He was dead, and it was all her fault.
˜™
It was still raining when Trevor found him. It had been raining for several long, cold hours. Ever since they left. Ever since he’d died.
At least it washed away the blood. Maybe he won’t see what they did to me. I want to die.
“Shush, child.” Trevor wrapped him in the long coat and eased warm arms around him. “You’re safe now. Soon we’ll be home. Hush, now, try not to cry.”
Viper closed his eyes and tried to ignore the pain. He couldn’t stop the tears. Didn’t have the strength to try. Didn’t even have the strength to feed himself to a bahtdor.
Trevor lifted him, rocking as he stood upright.
Pain shot through his ribs, his head, his gut. He couldn’t breathe.
I want to die.
Something heavy and damp settled onto his chest and over his legs. Someone whimpered. Not Trevor; his ear rested on the old man’s chest. Who was there? Who else witnessed his shame? He forced one swollen eye to open.
Lorel paced beside them, looking like she planned to guard him all the way to the Deathsinger’s halls. Her soggy hair tangled around her swollen face. Even as he watched she lifted her hands and yanked more hair out of her braid.
“Your father is going to kill you,” he whispered.
She carved a fake grin onto her face. “No way, kid. I got stuff to do first.”
Trevor’s voice rumbled in his ear. “I will deal with Lorel’s father. Your Lestari friend and I will make Alexander see reason.”
Lorel’s jaw dropped. “You know my father?”
Viper tried to snort, but his nose was swollen shut. “Trevor knows everybody.” He sucked air past his lacerated tongue, but before he could speak his lungs exploded in flames.
Someone whimpered. This time he thought it was his own voice, but the sound was far, far away. Pain crushed his ribs, his heart, his soul.
“Bahtdor,” he whispered. “Where are?”
The light died.
Chapter 29.
“Don’t you tell me it’s not pleurisy.” Faye pushed his shoulders back down on his mattress and yanked the blanket higher. “I know lung sickness when I see it. You’re wheezing and coughing like a poorly vented tea kettle. I told you not to get out of bed yesterday. Why can’t you do as you’re told?”
A cough gagged his chest and tickled deep in his throat. Viper suppressed it ruthlessly. “I didn’t feel this bad yesterday.” He dreaded the pain that shot through his broken ribs every time he moved, every time he so much as breathed deeply. Coughing made him pass out. “I thought that if I moved around my muscles wouldn’t stiffen up as bad.”
It had been a worse idea than he’d ever admit to Faye. He’d barely made it back to bed before he fainted.
Shivers scuttled up his spine. “I’m so cold.”
“It’s the fever giving you a chill.” She handed him another handkerchief. “If you take care of yourself you’ll live through it.” She wrapped a third blanket around him.
He tugged the blanket away from his face. The bruises were far too sore for scratchy wool. “Could this really kill me?”
“Lung sickness? It certainly can.” Faye stopped fussing with the teapot and shook her finger at him. “You are run down, in pain, in shock, and thoroughly ill from exposure. If you refuse to take care of yourself, yes, you could die. Do you understand?”
He nodded and snorted gingerly into the handkerchief. Broken nose, broken head, broken ribs, broken arm, and who knew what else was broken that no one dared tell him about. He was amazed he still had all of his teeth. His carcass was patched with more stitches than a storm-tattered tent. Someone had even shaved off his hair and bandaged him up like a ribbon-wrapped New Year’s present.
He lay back in his pile of pillows and sighed. He didn’t feel like a present. He felt like a curse. Or that he’d been cursed.
Maybe he should die. He’d been dishonored, beaten until he screamed for mercy. A warrior never begs for mercy. Ever.
He should have killed himself before he let them catch him.
They’d left him nameless. Lower than an Outcast. Lower than a slave.
I should have stood up and fought so hard they had to kill me. They did things to me the cruelest warrior would never do to the lowest slave about to be fed to the bahtdor. I don’t deserve to live. I should let this sickness take me and die an Outcast’s petty death. I should curl up and give up. I should –
“Viper, wake up.” Faye patted his shoulder, concern clear in her voice. “Wake up, my dear. Don’t thrash so. You worry me when you toss about like that. Please lie still. That’s better, much better. Let me get you some tea. That’s my good boy.”
