His glare was palpable in the gloom.
A shutter opened, and a light bloomed from an upper window.
“Monks!”an elderly woman’s voice observed in Mereish, complete with a rural lilt I had never heard before.“Wait you there, pious folk, and I’ll have you warm and dry.See to your horses, there’s hay in the loft.”
The shutter closed and the light vanished, leaving us back in the damp cold and dripping shadows of the spring night.
“See?”Mary whispered.“No reason to be suspicious.”
“I will see to the horses.”I looked at Ben.“Come with me?”
Ben looked ready to protest, but something in my voice must have caught his attention.It caught Mary’s too, as the inn door opened and light spilled into the courtyard once more, illuminatingher cold-burned cheeks, dry lips and deep blue eyes, nearly back in the night.
The innwife ushered Grant and Mary inside, and Ben and I led the exhausted horses into the hay-scented shelter of the stables.
A glow seeped from a closed lantern.Ben drew back the hatch, and a mixture of gold and purple dragonflies lit five stalls, along with an assortment of racks and tools.I immediately went to work, removing the saddles and scanning the shelves for brushes and picks.
“How did you know about the Oruse?”Benedict asked, sitting on a stool.
“You could help,” I pointed out, beginning to brush down Grant’s horse.
“I have one good arm.Answer the question.”
“That arm still works.”
“Samuel.”
“When I visited the other monastery, looking for a cure for the crew’s fever.Their mage mentioned it.”
Ben eyed me coolly.“That is all?I know you spoke with that Cleric about the Black Tide Cult.Why?Why would a healer care about our magecraft?”
How had he overheard Scieran and I?I drew the brush across the horse’s sweaty, damp flank.It hardly mattered.He knew more than I had wanted, and now he and I were on a precipice.
I held his gaze, measuring him and the possible outcomes of this conversation, as well as the proximity of several pitchforks and other implements that could easily be turned into weapons—even one-handed as Ben was.
I ignored the warning drum of my pulse and spoke the truth.“I asked if there was a way to cure my corruption.”
“Why would you need a cure?”he asked, voice still cold, still flat.“The Uknara woman trained you to manage.”
I gave a half-shake of my head.“Manage, yes.But I still struggle to access visions at will—or at least, therightvisions—and I willstill end my life mad and young, unable to tell one world from another.Olsa bought me time.A decade or two.That’s all.”
Benedict’s expression did not change.“Does Mary know?”
“Yes.”
“About this ‘cure’?”
“Yes.”
My brother sat forward, resting one elbow on his knee.“Why did you not tell me?”
His interest—and the fact that he was not raging at me—kindled a spark of hope.“Because you have no interest in the wellbeing of anyone but yourself.”
“That is untrue.”
I waited for him to elaborate, but he did not.I went on as if he had not spoken and moved to brush down Benedict’s beleaguered horse.The creature nuzzled me tiredly, and I scratched between his ears.
“It hardly matters,” I said.“The High Cleric could not help me.”
