hadn’t occurred to him. He wouldn’t have known what to say or do. Kindness had played little part in an orphan-templar’s life. It had never seemed a serious loss.
Until now.
Urik was quiet above them. An occasional foot fell across the isinglass: a mercenary patrol, exempt from curfew and paid to guard the property of Gold Street. Templars weren’t welcome here. Merchants didn’t trust them. Pavek felt safe with his back against the door and the gentle rumblings of sleep all around him.
And through that quiet darkness, Dovanne came to haunt him. He’d expected mat, with the bitter grief burning deep in his throat and behind his eyes. He wondered what if anything would have changed if he’d known how to console her as Yohan consoled Akashia, those years at the orphanage. Probably they’d both be dead—too soft and sentimental to survive in the templarate.
The bed creaked. Pavek rose into a crouch on the balls of his feet, the sword he had never sheathed angled in front of him.
“Stand down,” Yohan muttered, pushing the blade aside. He was a dwarf; he could see in the dark. “I’ll take over.”
“How is she?”
“Better, I think. She said my name, but I don’t know if she knew I was beside her. I’m coming back, Pavek.”
“So am I.”
“Thought you might be. First, there’s tomorrow. We’re going to need a cart. She’s not going to be able to walk. I could carry her to the Temple of the Sun. We’re not poor—”
“Not if you got four gold pieces every time you delivered a load of zarneeka.” Once again, Pavek heard himself speaking more harshly than he’d intended. Even a night-blind human could see—feel—the scowl suddenly creasing Yohan’s face.
“For emergencies,” the dwarf said, defensive and angry and shuffling away through the dark before adding: “Go to sleep.”
And Pavek stretched out where he was, thinking that it was easier to master druid magic than life outside the templarate, where people cared about each other and mere words held an edge sharper than steel.
* * *
Curfew ended and the day began in Urik not with sunrise but with the orator’s daily harangue from a palace balcony. Pavek was awake and listening as the first syllable of the morning laudatory prayer to Great and Mighty King Hamanu struck his ear. There were the usual admonitions and announcements, nothing at all about a death or an abduction in the templar quarter. But then, he hadn’t truly expected to hear any. The templarate cleaned its house in private; his own denunciation had been unusual—
Which reminded Pavek of the earth cleric, Oelus, who had called him ‘friend’ and who was a healer. He’d never known which aspect of earth the cleric venerated, which of the many earth temples in Urik he called his home: a large one where his talents and choices might be overlooked, or a small one where his word was law? Either way, Oelus would be worth the risks associated with finding him—if Akashia still needed a healer.
The harangue was over. Pavek stood up and stretched the night-cramps out of a body that was getting too old for sleeping on the bare ground. His companions were awake and blocking his view of Akashia.
“How is she?” he asked.
“Better,” Yohan answered with a disturbing lack of enthusiasm.
“How much better?”
He wedged his shoulder between the other two men and saw the answer for himself. Akashia reacted to the movement: looking up, staring at his face. The black pupils of her eyes grew large, then shrank to pinpoints in slow, unnerving cycles.
“Akashia?” He held out his hand.
Her gaze followed his fingers. Her hand rose toward his, then fell. And her eyes went flat and unchanging.
“She’s coming back,” Ruari insisted. “She sees us and hears us; she didn’t before. She’s coming. It’s just a matter of time.”
“Do we have the time?” Yohan asked. “I don’t think it would be wise to carry her all the way to Modekan, not half-aware, the way she is. It’s time or a cart. How safe is this place? Who’s in charge? Templars?”
Pavek thought of the no-nonsense baker who’d collected the weekly ten-bit rent while he was here with Zvain. The woman might be willing to let them stay as long as they needed, as long as they paid in metal coins. She hadn’t seemed the sentimental sort who’d hold a marketable room empty in the hope that an orphan boy would return to it, and since the room had obviously remained empty since he’d left, they obviously wouldn’t have