He blinked, and a teacup warmed his fingers. Where had that come from?
“Drink it,” Faye said. “Don’t just stare at it.”
Sweet mint tea tingled on his tongue. Cuts on his lips burned as if acid touched them. His hands trembled so hard tea splashed over the rim, down his bandaged fingers.
Faye supported his shaking hands tenderly.
She’d be awfully upset if he died on her. She acted as though she was personally responsible for making him well.
Maybe he shouldn’t die quite yet. “Would you do me a favor?”
“Of course.” Faye set the empty cup aside and tucked him back into his woolen blankets.
“There’s some candles in my bottom drawer. Throw them out, please.”
Faye blinked, but opened the drawer and pushed his socks aside. Her eyebrows rose. “Throw out beeswax candles?”
“Please.”
“May I give them away, instead?”
“If you want to. I don’t care.”
Faye shook her head, but placed all seven candles in her work basket.
He wriggled the swollen hand of his unbroken arm free from the covers and offered it to her. At least he could say he fought bravely. His knuckles looked like he’d tried boxing with an abuelo-hide shield.
She sat on the edge of the bed and held his hand gently, careful not to squeeze the bandages and livid bruises. She brushed a tear from her cheek.
“I just want you to know,” she whispered. “I will never go anywhere with Jorjan again. I thought you would be safe, since you’re my friend. But he didn’t care. So I told him yesterday, after I found out what had happened to you. I told him never to come near me again. I’m so sorry.”
“Please, don’t be sorry. It’s not your fault.” His voice broke off into a spasm of coughs. A volcano belched lava over his ribs.
Faye helped him sit up and let him cling to her while he coughed himself dizzy. As soon as his wheezing sounded less like broken panpipes played by a giggle of tone-deaf turybirds, she lowered him to the bed and eased her arm away.
Viper wilted onto his pillows and tried to ignore the agony in his chest. Tried to ignore the shame that threatened to overwhelm him. Faye didn’t want to touch a nameless sand lizard like him. He could he blame her? How could he look anyone in the face ever again?
“Stop twitching.” Faye rearranged his blankets.
The room whirled like dancers at a dedication ceremony. His stomach felt as queasy as the day he’d eaten rotten cabbage. “As soon as you get me all settled,” he mumbled, “I’m sure to need the privy.”
She laughed shrilly. “Oh, dear, I am sorry.” She giggled, hiccoughing on her laughter. “I didn’t think you’d have enough strength for a joke.”
Girls laughed at the strangest things. “It’s only halfway a joke.” The pain binding his chest wasn’t funny at all. He forced himself to ignore the misery and relaxed his aching muscles.
Eventually he floated back into sleep.
“Hey, boss,” roared a hoarse whisper. “Is he awake?”
Were they under attack? He pried his swollen eyes open and searched the foggy room for the voice, for enemies. For the gang. He’d protect Faye even if it killed him. Even after it killed him.
Faye closed her book
and smiled into the hallway. “He’s awake now.”
“Hey, kid.” Lorel peered around the doorframe. Oh, her. What was she doing here? “You still look like crap. You feeling any better?”
“Lots better.” He tried to sit up to prove it. His taped ribs and broken arm screamed at the bahtdor chewing on them. The room went dark.
He froze. Blast, he couldn’t pass out in front of the girls.
“Lie down, silly.” Faye rushed to his side and eased his shoulders back to his pillows. “He’s much worse. It’s definitely gone into pleurisy.”
It wasn’t fair to rat on him. Didn’t he have enough problems without Lorel scolding him? He still wasn’t sure if he’d seen her that night, or if she’d been part of the vulture dreams that followed.
“You piece of Loom lint.” Lorel stalked into the room and frowned down at him. “I bet you got up and wandered around again. You need a babysitter.”
Was she volunteering? Thunderer protect him. “No, I don’t!”
