I look down at the otter-cat and its fish-eating grin. ‘You can talk?’ I slur in a feeble whisper.
Sinigang flicks their ears. ‘And I hear pretty well too.’
Isagani glowers at me from the other side of the parlour, glued to the armchair by the force of Narra’s stare and what we now recognise as magic. There’s no one except Ligaya to save us from whatever fate the innkeeper has in store for us. The room spins and my body barely feels like it’s mine. It’s not unlike being drunk on palm liquor.
‘Hedge witch,’ I mutter, succumbing to the heavy feeling in my limbs. I sink as though a blanket weighs down my body.
‘Mind your manners, you’re still Narra’s guests,’ Ligaya tuts.
‘Falsehoods never last long under my roof,’ Narra insisted. ‘Who are you, truly?’
‘Finlyr Pane,’ Sinigang addresses me, whipping his tail across my face as he treads across my lap, ensuring he sinks his claws into my gonads.
‘Youarea dead man walking then,’ Narra says, stroking her chin. She’s an ample woman, short and stout, with a coronet braid of thick silver hair crowning her head. Her eyes are penetrating, as if she can read my thoughts.
‘And your companion?’ Ligaya asks, intrigued. ‘Who is it really, under all this? Is Isa your true name?’
Isagani blushes deeply, and I remember that there is still a scared kid under the dirt and bravado. ‘Isagani. Nobody really.’
Narra touches the top of their head. ‘No. I know you. I’ve seen you here before.’
Isagani’s face is a mixture of terror and shame.
Narra continues, her voice nothing but warmth. ‘You’re everyone and anyone. A skill few of us can truly master.’ She stirs her piyata tea thoughtfully.
I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. ‘Look, are you turning us into the Seaguardians or what? I don’t want to do this dance all over again for their benefit.’
Narra smiles, patting her hair with hands that are dark and wrinkled, like worn leather. ‘Your bravado hides a hurt, Finlyr.’ She reaches down to stroke the otter-cat.
I take deep breaths and count to three in my head. Then I wrench myself up from the chair and throw a punch at the innkeeper.
My fist moves as though the air is thick syrup. Narra sighs and brings the cup to her lips. I fall to the floor, all the wind knocked out of me.
‘What have you done to him?’ Isagani asks, a hint of concern – but mostly fascination – in their voice.
‘A simple binding spell against violence.’
I lie on the floor, unable to move, and decide now’s as good a time as any to ask what’s been on my mind since we arrived. ‘If you’re both witches, why aren’t you at the Temple of Aistra?’
Narra’s eyebrows rise so quickly it’s as if I’ve just asked to rummage through her knickers. ‘I was around long before that edict on gifted children. They didn’t bother with older self-taught witches like me.’ She sniffs. ‘We’re of little use to the Bastion.’
‘And you?’ I ask, turning to Ligaya.
She bristles. ‘Visitors to Paranish aren’t subject to that edict. And Lassair doesn’t have such practises.’ Her tone is measured but she can’t fully hide the disgust on her face. I remember the same reactions from other Lassairians; our fear of the arcane seems downright narrow-minded.
I sigh. ‘How long until I can move my body again?’
‘Give it an hour,’ Ligaya snips. ‘And you might want to stretch later. It’ll be painful.’
‘You’ll be staying here until we figure out what to do with you,’ Narra says firmly. ‘It won’t be a royal suite, but we’ve got room, despite the influx of visitors.’
‘So you’re not turning us in to the Bastion?’ Isagani asks, hopefully.
‘Not yet,’ Narra says, glaring at me. ‘Depends if I have a use for you. Now I think it’s time for bed. I’d like footfall as light as Sini’s, please.’
chapter eleven
ris
