Fourteen
Kyrundar
Based on the steely expression that slid over Zidra’s face, I’d said the wrong thing again.
“So I’m as useless as tea because I can’t shift,” she said flatly.
My face drained of color. “That’s not what I meant.” I set down my empty teacup with more haste than was appropriate for a tea ceremony. “I wanted to explain why I enjoy the tea parlor and point out the benefit of including things in your life that aren’t only work or worry! I also hate seeing you undervalue yourself. I don’t care if you can’t shift or if your fighting is compromised—”
“Of course you don’t care,” Zidra snapped. Her eyes flickered red.
I didn’t dare remind her to control her dragon fire when I’d already stupidly bungled my words of affirmation into an offense.
“It gives you more of a chance to be the hero, right? I’m sure you’ll have great stories about how you saved and took care of me after this. Everyone will see more clearly that poor Zidra Eilmaris never would have earned the Emperor’s Merit without Kyrundar Ilifir’s help.”
My mouth went dry. “What?”
She laughed, the sound acidic. “You know, I used to think you always followed me and inserted yourself into my missions because you wanted to leverage my talent for your own victories, but it’s pity. You think I can’t achieve anything without you, so you magnanimously help me and share our stories together so you can be the benevolent ice elf who helped the graceless wyveri. All the better that I can’t shift now, right? In one fell swoop, my reputation can be destroyed and yours exalted even further.”
“That—that’s what you think of me?” I struggled to get the words out. “Zidra, you’re my friend, and I would never—”
“Spend more time and effort on me than I deserve, like useless tea?”
“No.” I shook my head, frantically searching for the right words to fix this. “You’re not tea, it’s just that similar to tea, you have unique value. Maybe that was a bad metaphor, but my point is your value doesn’t change if you can’t fight or shift because that isn’t what makes you worthy.”
“Then what does?” More emotion bled into Zidra’s harsh query than I imagined she’d intended. “Of what use am I if I’m—I’m broken?”
“A broken plate may be discarded,” a quiet voice said from the entrance to the room. I jerked my head around to see Sylathria stopped in the doorway, a tray of desserts across her lap. “A person is not a plate. A person doesn’t have one function that they must fulfill in a specific way or be tossed out. A difference does not make you useless, even if perhaps your role might change.”
I glanced toward Zidra, but she was staring down at her teacup.
Sylathria wheeled over and slid the tray onto the table. “I was gored by an armored hog and then trapped in a ravine when I was a child. By the time I saw a fleshmage, it was too late to fully repair the damage. As I grew, it worsened. There are many things I cannot do. I realized long ago I’d rather focus on what I can do, yet there are days I am in too much pain to even leave my bed. Does my value change on those days? How can a person’s value vary from day to day? To assign value based on pragmatic measures of usefulness is illogical and hurts more than just yourself. The holy texts tell us Iskyr has formed us all and loves each of his people with a love that cannot be broken or removed by any known force of people or nature. Will you dare to assign less value to yourself than the god you swore to serve does? Or if you fear what other rengiri or the citizens of the empire will think, do you mean then to elevate the opinion of created beings over the opinion of their creator?”
Zidra lifted her teacup with shaking hands. Tea sloshed onto her fingers, and she set the cup back down. Her gaze didn’t lift from the table. “I am a warrior and a wyveri. Without that, I have nothing.”
“There is always something new,” I said quickly. “And you have me. Besides, it is too early to give up hope.”
“And you have Iskyr,” Sylathria added. “Even if you leave the Order, Iskyr keeps you in his hand. Or do you believe Iskyr’s care is only for those in holy orders, and not for those they serve?”
Zidra’s shoulders hunched. Ignoring how much it felt like a violation of her privacy, I reached for the heartbond. A torrent of aching emotion rushed through like a scream—shame, conviction, fear, anger, confusion. Guiltily, I closed the connection. She wasn’t in any frame of mind for a rational conversation about her feelings, her identity, how much I wanted her to lean on and trust me, nor for me to ask more about her false belief that I was using her to feel better about myself.
I adjusted my position on my cushion to face Sylathria and cleared my throat. “Since we have you here, Syl, we actually had another purpose besides tea.”
Zidra looked up, and though her face was unnaturally pale, the tension in her jawline eased.
Sylathria narrowed her eyes but then accepted the change of subject. “Gossip hunting again?”
My forced chuckle sounded more like a cough. “Yes. Have you heard of Gautindar Rouven? He was the head physician at Merael’s until about six months ago.”
“Rouven…” Sylathria rubbed her ruby drop earring. “Recently retired… Ah, yes. Elderly ice elf? A bit grouchy? ”
“That sounds like him,” I said.
Across the table, Zidra perked up. “He came through here?”
“Yes, I suppose right after he retired.” Sylathria frowned. “I remember, because he complained about the ‘noise’ from the musicians who were performing and was annoyed that all the private tea rooms were taken. One of my poor serving staff came to get me because he didn’t know how to appease the man. Not terribly uncommon, unfortunately. I often calm down cantankerous customers by stroking their egos—that is, I get them to talk about themselves. I learn interesting things, and they feel important.”