Faye pressed his shoulders down. “I think you do, too.”
“Now you got one.” Lorel hooked her thumbs in her belt. “I told my folks I’d be spending the next few days here to take care of you. I figured you’da done something dumb by now, and the boss can’t stay with you all the time. She’s got a real job these days.”
“No, wait. You can’t take care of me.”
“Why not?”
“I’m a boy.” That sounded lame, even to him, especially with Faye sitting there giggling at him. He hunted for a better reason. What would slow the crazy girl down?
Lorel threw back her head and laughed. “My brothers are boys, too. That never stopped me from taking care of them. You can’t think of a good enough excuse, kid. You’re stuck with me. Besides, I make a good pot of soup. We’ll manage.”
“But Trevor–”
“Old Trevor won’t mind. In fact, he’s glad. He don’t know how to take care of a sick body. He told me so when I told him I was staying.”
“But your parents?”
“My folks ain’t wild about the idea.” Lorel sat down on the foot of the bed and snickered. “But they ain’t gonna complain about me taking care of a sick friend. Will you quit fishing?”
Viper sighed and leaned back against his pillows. He was too tired to fight with her now. He’d think up a reason to send her away later. Or else he’d have to get well fast. Really fast.
“What I want to know is this.” Lorel glanced around the room dramatically and lowered her voice. “What are we going to do for revenge?”
Revenge? He glanced at Faye, who looked as puzzled as he felt.
Lorel glared at them both, daring them to contradict her. What did she expect them to say? How could they do anything to a Nashidran like Jorjan, much less a gang that scared him so much he couldn’t breathe just thinking about them?
But her silver eyes stabbed his heart. He had to say something to defend his honor. “Faye told Jorjan to feed himself to the bahtdor,” Viper whispered.
“He means I told Jorjan to leave me alone,” Faye translated.
“Good.” Lorel started to pace. “That makes you a free agent, boss. I’d hate to have you caught between.” Three steps to the far wall. Two and a half steps back to the door. The turybird’s legs were too long for his abruptly shrunken bedroom. “So, what can we do? Arrange a gang war?”
“I think Jorjan managed to get the other gang put in jail.” Faye stared into the fireplace and shrugged. “I can find out.”
Hadn’t Lorel mentioned there were several gangs in town? But neither of them corrected Faye. She seemed pretty distracted.
“That’s possibility number one.” Lorel stopped pacing and leaned against the doorjamb. “How about some kind of public humiliation.” She stumbled over the words a little. Had someone planted the idea in her mind?
“We’d have to find a weak point.” He snuffled and dabbed at his aching nose. He had so many weak points at the moment, he couldn’t think of a single strong point.
Faye pushed his hand away and supplied a clean handkerchief. “That will take some homework.”
Lorel nodded to herself. “It’ll take a while, but we’ll get you your revenge.”
Faye added a log to the fire before she settled back into her chair. “Maybe we can get Jorjan in enough trouble to keep him from hurting anybody else.”
“I’m all for it.” Viper shook his fist and tried to sit up. The effort to look strong started all of his broken bones screaming again. He sank back onto the pillows. “But later.”
“I hear you, kid. We gotta wait until you heal up enough to fight, too.”
There were bruises on her knuckles. Had she started working the gang over? Or were they from her normal troublemaking?
“I’m sorry, but I must leave for work.” Faye stood and shook out her velvet skirt. “An assistant bookkeeper isn’t allowed to take much time off, not even from her family’s firm. But now that Lorel is here I won’t worry as much.” She reached for his hand.
“I will. I’ll worry a lot.” Viper squeezed Faye’s soft, warm fingers. “But there’s no point in fretting about what madness she’s liable to commit next.”
Lorel glared at him. “Noodle brain.” Her frown slid into a smirk. “Madness is not staying in bed when you’re sick.”
“Goodbye, dear.” Faye leaned down and kissed his forehead. Warmth spread from her lips across his face, down his chest. Even the bruises on his knees stopped aching.
The room chilled again when she turned away. “Lorel, could I speak with you for a few minutes?” She picked up her basket and strolled to the door.
