Scars of Stone

Chapter 1-2-1

Ryell woke up to a gentle knock on the door. His eyes, sticky from lingering slumber, refused to open after an entire night of restless, shallow sleep. He was ready to pull a pillow over his face and ignore the visitor, but when the knocking became more persistent, the memory hit him. Lefna! She promised she’d wake him up.

He was at the door in a leap and three steps, and she gently smiled at him, holding an empty tray.

She pointed at the door at the end of the corridor. “They’re up. I brought them breakfast, and they seem… in a brighter mood today. But if I were you”—she gave him a critical look—“I’d get a bath and food first.”

He followed her gaze to the crumpled clothes he’d slept in. “That might be a good idea.” Not that he wanted to waste time, but if he was to win Kamira’s trust, he had to look like a royal guard, and not like a poor refugee wasting his life away in a foreign city.

With most of the guests either sleeping or gone, the room downstairs had an eerie feel of emptiness and silence to it, weighing heavy on Ryell’s mood as he recalled Lefna’s story from the previous night. No wonder Kamira had been so distrustful, and Veelk had such a firm grip on her if they were betrayed by their companion. Ryell wouldn’t be even surprised if she saw another treacherous Garivan in him, and she feared that their blossoming friendship would turn sour with the betrayal she must be expecting.

The inn’s bath chamber was empty as well, and he hastily saw to his cleanliness while his thoughts still circled Kamira. Possibly, she perceived high mages as threats or traitors as well, so Ryell’s relationship with archmage Yoreus wouldn’t help, but to deny it meant deception that could aggravate her wariness should she discover it. Honesty was a better option even if it meant he had to work harder for her trust.

A sudden thought brought a cringe to her face. He might have had obligations binding him to Yoreus, but Kamira had her own secrets too, and played games with the archmage like the one back in the tavern when Ryell met her first. Yet she refused to offer even a small amount of trust, putting the burden on building it entirely on him. He shook his head, chasing the bitter feeling away. The mage killer must have been poisoning her with his own hostile attitude. Without him, she’d surely be more open, and if Ryell found a way to convince her to go back to the High Towers, she’d be out of Veelk’s reach.

With a sigh, he dried himself, and a surprisingly soft towel brushing across his skin reminded him of Atissa. Once more he pondered why he’d even wasted time on Kamira, why he endlessly searched for the way to bring her back to the Light’s grace, running in circles, while the archmage’s daughter was all he could dream of: beautiful, willing, and still somewhat innocent.

Lefna walked in and put a pile of fresh clothes on the chair. “Thought you’d need these.” Her eyes slipped along his naked body, but she neither blushed nor stared. “Breakfast is ready too.”

Ryell gave a quick nod, more uncomfortable with his own nudity than Lefna was, and welcomed her departure. When he got dressed, the polished brass plate that served as mirror showed him a less appealing image than he’d hoped for. Unconscious and taken from the Devanshari pier right before the demonlings swarmed it, he’d had no time to pack, so all of his clothes were of Kaighal’s make, following local fashion, and the bloodstained and dented armor was hardly a suitable alternative. His face bore the marks of the essence deprivation—though, thanks to Atissa’s generosity, he didn’t look as starved as some of his compatriots—and lacking the daily guard’s routine, his body was losing its nimbleness.

He ran his fingers through his hair, resisting the urge for more grooming. There was only so much he could do, and in the end, Kamira had seen him before, bloodies, bruised, and balancing on the edge of death. If he tried too hard, she’d likely suspect deception.

Out in the main room, he downed his breakfast, paying no attention to the few travelers eating theirs and seeking no conversation. He hardly felt the taste of porridge and diluted cafra juice locals drank with their morning meal, but still complimented the food when Lefna approached.

“Don’t worry, they seem back to normal now.” Lefna’s words and pat on his shoulder made it clear his expression wasn’t as collected as he’d hoped for. “I think Veelk was cleaning the wound on her leg, and she’s complaining a lot, but it’s more like their usual bickering.”

Ryell grunted in response, staring at the rest of his food, but she didn’t leave him alone, so he looked up at her.

“Something else is wrong, isn’t it?” Her voice carried that sincere concern she only had for regular patrons. “Is it because of what I told you last night?”

With a shake of his head, he forced a smile. “I think I just worry too much.” He grasped the first thought that would get him out of sharing the truth. “Seeing Kamira like this and knowing that something might have happened to her…” He let his voice trail off in hopes Lefna would leave it at that. Explaining his motives and tangled feelings to an inn’s maid would be both embarrassing and frustrating.

“It’s normal when you care about someone.” She offered a smile. “But I better let you finish your food. Kamira’s probably already wondering where you are.”

Ryell’s heart skipped a beat. This might have been nothing but an empty phrase meant to comfort him, but maybe indeed Kamira was waiting for him. He finished the last few spoonfuls and washed them down with the remainder of the juice. Lefna winked at him as he rushed toward the stairs, so he made an effort to slow down.

He’d been so wrapped up in his concerns that he never considered what he’d say to Kamira, and as he approached the door, he desperately looked for the words that would earn her trust.

Before he knocked, Kamira’s voice reached him from behind the closed door. “I don’t need to be fed. I can eat with one hand just fine. But I need my hair done.”

