The momentary guilt vanished at his levity. “You can’t see it, but I’m rolling my eyes at you.”
“Oh, I can hear it well enough in your voice.” He began strolling down the main tunnel that led to the court. The light of the single torch faded behind them. “My eyes and scars truly don’t bother you?”
“Should they?” Eira arched her eyebrows.
“Most find them creepy at best, horrifying at worst.”
“I guarantee the people who find you unbecoming on the outside are far uglier within,” Eira said thoughtfully. “I’m surprised you’d care what I think. You don’t really seem like the type to concern yourself with what others think.”
“I try not to. Sometimes I’m even successful.” Raw honesty was woven through his words, a sound that harmonized with a very wounded hum deep within her.
“It’s hard not to. I can relate,” she said softly.
“Can you?”
“You wear your scars on the outside. I wear mine inside. I can’t know your pain…but I can attempt to empathize to some level based on the cruelty I’ve experienced in my own time.” Her thoughts wandered to all the people and their judgmental eyes when they’d learned of the voices.
Ducot slowed to a stop before the dark tunnel that would lead them back to the holding house for competitors. The darkness shrouded him, save for the five faintly glowing dots across his brow. Even though he wasn’t looking directly at her, she could feel all of his attention on her.
“You didn’t even ask how I could see,” he said thoughtfully. “How I manage to get around. Most people have a dozen things they must immediately inquire about.”
“You seem to get around just fine. And why would any of it be my business?” Eira shrugged. “My uncle lost his arm in the fall of the Mad King. He uses an arm of ice now when he needs it and gets around without issue. He certainly doesn’t want anyone treating him differently.” The thought of Grahm filled her with a dull ache. He had been one of the three who’d bid her farewell. Even though he oozed disappointment with her choice to leave, he’d still held her tightly. “I assume you have your own tactics—magical or otherwise—to navigate the world.”
“You’re right; it’s a number of things, some magical, some not.” Ducot nodded. “You weren’t what I expected for a Dark Isle dweller.”
“I didn’t expect to meet someone on Meru who could turn into a mole.” Eira grinned slightly.
Ducot chuckled and started into the passage. The faint glow of the dots on his face gave her the slightest bit of light to follow. Not enough to properly see by, but enough to not be completely submerged in the total darkness that delighted in playing games with her mind. She pushed magic out from her feet again, frost coating her boots so there’d be no more tripping.
“Ducot, may I ask you something?”
“Ha! I knew the questions would come,” he quipped. “How did I get this roguishly handsome? I was born with that, too.”
She laughed softly. “What are the ‘Pillars’?”
He stopped, feet split between stairs. Eira couldn’t see his expression, but she could make out the way his chin dipped slightly and his shoulders hunched. She could feel the tension the mere mention of them put in him.
“The Pillars of Truth, Justice, and Light, is their full moniker,” he said, finally. “That’s a mouthful, so everyone refers to them as the Pillars.” Ducot trailed off, thinking for a moment. Then he turned, placed his back against one of the walls, and crossed his arms, wearing an intense expression. “How much do you know about Meru’s history?”
“I’d say a surprising amount for someone from the Dark Isle.”
“Do you know about the Voice of Yargen and Swords of Light?”
“The Voice of Yargen is some kind of religious leader—Taavin. He’s engaged to our crown princess, Vi Solaris.”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
Eira couldn’t tell from those few words if Ducot liked Taavin or not. “The Swords of Light are under the Voice. They’re like the strong arm of the Faithful of Yargen, right?”
“Youdoknow a surprising amount for someone from the Dark Isle. Are you sure you’re not secretly from Meru?”
“I’ve wondered that myself at times.” A bitter smile spread across her lips as she thought back to the discovery of the unknowns of her parentage. “I hear Adela is half elfin, so who knows.”
“Right…” Ducot shrugged away the notion of her being Adela’s spawn. He clearly didn’t want to think about the implications. “Almost twenty-five years ago, the former leader of the Swords of Light, a man named Ulvarth, was imprisoned for killing the Voice before Taavin and extinguishing the Flame of Yargen.”
“He assassinated the Voice, extinguished the flame, and was only imprisoned?” If that was how justice was handled on Meru, Eira suddenly had a dark hope that Ferro would be slain before he could be brought before the queen.
“He has friends in very high places, contacts that looked out for him. Plus, Lumeria was afraid that by killing him she’d make him into a martyr. Muddying things further, he didn’t exactly assassinate the last Voice.”
