A Mischief in the Woodwork - By Harper Alexander Page 0,21

doorway.

“The Baedra?” he asked, frowning a little. I do not know if it was merely in confusion or dislike, but he used that word, Baedra, so I didn't take fondly to him.

“A slave,” I differentiated, though I didn't feel like there was a need to be differentiating so.

Oh, he seemed to conclude. “Where are your masters?”

“Upstairs,” I answered without enthusiasm. “They don't come down.”

Again: oh. His head bowed slightly in comprehension and resignation, thinking. Then he glanced to the side, took in the house, and back to me. “I came from Cathwade,” he said.

It was a name I had not heard in a long time. One did not deal with other cities these days. Other cities were essentially irrelevant; we had enough to worry about in our own, and travel was folly anyway. But Cathwade was a city in the east, quite a distance from here, and much smaller than this, the capital: Dar'on.

What, by the gods, was he doing all the way out here?

“That's a long way,” I observed.

He nodded with the smallest sense of wryness for my stating the obvious.

“Why so far from home?” I inquired.

“Home is gone,” he said as if that should be obvious too. “It's a shambles. I came looking to see if...other areas were hit like us.”

“And,” I prompted, “are you satisfied?” He didn't have to come all this way to satisfy that curiosity.

He shook his head, his eyes falling to the side – but it wasn't in answer to my question. It was a look that said how a shame his findings were. “City after city... When that's all I found, I couldn't stop. I had to know if there were any that hadn't been hit.”

I suppose I did not know for fact that everywhere was like this. It was just a common assumption, because it was certainly all we had heard about. But we were rather limited in our intel, cooped up here, weren't we? If he came all the way from Cathwade, though, that mostly answered the curiosity. If everything between here and there was in ruins, there was not much hope for a pocket or corner elsewhere that wasn't. He had mostly covered everything.

“I thought maybe the capital would prove stronger. It seemed impossible that the great symbol that is the capital of our nation could just...crumble. Do you know? I couldn't imagine it. I had to hope...”

“Well you were wrong,” I said. Again, the obvious.

He nodded – bitterly? Or was that mere rawness? I suppose I could afford him that. I let him have the moment unchallenged. A moment of sympathy.

But I still did not trust him. I offered him nothing.

He looked up, only half seeing, and I realized I was right: that was raw pain in his painted eyes. They were like two pieces of sky. Broken sky.

“Did I get your name, Monvay?” he asked, looking weary.

I decided he might as well have that. “Avante, of Manor Dorn,” I granted. As a slave, I had no last name. And being defiant and claiming any relevant name that used to be there would only name the family that had given me up. I didn't want that name anyway. But either alternative was sour – so sour. My pride curled at both. I wanted to spit the mixture from my mouth.

He nodded. “Tanen Nysim,” he offered back.

I did not feel like I needed to offer him anything further, but failing to introduce Letta as well seemed as if I was neglecting her, and I felt defiant against my impression of this man's regard – or disregard – for the darkskins. So I opened my mouth again, for pride's sake. “And this is Letta,” I said, daring him to react differently to being equally introduced to one of the 'Baedra'.

He looked at me a moment, then at Letta over my shoulder. Nodded.

My eyes narrowed in calculation.

“It is a pleasure, Tanen,” Letta said.

He was not looking at her anymore, but his eyes flicked back to her in acknowledgment, very briefly. When he spoke, though, he had already looked away. “Likewise.”

My insides stewed under the heat of my suspicions. He was being polite, but I sensed an underlying tension in his mannerisms. I was sure this fellow was a product of prejudice. I could smell it on him.

I wanted him gone. “Where will you be off to next?” I prompted pointedly.

He shifted. Clearly, he had other ideas. And after all, he had to have come to the door for a reason. Not just