Argan Am looked at me inquisitively and I shifted, uneasy.
“You think he’ll be fine?” he asked.
“No idea. I don’t know anyone else I could trust.” Then, not able to keep it inside any longer, I let my frustration out, “I’m not the best person for this position. Someone else should have it.”
“Sorry, man. Can’t help you.”
“I know,” I murmured. I was hoping to hear one of those pointless platitudes you don’t care about until you miss them. I guess, like all Dahlsi, he was too practical for bullshit.
“Did you know Laik Var had a daughter?” I asked after a moment of silence.
“Amma La? Yeah, I studied with her.”
“Did you?”
“Yeah.” He paused. “So, are you gonna ask?”
“What?”
He let out a small chuckle. “Yeah, I studied with Myar Mal too.”
I blinked in surprise. So Myar Mal was a sorcerer. Strange. I couldn’t imagine him working as a sorcerer. He was too… dominating. In ancient times he could have become a warlock commanding an army of golems to conquer some half-forgotten world, but those days were long gone. Now, advanced magic was mostly used in construction or life support. Or in Mespana.
“So… is he any good?” I asked, then realized how ridiculous I sounded.
It was Myar Mal we were talking about. And yet Argan Am hesitated before replying. “His theory is flawless.”
“And his practice?”
“His practice is the reason he’s in Mespana and not at the Academy,” he said in a tone even I understood was meant to end the topic. I recalled Malyn Tol mentioning Argan Am having some conflict with Myar Mal, and I wondered if it stemmed from their time in the Academy. But it was too late to ask.
I didn’t know what to say and he didn’t seem interested in continuing the conversation either, so for a moment, we sat in awkward silence.
“I have to go,” I blurted finally, “take some rest.”
“Yeah,” he nodded, “good luck, vessár.”
Chapter 20
Tayrel Kan’s tent was at the edge of the camp; away from everyone, but too close to the vessár-ai premises for my comfort.
I found the sorcerer sprawled on his cot with empty syringes, bottles, and plastic wraps scattered all over the floor.
“In Tarviss, when we visit the sick, we bring them something good to eat, but I didn’t know what to get you,” I said from the entrance.
He tried to rise but fell back, wincing in pain. He finally settled on turning on his side with a bent hand under his head. He sent me a lazy, hazy smile with no trace of his usual sarcasm. I realized he was high as a kite.
“It’s all right, Aldait Han; I’m glad you’re here. And before you ask, it’s all painkillers.”
I wasn’t going to ask, but now that he brought it up, I felt ridiculous. I wasn’t sure if he read my mind, or if I was just so predictable.
Tayrel Kan gestured to the mark on the floor, and I helped myself to a chair. Only then did I give him a closer look. His scars had changed again: though pale, they were strangely swollen, like they were ready to burst open. Deep shadows surrounded his reddened eyes. He was only wearing pants, his chest wrapped in bandages, and the sight made a wave of guilt roll over me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, waving my hand, “for all of this.”
He made an uncoordinated gesture. “It’s mostly the arrows.”
“Bolts,” I corrected automatically. He arched an eyebrow, and I took it as a cue to explain. “Arrows are for bows, crossbows shoot bolts.”
I wasn’t an expert, but the bolts I saw hit him during the battle seemed deep enough to puncture more than a uniform. Wait, why was I even thinking about it? He got injured and almost died. Who gave a shit about what the weapons that hurt him were called?
“Whatever.” He waved his hand dismissively. “The anaphylaxis was nothing in comparison.”
I winced, as the memories of my fiasco resurfaced.
“How did you even survive?” I asked, striving for a positive note and obviously choosing the worst viable option.
But Tayrel Kan grinned, even though it was a shadow of his usual smile. “Magic keeps me alive. It was nothing compared to some shit I’ve been through. Wounds, spells, lack of air, lack of food, you name it. I’m not even sure I can die…”
There was something strange in his voice, and before I could bite my tongue, I asked, “do you want to?”
He didn’t answer, and I cursed myself.
