Janel’s frown tightened. “She commanded those soldiers. Slaves don’t command soldiers.”4
“Relos said … said she was a slave. He brought her—” Tamin winced. “Water?”
Janel bent down next to Tamin while Brother Qown reached for his waterskin. “Who is Relos Var? Tell me about him.”
Brother Qown handed Tamin the waterskin. The baron drank in desperate gulps. Evidently, he’d needed the water, because he sounded much better after. “What have I done?”
“Too much and not enough. But right now, I need your focus, Tamin. Who is Relos Var?”
Tamin struggled to sit, while Brother Qown supported him. “A teacher. My father hired him to—” He hesitated.
“To what?”
Tamin’s eyes shone glassy bright. He took a deep breath. “To cure me of being a witch.”
Someone in the crowd gasped. Another person cursed. Dorna turned around, hands on hips, and faced the crowd. “Be quiet, you lot. You let the man speak or you’ll be answering to me, understand?”
Janel cocked her head, narrowed her eyes. “Witchcraft isn’t something one cures like red fever or pox.”
“I didn’t want to be a witch,” Tamin said, “but I couldn’t … I couldn’t help it. It’s what I am.” He tilted his head up to stare at Janel’s face. “You know what it’s like.”
Janel scowled, glanced skyward as if addressing her gods, then refocused her attention on her childhood friend. “I’m quite sure I don’t. Tell me, then. Tell me how you can be a witch against your will.”
“By being cursed. I’ve always been cursed,” Tamin said, “since I was a child. I would cure animals, cure cuts and bruises. I didn’t realize I was doing anything wrong. Not at first. Then I—” He scowled. “A hunting accident injured my father. I loved my father, so I … I saved him.”
“You poor man,” Brother Qown murmured. “If you’d been born anywhere else, such a gift would have won you a scholarship to the Academy and a sponsorship by the Guild of Physickers. You’re not a witch. You’re a sorcerer.”
Tamin gave the priest a confused, sick look. “I can do magic. That’s witchcraft.”
“I take it,” Janel said, sounding very less than pleased with the entire conversation, “your father didn’t tolerate your gift?”
“He—” Tamin’s jaw tightened. He looked away. “No, he didn’t.”
“Strange, then, for you to be so friendly with the man your father hired as punishment.”
“No, it wasn’t like that. Relos Var is a great man. He showed me I didn’t have to be ashamed. I didn’t have to hide what I am.” His voice dropped, and his eyes flickered toward the fairgrounds. “And when my father—” He didn’t finish.
“What happened to your father?”
Tamin closed his eyes.
“Oh, I think I know, right enough,” Dorna volunteered. “His father hated witchcraft. And Tamin here was learning to use his ‘witch’ abilities right under his father’s nose. Just a matter of time ’fore the old man caught him at it, right?”
Janel’s expression had seemed grim before, but as Dorna spoke, her whole face froze into something harder than stone. “What did you do, Tamin?”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“You’re the Baron of Barsine. Everything that happens in your banner is, by definition, your fault.”5
He flinched at the anger in her voice. “Relos Var said witches cursed me. You should know what it’s like. You’ve been cursed too.”
Janel’s nostrils flared. “Who told you that?”
“Relos Var. He’s right, isn’t he? You’re cursed.”
“Not by witches.”
“It’s the same thing.”
Brother Qown tightened his grip on the man’s shoulders. “No, it isn’t,” he protested, but he didn’t think Tamin was paying any attention.
“Did you kill your father, Tamin?”
The man cast his gaze around him, but the crowd had surrounded them. Everyone from town listened, watching, waiting on his answer.
“I didn’t kill him,” Tamin said, “but I … I removed my healing. Took it all back. He’d have died the first time, so the second time … he did.”
Brother Qown blinked. “That’s not how it works.” He turned to the count and whispered, “That’s not how healing works. You can’t do that.”
Janel nodded to him to indicate she’d heard and put up a hand for Brother Qown to be quiet. Then she continued talking to Tamin. “Was it your idea, or Relos Var’s, to execute the castle steward for your father’s death?”
“It was…” Tamin’s voice trailed off as something haunted and dark entered his eyes. He looked like a man waking up from a nightmare.
A little girl’s voice broke the silence as she set a small basket on the ground next to Tamin. “Mare Xala made you steamed buns for dinner.” The tiny girl was maybe six years old, with dark red skin and white fingertips. She sniffled and wiped her nose with her hand before turning back to an older woman. “Did I say that right?”
The old woman nodded. “You did, foal.” She tossed a green wool bundle at Tamin’s feet. “You’ll need a cloak too, so’s to keep you warm.”
Dorna straightened and put her arm on Janel’s.
The count’s eyes widened.
Brother Qown felt the crowd’s mood shift, but he didn’t understand its cause or meaning. Tamin looked puzzled before his expression changed to panic.
“No.” Tamin shook his head. “No, I don’t need your charity—”
“You will take what we give you,” Kalazan said with the softest voice. He pulled a dagger and sheath from his belt and set them down by Tamin’s feet. “Here’s a blade to keep you safe.”
“I have a pair of saddlebags for you,” Dango offered. “It’s a long road.”
Brother Qown tugged on Dorna’s sleeve. “I don’t understand. He just admitted he killed his own father and framed Kalazan’s father for it. Why are they giving him presents?”
Dorna crossed her arms as she watched the townspeople hunt for trinkets: a sack, rope, dried apples.
“They ain’t presents, exactly—” She scowled, having trouble finding the words in Guarem. She gestured to the crowd. “More like, uh, ‘mustering out’ pay.”6
“What? I don’t understand.”
The crowd bustled. The gifts were impromptu, pulled from supplies they’d grabbed while running from the smoke. Brother Qown didn’t think they could afford to do without them. Yet they did, but without any warmth. They gave the baron their gifts with all the malice of offered poison, each present a dagger’s stroke.
Tamin began crying.
Tears marked streaks down his face as he stood. “Please, Janel. Please don’t let them do this—”
“Don’t let them do this?” Janel’s expression was incredulous. “This is their right.”
Old anger flared hot in his eyes. “You hypocrite! The only reason you’re here right now is to avoid your own Censure! How dare you chide me for not wanting to give up my birthright when you’re running from the same fate!”