Chapter 3 #2
He’d seen more Yvri in Tynamara in the last five years than he had in his entire life, mainly because one of King Torvald’s first acts when he took the crown was to appoint an Yvri headmaster to the university.
It had taken time for people to acclimate to such a controversial decision, but eventually things settled, and the city grew more receptive to their presence.
However, he’d never seen a dragon-kin so invested in average citizens. Many of them were gifted healers, as this woman clearly was, but they were difficult to find. Joining a guild or setting up a practice meant staying in one place, and they were often as fluid as the tides.
As dusk approached, Bastion began helping the injured inside, either carrying or stabilizing them as they hobbled alongside him. When everyone was accounted for, he approached the dragon-kin and the prone woman beneath her hands.
She startled as he knelt over her patient. Recognition flickered in her sea green eyes, bright against twilight skin. Her vertical pupils narrowed, and Bastion was once again caught in her thrall.
When she quirked her brow he finally said, “You should rest.” Her eyes fell to his mouth as he spoke. She stared, her scrutiny unsettling, and Bastion licked his lips. “May I take her?”
She met his gaze again. Goosebumps raced across Bastion's shoulders and down his arms. Then she looked beyond him, to the villagers gathering around his handiwork, and stood in one graceful motion. She beckoned him toward the infirmary and strode away.
As gently as he could manage, Bastion picked up the wounded woman and followed the healer. Inside, Bastion settled the woman with her kin, while the healer went to a nursing mother. He joined the elder near the door and watched her place a glowing hand on the woman's shoulder.
“Where did she come from?” he asked quietly, indicating the Yvri maiden.
The elder shook his head. “She’s passed through once or twice. We don’t know much about her except that she’ll see to what ails us. I’ve heard tell that she’s visited other villages besides Windwick. We’re lucky you both showed up when you did.”
Bastion gave a vague nod, scanning the room.
Firelight cast shadows on the ruined walls, and the room felt hungry, like the inside of a mouth, and the people were its teeth crowded together.
When he circled back to the Yvri, she watched him, her expression indecipherable. He smiled and dipped his head.
She looked away.
Abruptly, and unexpectedly, shame lanced him, and his heart sank like a shard of broken stone.
Most women gave him a warmer reception. It was hard to tell when it was because of his dimpled smile or his connection to the prince.
That smile hadn’t crossed his lips in weeks, and now, insecurity battered at his gut like a moth trapped in his hands.
“I’ll keep watch,” he told the elder. He slipped outside before others noticed his burning face.
Bastion sighed, seated himself outside the door, and ran his hands through his hair. He was nervous she, more than anyone, would see what was hidden there.
For the first time in a long time, he found himself intrigued by a woman, and her blatant dismissal lingered like a slap.
Logically, he knew it had nothing to do with his failure on the island, but the experience was too recent and raw.
Compounded by old hurts he hadn’t been mature enough to face, his mind insisted they were connected.
Bastion glanced back inside, letting his eyes rest on the curve of her horns and the fullness of her lips. An Yvri snubbing him shouldn’t be a surprise.
A flash of movement in the dark made him tense. He rose, reassuring himself that his sword was loose in its scabbard, and strode forwards. It was probably an animal, but he wanted to be certain.
Skittering footsteps preceded him through the village, with only a thin crescent of moon for light. Just beyond the last skeletal home, something darted through the tall grass. Bastion paused, a prickle of doubt slowing his steps.
This felt familiar. Like a trick.
Then, a giggle, one that had plagued his nights on the island, sent him reaching for his sword.
The imp.
Bastion flattened himself against a blackened wall, heart thundering, and scanned the landscape. The only thing of note was a pair of trees, standing side by side like gatekeepers.
Another giggle, farther away now. Bastion stepped out onto the bluff. Carefully, he drew his blade, muscles ready to act. He prowled forward, keeping a careful eye on his surroundings. The night seemed to suck in a hissing breath.
More snickering, closer, like a child unable to suppress their glee at a choice hiding spot. Bastion slowed, moving with all the stealth he could muster. He took one careful step after another, scanning the moonlit darkness as the silence deepened.
Then, an owl called, high and shrill. It faded, leaving only the sigh of wind through the grass and the familiar emptiness of a deserted landscape.
The imp was gone.
Bastion straightened. Had it appeared to torment him, or had his shame conjured up the miscreant?
His eyes caught on a dark shape in the grass.
Bastion stepped forward cautiously, sword ready to swing. When he reached it, he relaxed with a frown.
A man lay on the ground.
Squinting, Bastion drew closer. Burns covered half the man’s face and upper body.
The dull shine of congealed blood along his neck and shoulder gleamed in the moonlight, exposed by torn, blackened clothing.
As the wind changed, Bastion grimaced at the smell of death.
He knelt and checked the man's pulse anyway.