Change the subject. I realized I still hadn’t said what I came to say.
“Also,” I cleared my throat, more nervous than ever before, “I’m sorry for calling you an imp. I didn’t mean for it to sound like that.”
Tayrel Kan frowned. “You called me an imp?” he asked, sounding as confused as I felt.
Didn’t Adyar Lah bring it up during my interrogation?
“This morning, when you were in the ritual tent,” I explained. “Myar Mal told me to stop you, and you weren’t listening.”
“I didn’t hear you. I wasn’t really aware of anything at the time.”
“Well, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve been called worse. Besides, I’m half your size, so you weren’t exactly wrong.”
“It’s not about the size,” I stammered, then paused, not sure how to explain what I meant. Adyar Lah’s words were echoing through my brain, chasing away all rational thought.
He scoffed. “People these days care so much about words that they never stop to think about what they actually mean. I don’t have to read your thoughts to know you’re not racist. If anyone thinks otherwise, they’re a fucking moron. And yeah, I’m talking about Adyar Lah. The guy has a stick so high up his ass you can see it poking out every time he opens his mouth.”
“He’s not that bad,” I protested, even though I was unable to contain a grin. “He saved your life.”
Tayrel Kan closed his eyes and let out a sigh, his face twisted in pain. “He wasn’t doing anyone a favor.”
My mirth vanished as fast as it appeared, and a cold shiver ran down my spine.
“Don’t say that.”
He chuckled—a strange, self-deprecating sound I never expected to hear from him.
“Come on, has no one ever told you about me? How I’m more trouble than I’m worth? How they can’t understand why Myar Mal even keeps me?”
I hesitated. I didn’t want to fuel his apparent self-loathing, but I was a terrible liar. He would likely read the truth in my mind, anyway.
“Laik Var told me to stay away from you.”
“Did he tell you why?”
“You know,” I murmured, looking away.
“Come on, I want to hear it. You look cute when you blush.” Without thinking, I lifted my hand to my cheek. It was burning.
Ah, fuck it.
I took a deep breath. “He told me…” I noticed I was rocking in my chair and forced myself to still, “you may try to hit on me.”
He chuckled again, and I felt my blush deepening.
“That’s a nice explanation,” he admitted finally. “Elegant. One that worked without him telling you anything important and still technically not lying; and placed all the blame on you.”
“Why is that?” I asked sullenly. I didn’t like being mocked, even though I came to realize it was just the way he talked.
“Well, you’re the bigot who can’t be trusted around a man who might try to get into your pants.”
“That’s a bit unfair, I think.”
I lived among the Dahlsi for cycles, doing my damnedest to treat everyone equally—man or woman, human or otherwise. I didn’t care what species they were or who they were sleeping with, as long as they left me out of it. Apparently, that wasn’t enough. “Ever since the rebellion started, people who don’t know me assume I’m a bigot, only because my parents came from the wrong world.”
“To be fair, you called me an imp, so I think we’re even.�
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My mood soured even more. “Besides, I don’t think Laik Var—”
He cut me short, staring me pointedly in the eye, “He was Dahlsi. You shouldn’t forget that. If the choice was between being fair to you and preserving his own way of life, which one do you expect he’d chose? I mean, come on, look around. Every other man in Dahls has at least experimented. I bet Laik Var didn’t warn you about Saral Tal, hm?”
Once again, I got an impression some things were clear for everyone except me.
“Maybe we’d tell if you asked,” he said, and I mentally cursed all the sorcerers in Dahls. Tayrel Kan only smirked. “Seriously, didn’t they teach you how to shield your mind, or did you just flunk those classes?”
I gritted my teeth. I passed all of my classes, but that was cycles ago. No one had to do it all the time. Reading other people’s thoughts was rude. Get the fuck out of my head, pest!
He laughed, and with the mood completely sullen, I put up my shields. I decided from then on I would have to do it every time we were in the same room.
“So?” he prodded after a moment of silence. “Are you gonna ask?”
