Chapter 15
“Come, I know a healer,” Meuric says.
We retrieve our swords. I sheath mine. To my satisfaction, Meuric limps as much as I do.
Our wounds do mirror each other’s.
Meuric sends a passerby inside with his twin swords, to leave them and to get my belongings and his long sword.
I glare at Meuric with agitation under my skin as I think of Shayla. My body is taut, but he holds me back with a palm to my chest.
“Leave it be, boy,” Meuric says. “She knows what she’s doing. This is the best life for her. She and her father want for nothing.”
I have a dozen things I want to say to him, but I hold my tongue. I might have passed his test, but at what point will this lord decide he’s done and do away with me?
Someone passes Meuric a water pouch, and he drinks eagerly. When he lowers the pouch, he hands it to me. “I have something better in mind planned for you, Seafarer.”
“Kenrik.” I take a swig. We both bleed freely, although I can feel the clotting start and the skin knitting together. How is Meuric not concerned about bleeding to death?
“I know. I heard, but I am also not blind to where you are from. You don’t blend in. You are not from Morvith.”
The passerby comes back with our gear. I shoulder my bags over my blades. Meuric gestures toward an alley. “She’s not far. Just at the end.”
“Who’s not far?”
“Follow me, Seafarer.”
I reluctantly concede.
The traffic resumes in the street as we limp away. Meuric bangs open a shop at the end of the alley. “Kitrena!”
A petite sprite of a woman emerges from the back. She takes one look at the two of us and nods toward the curtain. “Again? I thought I heard a ruckus down the street.” She grins at me. “He’s cute.”
“Fix him up first,” Meuric says as he ducks around the curtain. “I challenged him.”
“Don’t you always?” Her dark hair is twisted into a dozen or so braids and swept up at her crown to cascade down her back. Meuric sits on a waist-high table and indicates that I should do the same with the one beside him.
“I’m Kitrena,” she says as she shoves me back. She throws a rag at Meuric. “Put some pressure on that while you wait. What have I told you before?”
“You can’t make blood. I know.” Meuric presses down on his gash with the rag.
Kitrena shakes her head. “He’s too macho.” She rips the cut in my pants open wider and pokes around. “You didn’t do too much damage, my lord. The wound’s almost healed.” She narrows her eyes at me.
I raise my eyebrows and shrug my shoulders. Should I get into an explanation about my powers? Yeah, right.
But that doesn’t stop her. “What are you? You’re not a half-emrys.”
That grabs Meuric’s attention. “You’re sure?”
She looks at Meuric. “What do you see?”
“He carries light, but it’s everywhere. He has no concentrated heart-center.”
I try to sit up. “Yeah, about that…”
Kitrena shoves me down again. “Let me clean this up. You may be almost healed, but you look disgusting. I have some pants in the wardrobe in the corner too. You can change.”
“So what are you, Seafarer?” Meuric asks.
“I wish I could tell you.” I stare up at the beams in the ceiling, ignoring Kitrena with her hands dangerously close to my groin. I wince as she swabs a cold cloth over the length of my thigh.
Meuric snorts. “You’re making him nervous, Kitrena.”
She holds her hands up and backs away. “Fine. Just having a little fun.” After turning to Meuric, she forces him into a reclining position. She lifts the cloth from his wound as she gestures for me to find something to wear. Her hands stray all over Meuric’s thigh. She’s taking immense pleasure in being too thorough with her examination.
He grunts and grabs Kitrena’s wrist. “Stop teasing.”
“You’re still bleeding.” She sighs, closes her eyes, and puts her hands over his wound. This time, she doesn’t play around while she heals him with her light. I ignore Meuric’s murmurs of discomfort and snoop through the wardrobe for new pants.
A half hour later, after Meuric and I are healed and he slips Kitrena a hefty amount of coin, we are off. This time, working our way through town. Many people nod or bow as we pass. Some of them mumble “my lord” or “Lord Meuric” in greeting.
He’s quite popular.
