“I do.” Her lips curved up at the edges. “You’re the hero of the day, Gilrox. Enjoy it.”
I leaned close enough so that only she could hear me. “I don’t deserve this-this…adulation,” I said hotly, wincing at that last word. “And I’mnohero.”
But she just raised one eyebrow. “Hmm. Surely being a hero is better than being seen as a villain?”
“I’ve no interest in being either.”
Her other hand joined the first one to rest on top of my forearm for support that we both knew she didn’t need. “I would say neither isn’t an option for you.”
Perhaps it wasn’t, I thought. But Iknewhow to be a villain. I’d earned that title. Hero? Not one day in my life. I knew which title felt like a better fit, and it wasn’t the one these people seemed to think I deserved.
Chapter
Eleven
Medical equipment is sexy
Walking into Valrim Village on Maive’s arm, with her gift tucked under my other one, I had the unsettling sensation of being on the wrong side of something. Word had traveled ahead of us, and as we reached the square, people turned and smiled and pressed their fists to their chests. Several called out things I couldn’t catch over the growing noise.
For a former mercenary,respect had come with a knife at someone’s throat. That I understood.ThisI did not. This felt unearned.
Stop it, I thought.You gave a child some water and a seaweed cake. You were not awarded a medal of valor.
The festival had begun before we arrived, just paused for the search of Aila. But now that all was well, the festivities commenced in earnest. The smells found me first. My belly rumbled at the scent of roasted meat and something sweet, fried things I didn’t recognize, and warm bread with herbs. Music started up ahead: a bright, quick-fingered instrument I hadn’t heard before, with a variety of expert percussion. Threadedthrough the notes was a singer with a fine voice. It cut through the noise and added a merry tone to the air.
The Runams had decorated. Every surface that could hold something, held something. Strings of shells that connected building to building and doorway to doorway clicked softly in the sea breeze. Garlands of thick leaves, threaded with dried flowers and berries, looped from every eave. Near the harbor, between two stone columns, someone had strung a line and hung from it what appeared to be fat red flowers and several pairs of blue socks. I stared at them. I had no framework for this. Perhaps it was ceremonial. Perhaps the socks just needed to dry.
The villagers were dressed in their finest, wearing colors I hadn’t seen on them before. They laughed and moved in clusters, and some of them were already dancing near the dock in a loose, informal way that suggested the dancing would get less informal as the evening approached. Aila held court with the village children, who were clustered around her. They stared in awe at Silli, who sat in her arms like a little prince. True to her word, Aila held her fellow younglings back from handling Silli with the same commanding tone as her grandmother. And it was just as effective. She allowed them to respectfully pet him one at a time. Assured that Silli was in good hands, I turned my attention to the woman beside me.
Maive walked with her head high and a gentle smile curving her lips. People called to her and she responded with nods and brief words. She was accustomed to being the center of everything, to holding it all in balance for the people who relied on her. She turned slightly toward me and said, quietly, “How are you holding up?”
“Fine,” I said, though my voice was tight.
“You are a poor liar.”
“Sorry,” I muttered. “I’ll work on that.”
She laughed. “Please don’t.”
I sighed. I had returned a child who had followed a bird into the woods. That didnotmake me a hero. I was a man who had spent his adult life getting paid to be something close to the opposite. The distance between those two things was not something a basket of food and the gift of a functioning field medic unit could close. But I wasn’t going to say that here, with the music playing and the shells clicking and everyone looking so pleased about my existence.
We reached the end of the square and I caught the smell of something they were roasting on a giant spit near the dock. Sweetfleck, I wanted to try whatever that was.
“This way,” Maive said, and steered us—gently, firmly, the way she did everything—toward the large stone building that fronted the square. The doors stood open. Inside, it was cool and dim and quiet. No Tregen, no Pasek wringing his hands, no exhausted healer. Just a wide, empty room that smelled of stone and old woodsmoke, with the noise of the festival softened to something manageable.
Maive turned to face me. She had her hands clasped in front of her, which I had noticed was what she did when she had thought about something in advance and intended to say it.
“I owe you an apology,” she said.
“You don’t,” I replied.
“I do.” She paused, ensuring she wouldn’t be interrupted. “I decided what you were before I knew you.”
“You were protecting your village.” I shifted the box under my arm. “That’s not an error in judgment. That’s your job.”
“Perhaps.” She tilted her chin up—habitual. “But I was wrong aboutyouspecifically. And I’m glad you didn’t leave when I told you to.”
“You may have made me leave eventually,” I said, andmaybeit was true. “You’re very stubborn.”