I huffed, too annoyed to care. “It’s not really my business.”
“Aw, come on, don’t act like you’re not curious. Don’t worry, we Dahlsi are a gossipy bunch.” He paused, then added with a conspiratorial whisper, “Laik Var wouldn’t mind.”
“All right,” I relented. I leaned back in the chair, crossing my arms. “Tell me.”
“What?” he asked. Was he messing with me?
“Well,” I stammered, at a loss for words, but then took a guess and finished quickly, “you had something specific you wanted to tell me, right?”
He gave an exasperated huff.
“Fair enough. I guess you want to know about your favorite ex-vessár.”
I was more interested in him, but as soon as I opened my mouth, he raised his hand in protest.
“No, you lost your chance to ask. I’m choosing a topic now. Laik Var then!”
Not exactly what I was hoping for. It seemed to be a habit of Tayrel Kan, to change the subject or come up with a new one every time I thought about asking him a personal question. I wondered if he did that on purpose, perhaps even using his mind-reading capabilities to avoid questioning.
“Where do I start?” he continued. “Maybe with the fact that he hated Myar Mal with a burning passion?”
Just like that, my disappointment gave way to curiosity. If Tayrel Kan was deflecting, he was doing it masterfully.
“Why?” I asked, my mood lightening a bit. After all, any information was better than none.
Tayrel Kan’s smile widened and took on his usual predatory sneer.
“Laik Var had a beautiful daughter he loved very much,” he started in clear mockery of narrative tone. “He wished all the best for her. He wanted her to be a sorceress. She had talent. One point three, not bad for an unmodified person. And the brains. Everything went well until she met a charming soldier with a stellar record and a bright future. A bit imperious, but that’s understandable. And that face, oh, by Vhalfr! Pardon my language, but even knowing what kind of bastard he is, if he told me to suck, I would only ask how hard. Anyway, before you know it, Laik Var’s precious daughter abandoned her promising career to follow the pretty soldier.”
Tayrel Kan’s eyes drifted past as he got lost in thoughts.
“Is that it?” I prodded after a moment of silence.
He sighed. “I don’t know, Aldait Han. Some people like to explain everything by what happens between the sheets, but maybe there was more to it. Academic life is not for everyone; neither is being told what to do. Perhaps Amma La just wanted an adventure, and the pretty soldier was an excuse. What I know is she and Laik Var didn’t talk for a long time. Pah, she even refused to be in the same room with him! And he blamed Myar Mal. Ha! People are still talking about the day Myar Mal was commissioned with the rank of kar-vessár and Laik Var had to swear an oath to him.”
“But why is Myar Mal…” I wasn’t sure how to put my thoughts into words. No, I shouldn’t say anything. It was none of my business. Still, it was hard not to notice that Amma La was perfectly average while Myar Mal was, well…
“Maybe she’s his little protest too,” Tayrel Kan mused.
“Against what?”
“The cult of absolute perfection he follows?”
I frowned. “Does he?”
“That was a joke. I don’t know. And I’m not a connoisseur of female beauty, but even I see she’s not the best he can get. So either he’s really in love… or he has other reasons to be with her.”
“Maybe she has other qualities.”
“Yeah, I bet she sucks like a siplah.”
I frowned. Siplahs were small animals feeding on waste.
“That’s gross.” I wasn’t talking about the creatures. “I meant, maybe she’s clever or caring or something.”
I had very little idea of how romance worked. Marriages in Tarviss were arranged, and the sheer concept of choosing your partner seemed preposterous when our Dahlsian teacher first told us about it. And even living away from other Tarvissi, I had absolutely no inclination to pursue such things.
“What do you want me to say?” asked Tayrel Kan. “I don’t know her, I don’t know what’s in his head. Or hers, for that matter. Most people shield themselves as soon as I approach.”
He paused for a moment. “If anything, I think he feels obliged for dragging her to Mespana and fucking things up with her dad. It’s no secret she’s not happy here. She probably realized she wasn’t escaping, but swapping one man’s dream for another’s. I wouldn’t be surprised if the whole relationship blew up in their faces. But hey, her loss is my gain.”