“I don’t suppose one of the interesting things you learned from Rouven was where he is living now?”
She gave me an apologetic frown. “Not exactly. He mentioned he was looking forward to getting away from people. I did overhear him asking another ice elf if any new roads had been built through the Ithemorca Mountains or if taking a ship remained the best way to access the inlets along the Glacorian coast. Let me think.”
While Sylathria considered, I snuck a glance at Zidra. She looked calmer, but she was good at hiding her emotions. I wished I knew what to say that would make her stop undervaluing herself—without overstepping and offending her.
“This might help,” Sylathria said. “Rouven had expensive tastes. He ordered the best of everything and asked if we had any Nyksian mead, and he was incensed that we didn’t. If you can find anyone delivering Nyksian mead to a Glacorian inlet, you might find Rouven.”
I nodded. The night elves made a mead from the honey of nocturnal bees that collected nectar only from a flower that blooms at night in the Kingdom of Nyksia, and petals from the sweet flower were also used to flavor the mead. It was a uniquely delicious concoction, and incredibly rare outside the night elves’ homeland.
“I’m sorry I don’t know anything more,” she said.
“At least we have a starting place.” Barely, but I donned a smile anyway. “Any information is helpful, so thank you!”
Zidra changed positions to access her hip bag and pulled out a drawstring pouch. “How much for the food and drink?”
“For the recipients of the Emperor’s Merit? Discounted price of four half-crowns.” Sylathria grinned at me. “Only because I know you’ll fight me if I try to make it complimentary.”
Zidra counted out four silver coins and passed them to Sylathria with murmured gratitude.
“Thank you.” Sylathria focused on Zidra. “May Iskyr show you the way, be your fortress, and grant you peace.”
“May it be so,” I said at the same time as Zidra, and I wondered how much of her reply was a faithful agreement and how much was a rote response to a benediction.
Sylathria turned back to me and narrowed her eyes. She wagged her finger in my face. “Don’t be so long a stranger this time, Kyr.”
I chuckled abashedly. “You know I can make no promises, Syl. I go where the prompting of Iskyr leads.”
“Mmm.” She raised one eyebrow. “Remarkable how often that prompting leads you to Zidra.”
Heat flamed over my face. Across from me, Zidra pursed her lips, raised her eyebrows, and inclined her head in silent, accusatory agreement.
“Er…” I cleared my throat. “A fortunate coincidence.”
“Mm-hmmm.” Sylathria’s knowing smile was unfairly smug. I’d have wondered whether she knew about the heartbond if I hadn’t known that was impossible. “Enjoy the desserts, both of you.” With that, she departed, leaving Zidra and me in strained silence.
We ate the desserts without a word. When the last jam-filled cookie was gone, Zidra started to rise.
“Wait.”
To my relief, she settled back onto her cushion, although she didn’t meet my eyes.
“What you said—that I’m helping you out of pity or using you to bolster my own reputation or feel good about myself or for any other reason. It’s not true. I certainly don’t pity you, Zee. You’re the most incredible, awe-inspiring, and terrifying person I know. You deserved the Merit and didn’t need my help to get it, and I’m not friends with you only for glory or recognition. I follow you because we’re friends, because we fight well together, and because I thought we both had a better chance of achieving everything we dreamed of by working together.”
I fiddled with my teacup to give my hands something to do. “But I haven’t thought about how you might interpret my actions. I never asked if you wanted me around. Looking back…”
The words lodged in my throat, and I opened and closed my mouth several times before I could make myself say it.
“I ignored signals you didn’t want my assistance. I thought you were just not used to having people around and supporting you and would get more comfortable over time. Or at times I believed you were putting on your prickly and unapproachable act but were secretly glad I was there, because we do fight so well together, and you never said otherwise—but that’s not an excuse. If anything, maybe it makes you right, in a way. I did think I was helping you, by giving you friendship and fighting at your side, but I didn’t ask if you wanted friendship or aid, and perhaps it was…I don’t know. Proud or foolish of me to assume you’d want my friendship. I never intended to hurt you, but I did, and I’m sorry.”
Silence greeted my declaration. I couldn’t make myself look at her. I didn’t dare access the heartbond, afraid of what I might find. My shoulders slumped.
“And if you don’t want to be friends anymore, if you want me to leave you alone after we find Rouven”—I gulped—“I understand.”
After several tense moments, Zidra still hadn’t spoken, so I lifted my gaze from my empty teacup. She hunched over the table and rubbed her thumbnail. As if feeling my eyes on her, she glanced up and immediately looked away.
“Thank you,” she said, her voice as thin as the organza hangings. She stood. “We should collect our things from the Haven and start for Klavon’s Port in Gamnica. That’s the most likely place from which to charter passage along the Glacorian coast.”
Smothering my disappointment at her lack of acknowledgment of my apology and attempt to make amends, I dragged myself to my feet.
“And thank you for the tea, Kyr.”
My head jerked up and my lips parted, but she was already marching out of the room.