“I’m not putting all that debris back on your head,” Veelk replied. “You can live with it being not done.”

“But I can’t eat. The hair’s getting in the food.”

Ryell caught a tease in her complaint, and he hoped Veelk would once more refuse, so he could offer to help.

“And that’s why I’m feeding you.”

The mage killer’s tone suggested he considered the topic finished, and Ryell smiled. They indeed seemed in better mood, and he knocked on the door, lured by the playfulness in their voices while the images of the battered Kamira from the previous evening faded from his mind.

Silence followed, and Ryell waited to hear the steps or hushed conversation, but no sound came before the door opened. Ryell, caught unprepared, stared at Veelk, and the mage killer took a step to the side, revealing the visitor’s face to Kamira and making it clear that an invitation—if any—would come from her.

Kamira was sitting on the bed with a bowl on her lap, staring at Ryell in silence. Her arm rested in a fresh sling, and her face was clean of marks and dust. With her hair loose, she’d lost a lot of the malicious demonologist look, and Ryell’s instincts responded with compassion for the fragile woman she seemed, but the intensity of her gaze reassured him that her personality remained as it was.

“Come in.” Her permission carried only tiredness.

Veelk offered no greeting as he moved to the side, and Ryell’s muscles tensed as he stepped through the door at the sight of Veelk’s keshal resting against the wall and within reach. They clearly hadn’t been expecting a guest, but an assassin. Whatever transpired in the desert, it must have been more than a skirmish with some riffraff.

Kamira looked at Veelk, and a smile warmed her face. “Go, see her. I’ll be fine.” She rubbed her skin on her forearm where she used to wear her nightfly bracelet.

Ryell glanced at her other arm, but it bore no jewelry either, leaving him to wonder whether she’d removed the set because of the injury or if she’d lost the unique crystal pieces. Veelk stared back at Kamira. Their body language suggested they communicated with more than words, and then he nodded and left.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, the first question that came to mind. “Lefna mentioned something about a wound.”

To his surprise, she smiled. “I’ve been better. Usually it’s Veelk who gets all beaten up.” She made an inviting gesture toward one of the chairs.

He’d much rather sit at the edge of the bed, close enough to catch the scent of her magic, but he followed her unvoiced wish, ignoring the whispers of how much it spoke of her trust. Given time, if he didn’t slip, he’d remedy that. Yet he pulled the chair toward the bed with a teasing smirk, far enough away to keep the distance she wanted, but at the same time cutting it a bit.

“I should have gone with you.” He had to say it even if he was risking an argument.

Her expression softened. “It’s good you didn’t. Otherwise I’d have your death on my hands.”

“You didn’t die, and neither did Veelk,” Ryell pointed out. “And maybe if I was there, you wouldn’t have your arm broken, and the Light knows what other injuries.” At her grimace, he reined in his frustration. “So, what happened?” he asked softly.

She looked to the side as if trying to conceal her grimace. “There was an explosion of magic deeper in the desert, and its wave reached us. We barely had time to do anything, and raising a barrier… My pact is limited. When the destruction passed, I was defenseless, and the desert nomads attacked.”

“Why?” Ryell couldn’t help himself. The excitement that she’d shared the story with him instead of denying him an answer pushed him to take chances. There had to be more to the story if she was convinced he would have died there.

A shrug was her first response. “They didn’t tell, and we didn’t bother to ask. It might have been a simple robbery, or they thought I had something to do with that eruption of magic.” Kamira’s eyes dimmed. “If chronicles are to believed, this looked a lot like the Cataclysm, just… less powerful.”

“People have seen it even from Kaighal. Got a lot of them worried. You saw it close, didn’t you? What was it?”

The look she gave him was sharp and inquisitive, and her voice was cold when she asked, “Is it you or the archmage asking?”

Taken by surprise, Ryell struggled to keep his face straight, his memories of conversations with Yoreus too clear all of a sudden. “From what I could see, the archmages were concerned about it, but Archmage Yoreus doesn’t share his thoughts with me.” To thread between truth and lies was beyond a royal guard, but openly admitting he did Yoreus’s bidding would ruin any remaining trust between them.

“Not his thoughts, just his daughter.”

His face burned, because there was no denying it when she made such a direct remark, and he stuttered, searching for words. Kamira burst out laughing, but he found no malice in it, only amusement.

“It’s so like Yoreus… Using his own daughter to play you.” She giggled as she spoke.

“He asked me to protect his daughter, and Atissa… she wanted something more,” he admitted. At the same time, he had to fight to resist the ire at her biting remark of Atissa being but a pawn in her father’s hands. She was too innocent to play games like that. “And I… My body is addicted to magic. You went with me to Prince Allyv’s asylum, and you saw the ones who hunger for it, the ones desperate enough to swallow imbued stones to ease their suffering. I’m no different, just lucky enough that someone is willing to share their magic with me.” He didn’t want it to sound like an accusation, but there he was, implying that Kamira didn’t offer him what Atissa did.

“I can understand that,” she said with a touch of softness, as if she could relate to his hunger, but then her features hardened again. “What I can’t understand is what you’re doing here.”