But she tilts her head, her hands pausing. “Why don’t you know that already?”
Anyone who grew up in this city wouldn’t have to ask these questions.
I give Thoren a warning glance before he can answer truthfully. This city is vast enough that the humans can’t possibly all know each other. There’s no reason to tell her where we came from.
“We’re Malak’s property,” I say gruffly before Thoren can reply. “That’s all we can tell you.”
Thoren’s expression hardens and now his anger is directed toward me.
I’m prepared to bear the weight of it. Thoren has always been truthful. Honest. Loyal. Lies don’t sit well with him.
A commotion at the front end of the room draws our attention.
Kalith Silverspun stands in the far doorway, his chest heaving, and suddenly, all of the healers are standing to attention.
The blood on his face and clothing has dried, but his expression is dark.
“They told me I had to come to this fucking place,” he snaps into the silence. “So here I am.”
His surly tone and expression are nothing like the regal façade he presented on the mountain when Malak was around.
Sybil hovers near to him. “Lord Silverspun, how can we help you?”
Kalith advances on her. “Isn’t it fucking obvious? My nose is broken.”
I’m surprised he went all afternoon without setting it back into place, but then, Malak was clear about his instructions. Kalith was responsible for speaking with the families of the dead men. I’m sure it would have helped with his story that Kalith was also visibly wounded.
But now, it seems, his rage has boiled to the surface.
Sybil darts away from Kalith, her eyes wide as she heads straight for us.
Petra is frozen where she stands beside Thoren. “Oh, no.”
Sybil’s voice is already snapping across the distance. “Petra! You’re the best with broken bones. See to Lord Silverspun.”
“I’m not the best,” Petra whispers beneath her breath, her hands shaking as she stares at the approaching healer.
“Then why is she asking for you?” Thoren hurries to ask, leaning toward Petra.
“Because she’s too afraid to do it herself.” Petra’s face is deathly pale as she steps away from us and into the aisle.
“Quickly, girl!” Sybil calls, gesturing firmly.
Thoren slips off the edge of the bed, as if he would follow Petra, but he stops when he reaches the aisle.
Kalith seems so self-absorbed that he doesn’t appear to have noticed us here, let alone recognize us.
I slip off the bed, too, watching Petra’s back while Sybil follows her to the front of the room and then hovers nearby.
The older healer keeps enough distance between herself and Kalith that he won’t be able to grab her quickly.
The other healers all appear to be holding their breath, but they’re visibly trembling—one of them so much that she puts down the tray that was audibly rattling in her hold.
Petra speaks softly, but the room is so quiet that we can hear her. “Lord Silverspun, if you would kindly take a seat.”
She keeps her eyes lowered as he perches on the edge of the bed she indicated.
After moving to stand in front of him, she reaches for his face. She must have set a few noses before because she positions her hands just right, the way Father once showed us.
