t be without a staff,” said Highlark, snapping open his black valise to rummage inside. “Which of course means that she’s getting into street fights instead. I really don’t know why I bother. I thought you’d been spending your spare moments reading?” he asked pointedly.
The surgeon didn’t seem the right audience for her growing suspicions, so Viv settled for an apologetic shrug. Highlark made a disgusted sound, and she did her best to keep her expression level as he swabbed the wound with something powerfully astringent. She was very aware of Gallina studying her face for a reaction. Whatever the tincture was, it had nothing on the callis oil, so she remained stoic. Mostly.
The elf peered through his spectacles at the long cuts, gently squeezing either side with his fingers. Given the brilliant bolt of pain, he might as well have jammed them inside. A hiss escaped Viv, and she didn’t miss the beginnings of a grimly amused smile on his lips. “Torn open, obviously. Although I’m surprised at how quickly the deeper tissues have healed.”
“Is this going to take much longer?” Iridia waited outside the cell, wearing a look of extreme impatience.
Highlark sighed. “No. I won’t bother dispensing any advice, since I don’t imagine anyone would listen. I’ll just clean and bind the wound and pretend that my expertise is valued.”
When he’d finished wrapping and pinning fresh bandages, the elf rose, hoisting his bag with a clink of glass. “Do you want anything for the pain?”
Viv shook her head. “No. And thanks, again. I am sorry to drag you down here.”
The surgeon glanced across to the figure in gray, still sitting with his hands clasped before him. His lips thinned as he studied the man. Viv thought he might have sniffed the air as he did so. “Is that one any the worse for wear? If he’s going to tip over in a pool of his own fluids later, I’d just as soon attend to it while I’m already here.”
The tapenti shook her head and opened the cell door. “Nothing worth mentioning.”
Highlark glanced between Viv and the man one last time, an unreadable expression on his face, then departed. Iridia locked up behind him and strode out of sight without another word.
* * *
As per usual, Viv didn’t really fit on the cot, so she ended up sitting with her back against the wall, increasingly uncomfortable while her leg throbbed under the fresh bindings. The man in gray stayed stock-still, but his very presence seemed to settle on Viv’s skin, and she had the irrational urge to brush it off. She could only think about what would happen after Iridia let them out, when this man got his magestone back and was out of her sight. The very idea made her want to bare her teeth. You just didn’t leave a threat wandering around when you were at a disadvantage. Not if you wanted to keep breathing, anyway.
But there was nothing to do at the moment but stew over it.
After Gallina blew out a third or fourth theatrical sigh, Viv rolled her eyes. The gnome’s hands were tucked under her head as she studied the ceiling, tapping one boot against the other.
“Why are you still here, really?” Viv finally asked. “You can’t honestly be waiting for Rackam to ride back into town. I can barely stand waiting myself, and I have no choice.”
Gallina didn’t look at her. “So what if I am? Hells, you should be happy about it right now.”
“There has to be a better use of your time. You have to have something else lined up, right? What did you do before you got off the boat?”
Gallina frowned. “You got any idea how tough it is to get an outfit to give you a chance when you’re me?”
“Well …”
“Course not. They probably see you a mile off and sign you right the hells up. You’re a walkin’ justification. Nobody doubts you can crack a skull, do they? Just look at you!”
“Hey, I still have to pull my weight and put in the work. I spent an hour limping through sword forms today, trying not to fall on my ass, because if I don’t—”
The gnome blew a raspberry. “Spare me. What’d you think when you first saw me? Really?”
Viv opened her mouth but discovered she had no idea what she was going to say.
“That’s what I thought.” Gallina ran her fingers over the front of her shirt, where her bandolier of knives would have crossed over.
They lapsed into an awkward silence, and the man in gray only magnified it.
Viv couldn’t even tell if he was breathing.
* * *
“You have a visitor.” Iridia’s husky voice startled Viv from a fitful doze. Adrenaline washed through her in a nauseating wave, the low tide of bad sleep. Weak light still filtered through the slit windows at the back of the cell, but the hurricane lamps in the hall had been lit.
The tapenti appeared annoyed. Viv wondered if that was just her resting expression. The fine scale patterns on her face didn’t exactly seem conducive of a welcoming smile.
A rattkin stepped into view, one paw clutching the clasp of her red cloak and the other carrying a paper sack with a familiar aroma.
“Fern?” Viv was astounded that the Gatewarden had allowed her in. Iridia had made a show of grudgingly admitting Highlark, but Viv had assumed that had more to do with the mess she’d have to clean up otherwise. She couldn’t help glancing quizzically at Iridia, but her face remained unreadable.
Fern glanced worriedly at the tapenti and approached the cell, thrusting the sack through. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. And I may have suggested she wouldn’t have to feed you if she let me pass these along.”
Viv hauled herself off the cot, pressing a steadying hand against the wall, and hopped toward the bars. “Highlark patched me up. I’m fine.”
“From Maylee,” said Fern. “And you might want this as well.” She removed Sea of Passion from under her arm.
“I don’t recall agreeing to that,” said Iridia, moving as though to intervene.
“It’s a gods-damned book,” snapped Fern, with surprising heat.
The tapenti’s lips thinned, but after a moment, she stepped back.
Taking both, Viv wrinkled her brow. “Maylee?”
“Yeah, she seemed awfully concerned. She saw the whole thing.”
“Enough in there for two?” piped Gallina.
Viv waved a hand to quiet her. “How’s Potroast?”
“He’s pretending he ran off an intruder. Very proud of himself right now. He’s fine.” Fern glanced at Iridia and then at the man in gray, who hadn’t acknowledged her entrance in the slightest. “No thanks to that bastard.”
“I’ll bear that in mind,” said Iridia, looming behind Fern. “As you can see, she’ll survive the night just fine.”
“That’s the one you need to keep an eye on,” replied Fern, stabbing a finger at the silent man.