Quillon made a thoughtful sound.
The woman's gaze darted to Kira's, and she slipped into Tuann, the words a waterfall of sound.
"I imagine he'll tell you what he wants you to know," Quillon said in standard with a hint of reproach. "Until then, return to the training hall."
"Of course,aza,” the woman inclined her head before tapping her friend on the shoulder and nudging him toward the exit.
He lumbered to his feet. He flicked his wrists out, and his armor began crawling up his skin in panels, shaping around him in an impressive feat of technology.
The two weren't oshota, Kira didn't think. Their armor was different, but it looked no less formidable.
"You ready to finish this?" the man asked the woman in accented standard.
She grinned. "You're the one who bruised his poor little arm."
The man snorted as he padded toward the door, the woman trailing him.
"Do not strain my regen stitches, Blake. Rheya, keep an eye on him and make sure he listens this time." The healer shouted after them before muttering, "Paltry bruise, my ass. Nearly all the tendons were severed. It took me over an hour to get them reattached. They're worse than children."
"All warriors are," Quillon said as the woman put away the small tool that resembled a penlight. "I see Blake hasn't changed. He can still convince you to go against your better judgment." There was a pause. "And my orders."
The woman flushed, her gaze darting to Kira and away. "I'm sorry,aza. I thought I could be done before you arrived."
Quillon didn't respond to the apology, instead gesturing at Kira. "If you would have a seat, we will begin."
Kira didn't move for several long seconds, staring at the place where the two had disappeared. "That wasn't synth armor."
Quillon made an impressed sound. "Very good. Not many would have been able to tell the difference."
He pointed at the bed, making it clear he wasn't going to share anymore until she did as requested.
Kira was slow to move, trying not to betray her obvious reluctance as she hopped onto a bed. She was sure he saw through her. Quillon struck her as the quiet one between Silas and him. That didn't mean he wasn't observant.
She suspected he didn't miss much.
"Not a fan of healers?" Finn asked. "I'm surprised. I didn't think you were scared of anything."
"Everyone's scared of something." For Kira, it was less a question about fear than it was about trust. Not every healer had your best interests in mind. Sometimes they saw a puzzle that needed solving. It didn't matter who they had to hurt or what they had to do if it meant cracking the mystery that was her genes.
"Well put," Quillon said with a small smile, his hands pausing as they drifted over her middle.
Quillon took up the thread of what they'd been discussing. "If a House can afford it, they will often gift a set ofuralarmor to an initiate hopeful. It’s not as high quality as synth armor, but it's still considered a mark of honor and evidence of a House's faith.”
"I'm assuming a set of armor comes in handy for the type of training Roake uses," Kira guessed.
Quillon nodded, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
And if you didn't have one, you were at a tactical disadvantage,Kira concluded. The advantages of wealth and family were apparent even here in this alien society.
Kira's thoughts shifted to Joule. She hadn't seen any evidence of the armor the other two had worn with ease. He'd be one of those starting from behind at the beginning of the race. He'd have to work twice as hard to make up for the lack.
Quillon's forehead wrinkled as his gaze turned distant. He remained like that for several minutes, his frown growing more severe as the seconds ticked by.
His eyes snapped up to meet hers, his gaze piercing.
She waited, knowing what he'd probably found. It wasn't likely to be pretty.
Quillon's expression settled, no hint of his discovery on it as he shot Finn a censorious glance. "Most warriors, in my experience, are pains in the ass. They never think they need the healer until they've gone too far."