The man clutched something against his chest. Bastion pulled on the chain sprouting from his fist, prying open fingers tightened by rigor.
Finally, he freed a gold pendant. Bastion lifted it, tilting it curiously.
It looked like an upside-down fan, with a symmetrical flourish design cut out like lace.
Five small rubies dangled from the scalloped edge.
Even in the dark, each one was as vibrant as a drop of fresh blood.
If he wasn’t mistaken, this was Acari-made.
Bastion’s frown deepened. Acari jewelry was highly sought after. Not only was it expensive, but pieces were often passed down within noble families. What would one be doing here?
Quickly, Bastion searched the man. He found nothing else of note but a handful of poorly done tattoos on his unburned arm. By the stiffness of the corpse, Bastion guessed he’d been dead since last night.
He stood and looked back toward the village.
Something bothered him. The imp certainly hadn’t killed the man, but no one had reported a missing villager, either. No… it was the Acari pendant. That sort of thing didn’t make sense in a remote fishing village.
A gruesome thought came to him. A way to find out more. Just a rumor, really, but one worth pursuing.
Bastion pocketed the pendant and heaved the man over his shoulder. Then, he returned to the village as quickly as his burden would allow.
On the outskirts, he deposited the corpse into one of the destroyed homes. Hoping the darkness would disguise any blood, Bastion strode into the village proper.
In the doorway of the infirmary, he was relieved to see many people slumped against each other in exhausted sleep.
The Yvri healer wasn’t one of them, though.
She’d moved to sit with someone else, farther inside the broken home, and her eyes snapped to his the moment he appeared.
Bastion beckoned her outside. She furrowed her brow.
He motioned more urgently and stepped away, to what he hoped was a distance out of earshot, and waited, shifting from foot to foot.
Finally, she emerged from the infirmary, her expression dubious.
“I need your help,” he whispered. Her eyes fell to his lips as he spoke. A flush crept over his collar, and he reminded himself this was not the time or place to be distracted. “I need you to look at a corpse.”
She jerked away, baring her fangs.
“Please?” he asked. “It’s not a villager. It might help us understand what happened here.” She glanced back through the door at the people dozing around the tiny fire. After a moment, she grit her teeth, flexed a clawed hand, then gestured for him to lead on. Bastion sighed. “Thank you.”
He led her back the way he’d come, taking care to make sure no one followed. In a shaft of moonlight inside the emaciated home, he knelt beside the corpse. The healer joined him, checking the body quickly and efficiently.
When she was done, she gave him a severe but quizzical look.
“Can you read his last thoughts?” Bastion asked, gambling.
She sneered and started to rise. He caught her hand, gently. A jolt of annoyance surged through the contact, and he said, “I mean no disrespect! It’s important, or I wouldn’t ask.”
Nervous anticipation ran through him, thrumming in his blood. His heart skipped a beat, and he dared hope that she would confirm his hunch.
She stared at him for a long time. He realized he still held her hand, the pebbled texture of her scales cool against his palm. A flush spread across her cheeks, and he suspected she’d gleaned some of his emotion. He let her go and ran his fingers through his hair.
She knelt beside him again, her thumb pointed down as she pressed it against the corpse’s forehead. Her brow wrinkled as she closed her eyes. For a long moment, all was silent except for the wind swishing through the grass outside.
Then the corpse sucked in a wild, gasping breath. Bastion leapt back, scrambling to draw his sword. Before he could finish the motion, the corpse slumped over and lay still again.
Bastion’s heart bounced against his ribs like a ball on a string. The dragon-kin turned wide eyes on him.
Then she seized his arm and dragged him back toward the infirmary. Standing outside, rimmed in the orange glow of firelight, she held up one hand flat and mimed writing across it with the other.
Blinking away his shock, Bastion stared at her.
When she made the gesture again, he cast around for something before remembering the journal he was supposed to be recording his Account in.
He held up a finger and stepped into the infirmary to retrieve it from his pack, fishing an errant nub of charcoal out of a side pocket.
When he handed them to her, she opened the book, pausing at the words written inside. She glanced up at him. All the blood fled Bastion’s face, leaving him chilled and embarrassed. He snatched it out of her hand, fumbled to turn it around to the last page, and handed it back to her upside down.
She took it, one eyebrow raised ever so slightly.
Then, with a swift flourish, she wrote, pirate.
Bastion nodded as he read over her shoulder. She kept writing.
Last thoughts - regret. He hoped for a better life after this job. Cursed his captain.
“Why?” Bastion asked. “Was this job unusual?”
She watched his mouth as he spoke. This close, he could hear the breath leave her lungs and see flecks of emerald in her eyes. He felt himself drawn forward and realized how close they were. He took a sheepish step back as she returned to writing.
When she finished, she handed him the book and charcoal, regarding him seriously. Electric unease raced up his legs and spine, banishing all enchantment as he read her words.
It was a distraction.