Chapter Eighteen #2
“Simple enough,” he said. And this time, when the healer rubbed his hands, Alora didn’t sense anything gleeful about it at all.
His palms were still cool against her skin, but not cold, and he held the joint as gently as the Urchin before. Seconds passed without comment. Not from her or from him, and certainly not from the unmoving pillar at her side.
“Sprained, as you thought. No need to mend any bones tonight.”
Alora exhaled in relief. “Thank you.”
“Anytime.” A tingling sensation swept through her ankle like a gust of wind, but before she could so much as twitch, it was done. The Urchin healer stretched to his full height and glanced around the room. “Anything else?”
“No,” said the man at her side. “I appreciate your quick response.”
“Captain.” The healer nodded toward him, a slight bow to his upper body, and then he was gone through the door.
Alora didn’t move. She continued to stare in an unseeing haze at the closed door, disbelieving she’d shown even more of herself to the Urchin she so distrusted and feared. Because she did, didn’t she? Distrusted and feared him so much?
She came back to herself when leather gloves enclosed the backs of her knees, shifting her until she faced the front. Her feet met the floor. She glanced up to the dark shape of the Urchin captain’s eyes before he dropped his head. Her shoe was slipped back onto her foot, simple and painless.
“I’ll take you home.”
***
Alora could see nothing. Less than nothing, if that were possible.
But she could feel everything. Cobblestones clacked beneath her heels, uneven and familiar.
Cool, night air brushed her skin. Her hair fell down her back, strands of it brushing her face with the push in the breeze.
And her hand. Her hand. She twitched her fingers to be sure it wasn’t a dream. Or a nightmare.
The Urchin tightened his grip upon them.
He’d held her hand once before, just like this. She couldn’t remember where exactly, or at which point in their meeting, but she remembered this feeling. Her heart must have fallen out of rhythm. It was the only plausible explanation for the sensation in her chest now.
“Are you managing?”
“Yes,” said Alora, the word clipped. He’d tried to carry her again. Her. With two perfectly adequate feet.
There was so much to say. Of what he’d witnessed between her and the lost man.
Of why he’d been there to begin with. What he planned to do about her after all, if anything.
She wanted to confront him over Timothy Lofte’s allegations, and William’s actions.
She wanted to confront him over so many things.
“Could you—”
“Is William—”
They both sucked in a breath.
“After you,” said the Urchin.
Alora exhaled, then began again. “Is William truly your brother?”
She’d counted to thirty before he answered. “I’d forgotten he called me that in front of you, I was so furious. Stupid of him.”
“So it’s true?”
“It is. In name over blood, but brothers all the same.”
“He was adopted?”
“We both were.”
“Both? Goodness. And you were raised together as children?”
“Are we questioning my past now or his?”
Alora ignored him. “Is he an Urchin as well?”
“No. He’s a performer, as I’ve said.”
Adopted brothers. “Do your adoptive parents live nearby?”
“Near enough.”
Alora could feel it, the tension building and now rolling off him. His fingers flexed around her own, and it was a warning to her even if he didn’t mean it as such. “What did you wish to ask me?”
Alora nearly began her counting again when she felt him inhale.
“Could you manage to forget everything you’ve seen? Everything you’ve heard?”
“Are you asking me to pretend? To go on as I’ve always done?”
“Yes.”
Alora thought about it. Of the lost man, and the injured woman. Of Mr. Whitters and his resigned worry. William and his terrible choices, and the impossible darkness she now walked inside. Pretend? How could I?
“No, I don’t think so.”
“I assumed as much.”
“Are you going to bludgeon me now?”
A resigned sigh. “No. I don’t think so.”
They walked in silence for some time, Alora’s footsteps the only sound. She opened her mouth and closed it again; once, then twice.
“I can feel you practically vibrating beside me. What is it?”
Alora scrunched her nose. “Is it true you deal in dark artifacts? That you channel wicked enchantments in and out of Enver?”
“Wicked is a subjective term. What makes an enchantment wicked, do you think?”
Alora rolled her eyes.
“I can see you, you’ll remember.”
Her expression quickly hardened into a scowl, and she felt the Urchin’s humor more than heard him. But she needed to know. And she couldn’t tell him why. “There’s a shop that deals in questionable objects. Creatures too. I’m curious if you supply it.”
“And I would tell you something like this, why?”
She didn’t have an answer for that. By all rights, he shouldn’t tell her. The hand beneath hers tugged, and she followed.
“Uneven stone,” he said. Then, “Which shop?”
“Potions and Peculiarities.”
The Urchin scoffed. “That place is a pitiful mess. And its owner? An idiot.”