I frowned, not sure what to say. Tarvissian marriages were unbreakable, and personal feelings didn’t factor. It was different for Dahlsi, who put personal happiness above everything. Those differences aside, I still wasn’t qualified to offer advice. I wanted to say that I wished Tayrel Kan the best of luck, but I couldn’t bring myself to wish for Myar Mal and Amma La to split up—even though I didn’t know or particularly care about either of them.
“Can’t you dream of someone who’s not, you know… in a relationship?” I asked.
“You can’t choose who you dream of, silly. It just happens. You can’t fight it. All you can do is follow the flow.”
“Does he even like guys?”
“I don’t care about him liking guys; I want him to like me.”
I sighed. What could I say to that?
There was still one thing that I felt was unanswered. “So, what does that have to do with me?” Then, remembering how this whole conversation started, I added hastily, “or you?”
“You didn’t get it yet? Laik Var put you as his nami because he knew it would piss off a lot of people. And who would take the heat?”
A sense of betrayal flooded over me, though I wasn’t sure if it was because of Laik Var or Tayrel Kan. “But he said—”
“Yeah, I know. But whatever tear-jerking speech he gave you, the only thing he cared about was rubbing it in on Myar Mal.”
“You think Laik Var was one of the traitors?”
I realized too late that only Myar Mal and I—and perhaps Adyar Lah—were supposed to be aware of the conspiracy. But, knowing Tayrel Kan’s propensity to telepathy, he’d probably already read all about it in my mind.
“Nah, he was too honest for that. But he wouldn’t be terribly saddened if something happened. Even if he knew, I’m not sure he’d do anything to stop it.”
“Myar Mal didn’t suspect him,” I noted, “he had other picks.”
“Well, Laik Var wasn’t here to partake in that little assassination attempt. That probably cleared his name, at least partially. And I’m not surprised Myar Mal doesn’t want to touch that particular can of worms. Say what you want, but he cares about Amma La.”
I took a moment to digest his words. As much as I wanted to remember Lai
k Var as a good man and great vessár, I knew very little about him outside of work. Tayrel Kan obviously had more information and perhaps… perhaps his version of events was closer to the truth than mine, however I loathed to admit it.
“Look, maybe it’s not all bad,” Tayrel Kan said. He was unusually earnest, and I wondered if he regretted telling me all this. “Maybe Laik Var was casting two spells with one wand. He seemed to genuinely like you.”
“But not enough to refrain from using me,” I replied gloomily. “Or at least tell me about his intentions.”
“To be fair, his family drama is none of your business.”
Silence descended for a few long moments. Finally, he sighed. “You must be so disappointed. We’re the most advanced civilization… but all the magic in the universe cannot shield us from ourselves. We’re still humans. We still feel: love, hate, resentment. We still make mistakes.” He lifted his hand, seemingly inadvertently, to touch his scars. “It’s all terribly petty sometimes.”
“What about these?” I nodded to his face, and he caught himself, quickly lowering his hands. He smiled mysteriously.
“Ah, I can’t tell you.”
“Why not?”
“Because right now, despite everything, you’re intrigued. If I told you, you’d feel nothing but pity.”
“I won’t pity you. Even if it’s… petty.”
“Then there’s no point talking about it, is there?”
I wanted to press, but then the flap of the tent moved aside. I turned around to face Myar Mal. He frowned.
“Don’t you have a Cohort to prepare?” he asked, and I almost jumped from my chair.
“Yes, kar-vessár,” I murmured and fled.
Chapter 21
“You got a new friend?”
Myar Mal might have sounded innocent, but Tayrel Kan didn’t need telepathy to smell bullshit.
“Are you jealous?” he asked.
“Just surprised. He doesn’t seem like your usual fling.”
“He’s not.”
“Oh?” Myar Mal sat in the place vacated a while ago, “do tell.”
“Go fuck a siplah.”
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