Lord Meuric greets people in return and smiles and throws stray balls back to children, so I don’t get a sense of all-consuming malice from him as I did from the men who came into the tavern.
I’m also getting a sense for the people in the area. There are normal humans. Those are almost too easy for me to differentiate from nonhumans.
The humans are meek. They scurry out of the way of the half-emrys. They try to stay invisible. It’s almost as if a line has been drawn, and instead of between classes, it’s between species.
The half-emrys are getting easier for me to tell. Some of them have dragon stones, which make spotting them obvious, but most of them do not. I can’t discern them with my light the way Niawen could have. Telling them apart is done chiefly in the way they carry themselves.
There is no difference between humans and half-emrys in coloring, height, or build. Most people have tan to very dark skin. And hair from every shade of brown to black or red.
No blonds.
That’s unusual. I’m grateful my hair is a sandy brown and I have eyes to match. I am definitely on the light side, but I can blend in.
Except they all know I am a seafarer.
Meuric doesn’t make small talk as we walk. I’m not sure why I follow him, but something tells me that if I try to refuse him, he won’t accept no for an answer.
Outside of town, we stop just outside a barn. The air is thick with the scent of manure, and a few cows low at the fence.
Meuric sighs as he raps on the barn door. Soft moans reach my ears. “She’s at it again.” Meuric pounds on the door.
A man inside screams. I draw my blades as my body becomes tense with fight. Meuric pounds again on the barn door, perfectly calm.
I stare him down with wide questioning eyes.
“Relax. Riahn will be with us in a second. She’s taking care of business,” Meuric says.
“I don’t like what that implies.” I relax my stance but do not put away my blades.
“It’s a little different from what you might imagine.” Meuric leans against the fence and crosses his arms over his chest. “But it’s somewhat similar to what you think.”
“Why am I here?” I ask, finally.
“Your skills need honing, and I need a new recruit.”
“You want me to work for you? You know nothing about me.”
“I know enough,” Meuric says.
“I don’t even know who I’d be working for.”
“Me. That’s all you need to know.”
“And you’re someone of great importance, Lord Meuric,” I growl.
He smirks. “That’s right.” He shakes his head. “I guess you’d find out soon enough, the longer you lived in Morvith. I’m the empress’s commander. Her brother. You can’t get a better position than working under my command for my special unit.”
“A special unit doing what?”
The barn door flies open. A woman emerges, dressed in soft brown leather. Pauldrons are strapped across her shoulders above a tight leather top that leaves her navel exposed. Something written in a foreign script is tattooed into her biceps and peeks out from just under her left pauldron.
“Assassins. We’re a special unit of assassins just for his high and mighty butt.” She juts her chin toward Meuric while adjusting a sword at her hip.
A weak moan comes from inside the barn. The woman shuts the barn door and comes up to me. Her eyes are heavily lined with kohl. She has a post piercing the upper cartilage in her ear, with a chain that hangs all the way to her earlobe. Seems like a hazard in battle, something for an opponent to rip out.
“Fresh meat.” She grasps my chin. “And who might you be?” She wriggles her nose at me. “There’s something different about this one. I don’t think I can drink him.”
Meuric yanks her grip off me. “He’s not for drinking.”
“Drinking?” I ask.
Riahn presses her palms to my chest and leans her nose toward my neck. “But he’s delicious. He smells scrumptious.”
I throw her hands off and step away. “What the hellfire are you talking about?”
“Riahn, control yourself.” Meuric grabs her wrist. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
Riahn shrugs him off and turns her head coyly so that her high ponytail swishes seductively against her cheek.
“For how much I have to put up with from her, she’s my best assassin. The best at training them. She’s also possessed by a succubus demon, so don’t let her seduce you.”
I nearly gag. “Succubus demon?”
“I drink light,” she says with a rasp to her voice. “Tasty tasty light. The emrys are loaded with it.”
I back away. “I don’t think I can get involved.”
Meuric claps a hand on my shoulder. “Son, I’m not giving you a choice.”