Confused, Aofe turned her wrist over and inspected the bruise creeping out from under the metal cuff he’d inscribed. “Runes? Oh, no, these were… they’re from the slavers.”
A snarl curled Kizros’s lip, making note of the others on her cheek, neck, and shoulder, but when Aofe flinched away, he dropped it. “And they did that to your legs?”
It was why Severath had made the decision to bring the women into the city. Some injuries, if not healed quickly, could set permanently. Perhaps they had not been in time to repair Aofe’s legs, which made an unsettling anger burn in Kizros’s chest.
She blinked, some emotion passing over her face too quickly for him to understand it. “No. It’s a human thing. As far as our medicines and knowledge can guess, I probably had a brain bleed in the womb. It mostly affects my lower half, hence the muscular atrophy. My hips are prone to dislocating, and I have some balance issues.” Her brows furrowed as she chewed her lip. “Do you know any of those terms?”
“Brains, muscular atrophy, dislocation, balance. We are not so different. A tail would help with the latter, but I’m not sure humans are capable of growing them.” Kizros hummed, and something about that noise had her turning to face him more fully again. “The sorcery used to keep you unconscious is making things more challenging?”
Aofe was slow to answer, but she eventually gave an unsteady, “Yes.”
He nodded, mostly to himself. “That is to be expected. With a little more of your blood, I could createa potion to counteract the effects of that sorcery. Though I’m afraid there’s nothing I can do about the freckles.”
“More of my bl—” Aofe began, then to his disappointment, stopped talking for several long seconds. The pink of her skin softened as she shook out her shoulders. “If you think it will affect my work… would this potion be safe?”
Kizros scoffed. “Of course it would be safe. I am no amateur alchemist, even with your unfamiliar human composition. But I would like more information on these freckles. I don’t understand how they might get in the way of your work?”
The human gaped at him, all blunt teeth and oddly expressive eyes for being so dizzyingly colored. It was… curious. Yes, curious. That was the word for it.
Aofe cleared her throat, squeezing her arms tighter around her middle. “Not the freckles. Those are harmless, just… some humans have them. It depends.”
“On what?”
Once again, she fell into silence as she stared at him, but then he could have sworn she almost smiled before turning to look back at the city. “That’s a long story about genetics I do not have the expertise to properly explain.” She huffed, wiggling in her oversized tunic. “What time is it?”
Kizros tried to recall what the clock had said as they were leaving the infirmary. “Half past two, maybe?”
The answer seemed to surprise her, her brows squishing down to make wrinkles in her forehead. “There are so many demons out.”
Kizros didn’t understand her confusion as he looked around at the starlit street, then to the moon above. Whywouldn’tdemons be out? Did humans not normally function during the day? All his research, and the information that had been retrieved on their habits, suggested they were diurnal creatures, but he supposed that could have changed. He knew several demons who preferred staying up late over his desire to start the day early. Early hours had annoyed Tholvich to no end, which was detrimental to some of their work. Certain plants needed to be soothed or watered or harvested at early hours.
He continued to study Aofe’s hunched form—the way she ducked her head, how she clung to herself as if she were trying to appear smaller, and the shivers she tried to hide by shaking out her shoulders. Her eyes were still wide as they darted around, taking in all the details of the street—two-story shops, the reflections off the puddles from the latest storm, one of Kizros’s favorite bakeries. Demons openly gawked as they passed. As far as he knew, Aofe was the first of the humans to have left the infirmary, and even Kiz could tell the qapian pulling their cart was unsteady with her presence.
Or smell. The Dreadmoor stench lingered.
“You’re staring,” Aofe muttered.
Kiz cocked his head. “Yes.”
That pinkish color returned to her cheeks, and this time he could see the muscles around her mouth tensing as she fought a smile. “At leastyou admit it.”
“Is that not appropriate in human cultures?”
A soft snort left her nose, and he felt an odd sort of pride at getting that smile to surface again. What would he need to do to make her laugh like she’d done in the infirmary? That time, he’d apparently insulted her. Maybe he could do it again.
“No, it’s quite rude. So is insulting someone by calling them fragile.”
Oh. So maybe informing her she still reeked of death and animal shit wasn’t the best way to draw out a laugh.
“But,” Aofe continued, “it’s different with you. It’s somewhat refreshing, I guess.”
Kizros hesitated. “I’m confused. Am I insulting or refreshing?”
There it was again: the laugh. He felt so honored to listen to the soft lilt that she tried to muffle with her hand, to watch her shoulders shake, he didn’t notice until she pulled back that her eyes were leaking.
Oh, blazes, he’d broken her. He was equipped for many things, but a wet human was not one of them.
Except she was smiling, not distressed or angry like that larger human he’d seen, and his confusion only intensified.
