“And if we were here to rob you?” Kalos asks in that bored voice of his.
“Then I would do my best to make you feel very, very bad about it.” The elderly man smiles. “My name is Omos, and I am a monk devoted to the goddess Magra, but I think you knew that already, didn’t you?” His gaze flicks to me and back to Kalos. “You are my Lord of Disease, but I do not know why you have sought me out. How shall I be of assistance?”
His hand steals into his pocket again, as if he’s reaching for more salt.
“We’re here as friends,” I say quickly. “And very much not here with Seth and Margo.”
“I am glad to hear that…but remember, no names.” He taps his ear. “They have spies everywhere.”
Kalos strides forward, heading for one of the seats by the cozy fire. We pass by stacks of books, piled everywhere. There are shelves in rows—also covered with books—and every surface seems to be covered with even more books. This guy likes his books. Near the fire is a pair of wooden chairs, and Kalos sits down immediately. He glances over at the monk. “No need to worry about spies. I killed them. Unless he’s acquired new ones, they’re all dead.”
Omos’s eyes widen. “I see.”
“It sounds worse than it really is,” I explain hastily. He’s probably scared for his life. “I also promise we’re not here to hurt you. We mean no harm.”
He blinks at me. “Oh, I know that.” The monk gestures at Kalos, who’s establishing himself by the fire. “It looks as if he’s treating you well. You’re not injured or fearful, and you knocked so very politely. If the Vulture God wished to kill me, my innards would already be liquified.”
“I see.”
“And you have a goat,” he adds, as if that answers everything. Omos clasps his hands together. “It’s late and I’ve already finished my dinner, but I do have bread and honey. Oh, and some cheese! Are you hungry?”
My stomach growls. “Always.”
“Then come, sit, and let me take care of you.” He gestures at a chair next to Kalos’s, and when I step forward, he puts his hand on my back and ushers me towards the fire. All his earlier feebleness has disappeared, and he seems as strong and healthy as I am. It was an act, I realize.
I hesitate by the door, not wanting to impose. “Is it okay if our goat comes in? He’s kinda spoiled.”
The old man glances over by my skirts, where Dingle is busy chewing on the corner of a book parked on a table next to me. His expression is sweet and cheerful. “Can I stop you?”
The urge to cry with relief hits me. It’s not that I’m upset—it’s that this is the first time in forever that I’ve felt welcomed. I didn’t realize being on the run was wearing me down so much, but being here with Omos feels a bit like visiting a grandparent. After the month I’ve had, I’m more than willing to relax for a bit, even if it’s only for tonight.
Grateful, I sink into the chair at the cluttered table.
Omos moves to my side in a swirl of heavy woolen robes,removing a wooden cover from a tray tucked on a corner of the table piled high with books. He moves one stack of books and sets down a small loaf of bread and gestures that I should help myself. On the tray is some hard cheese, dried fruit and nuts, and a whole apple next to an earthenware pot of honey. It all looks so good it makes me want to cry all over again. There’s a knife sticking out of a wedge of white cheese the size of my hand, and I pull the knife out and cut a slice of bread and a generous piece of cheese for myself, offering the rest back to Omos.
He shakes his head at me. “Eat as much as you like. A devotee of Magra always feeds those at his table.”
Sounds good. I pick up the cheese wedge and take a large bite out of it. It’s tangy and sour, and probably one of the best things I’ve eaten in forever. I almost groan aloud I take another bite and cram some bread into my mouth after it. “So good.”
The monk beams with pleasure. “The cheese is from my goats. They’re wonderful companions. How did you acquire your little friend?” He produces a carrot from a pocket and waves it at Dingle.
Between bites, I answer. “He was going to be sacrificed to Kalos.”
Omos straightens, startled. “Oh, my goodness. They still sacrifice to him—er, to you, my lord?” He turns and looks over at Kalos. “I didn’t realize such things were done. I’m sure it’s fine, of course.”
Kalos lifts one bored shoulder. “I didn’t ask them to.”
“You didn’t tell them not to, either,” I point out.
He shrugs again, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. He touches the corner of his mouth as he eyes me, and I check myself. Sure enough, I’ve got crumbs on my face. I swipe them away and Kalos’s smile only grows wider.
“I see,” Omos says in a very neutral voice. “How may I assist you, my lord? Every Aspect that comes to my doorstep requires something from me, and I wish to be of service.”
“Have you met a lot of aspects?” I ask, surprised.
“More than I would care to, if I am being honest. You do not lead quiet lives.” The look he sends Kalos’s way is apologetic.
Good point. I glance over at my partner, but Kalos is sprawled in his chair by the fire, idly picking through a nearby book. He looks completely tuned out, which isn’t surprising. Some of it might be for show—so he doesn’t give away anything to Omos—but I know not all of it is. His attention is quick to wane even on the best days. It’s up to me to do the talking. I smile brightly at Omos and gesture to my surroundings. “This is a big place for just one person. You’re here alone?”