“Sure thing, boss.” The pine tree backed out of the doorway and tromped down the hall.
Viper relaxed against his pillows with a sigh.
He already missed Faye. Her mere presence in the room eased his pain. Unlike that noisy pine tree. The girl wore him out. Why couldn’t she be more like Faye? Lovely Faye.
But Lorel did have a point. Revenge. The word tasted good.
What could he do to get revenge? If he could create an illusion of himself, he could lead Jorjan into all sorts of trouble. But he couldn’t when he really needed to.
Maybe he started too big. Maybe he needed to start with something small, very small, like that little spider on the ceiling. Why not?
Spider, how would you like a temporary sibling?
The ceiling wavered under his scrutiny, but he concentrated until he could focus on the smooth, grayish blue body. Legs and all, the creature would fit on his littlest fingernail. Opaque eyes stared back at him, daring him to fail.
Failure wasn’t an option. Not anymore. Not if he wanted to live with himself. To live with the name he’d chosen.
The spell had to work, or he might as well throw himself out the window and try to drown in a mud puddle. The Zedisti would never import a bahtdor. They’d never understand honor, or an honorable death.
And he’d never go back to the plains. He practically was Zedisti by now. Maybe he should try to use their code of honor.
But what was the Zedisti definition of honor? He could only guess by Lorel’s behavior: Never give up.
He closed his eyes and focused his will. He drew the spider in his mind, furnishing details from his textbook knowledge of arachnids. He positioned the replica on his knee.
In his mind, he shoved the spider out into the world.
The top of his head itched fiercely, but he refused to give in and scratch. Was that all that came of his best concentration? Spider feet scuttling on his naked scalp?
He sighed and opened his eyes.
A spider perched on his blanket. It was plump and grayish blue, exactly like the one on the ceiling. It stared at him as if it wanted to tell him something. When he reached out to touch it, his finger passed through it.
He gasped.
The spider disappeared.
I don’t believe it. I did it. I really did it. Chant a thousand songs to the Thunderer, burn seven t
housand candles to Wind Dancer, I did it!
Viper mentally twirled in a victory dance, but quickly stilled his thoughts, too tired, aching, and dizzy to even dream about dancing.
He grinned at the tiny spider spinning a web on his ceiling. I did it. I may be a nameless Outcast too little to feed to the bahtdor, but I can create an illusion. I can.
Watch out, Jorjan. I’m back in this fight. I won’t let you destroy me.
Chapter 30.
Lorel kicked through the dead leaves littering Thorn Lane and pushed her new cloak back behind her shoulders. It wasn’t nearly cold enough for a cloak, but her mom had sewed it herself, a gift for today, and Mom was plenty upset already, without her leaving this present behind.
Dad had burned her old cloak when she brought it home soaked in the kid’s blood. He didn’t even yell at her. He did make her wear Baxter’s castoff cloak, and that was worse punishment than she’d expected. Almost worse than getting grounded would have been.
Too bad she couldn’t camp out on the kid’s bedroom floor no more. His place was so peaceful. No brothers to torment him, no father to demand he become an apprentice. The kid didn’t know how lucky he was. He didn’t have to put up with a stupid family tradition.
He didn’t have a father who wouldn’t take no for an answer.
Some fraying fourteenth-birthday present. The same one she’d refused last year! She’d handed the apprenticeship badge to Baxter, who’d dropped it like it was a live coal. Sing to the Weaver, the fraying thing broke into three pieces. She didn’t know metal could break so easy.
But she’d never heard her dad yell so loud.
It wasn’t her fault. She didn’t drop the fraying badge, and even if she wanted to throw it into the fire, she hadn’t. He knew she didn’t want to be his apprentice. She’d told him enough times. What made him believe she’d changed her mind?
Weaver’s chamberpot. The fraying harp case musta done it. She’d used it thousands of times to sneak her swords out to the forest. But she hadn’t made the harp or the case, just changed it a little. What made him think an ugly old harp case meant she wanted to make instruments?
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