Dien took a deep breath. “He lies, Fyn. Cheats. Sneaks out of work. He’s lazy and worthless. You can do so much better.”
“Maybe I don’t want to do better. Maybe I want Gilby.”
“You don’t know what you want. You’re just a child.”
“I’m not a child!” she cried. “I’m a woman! I’ve been having my monthlies for nearly a whole summer now and I’ve fallen in love! Why can’t you see that?!” Tears streaming down her cheeks, she turned away and stomped to the outer office. “Stop treating me like a baby!”
The outer door slammed and Dien turned to look at Dubric. “You knew she was standing there, didn’t you?”
“Um humm.” Dubric looked up from the notes. “The boy has three broken ribs, a broken arm, nose, cheek, and a concussion. His jaw and hip are dislocated, and both of his wrists are sprained. That is just the beginning. Do you have any idea how much trouble you have caused?”
“No, but if his hip’s dislocated he’s not gonna be pegging my daughter for a while, is he?”
Dubric chewed on his cheek for a moment or two as if debating what to say. “Sir Talmil is calling for your head on a platter. I cannot say that I blame him.”
“You tell Talmil I’ll kick his ass. He and his worthless shit of a son can recuperate together.”
Dubric nodded and folded the physician’s notes in half, tucking them under his arm. Pulling his keys from his pocket, he unlocked one of Dien’s wrist shackles and shoved the physician’s notes in his hand. “You almost made your grandchild an orphan. You might want to think about that before you resume your ass kicking.”
Without looking back, Dubric left the office and closed the door.
7
Dusk
Village of Caria
Belendin lay curled on his side, watching fairies dance in the beam of orange sunlight climbing up the wall. Fairies are so beautiful, he thought. Shimmering wings and shiny little clothes in all the colors of the rainbow. They frolicked in the golden light, laughing and dancing, beckoning him to join them. “I’m too tired,” he said through cracked and bleeding lips, his voice hoarse and scratchy. “And you’re too pretty.”
One fairy, a tiny little girl with pink skin and bright green hair, flittered over to land in front of his nose. “Dance with us, Belendin,” she said in her little fairy voice. Her wings opened and closed to the beat of his heart and she smiled at him. “Please come and dance.”
“I can’t,” he said, closing his aching eyes. “Pa said you’re not real and if I dance with you, you’ll take me away. You’ll take me away and I’ll never come back.”
“We’re real, Belendin,” the fairy said, “and we can take you to a place where the water tastes like wine. All that you’ll ever want to drink. You just have to dig yourself free. We’ll show you the way. Think of the water, Belendin, our pretty little boy. Think of the sweet water.”
He started to push himself up, onto his elbows, but his father’s voice said, No! Belendin! It’s a trick!
The fairy grimaced, showing black needle teeth. “Mind your place, old man!” she snarled, her voice low and hissing, like ancient snakes. “We need the pretty, pretty boy. The last, the special one.” The other fairies, the ones dancing in the dying shaft of evening sun, flew toward him, their wings turning to talons and their mouths filling with needle teeth as they dropped to the ground and scurried to him.
Belendin covered his face and whimpered, feeling the dry clutch of his throat and the sunken hollows of his eye sockets. “Go away,” he said. “You’re not real.”
“The water’s real,” the fairy monster by his face snarled. “Come to us, come to the water. Let us eat you up, Belendin! Just like we ate your father and your mother and your sweet succulent sisters! Let us eat you up! Let us—”
Belendin sat up, a scream dying in his throat. The shed was dark, blue twilight glimmering from the cracks in the walls, and he saw no fairies or monsters or anything at all. Nothing but the ragged wooden walls of his prison. “I don’t want to die!” he cried almost silently, pleading with whatever god was willing to listen.
Be careful, Belendin, who you ask for help from, his father’s voice said, and he turned his head to look. Pa sat in the corner, a mudding trowel in his hand and one eye chewed out of his head.
“Pa!” Belendin cried, crawling toward his father.
Shh, boy, shh now. A pretty lady told me help was on the way.
“She did?” Belendin asked, snuggling onto his father’s lap.
Pa scratched at the dirt floor with the trowel, marking a curved, narrow ditch while the other arm cradled his son. Yes, boy, she did. A lady in white. And you know what else?
“What, Pa?”
Pa wiped at his one good eye and Belendin stared at the tears glistening on his finger. Blime! She said my boy would be a hero.
“A... a hero, Pa?” Belendin asked, not really caring at all about heroics. The tears on his father’s finger were magical, irresistible, and he leaned forward and sucked them off, smiling at the wet saltiness.
Yes, a hero, but to be that hero you have to live, Belendin. Do you hear me? You have to live.
“I don’t know if I can, Pa. I have to get out. I have—”
No! You have to stay. Until you see the boy. Do you understand?
“The boy?”
Pa smiled and pressed the trowel into Belendin’s hand. I’ve marked a trench. Get it dug, and dig it deep, but dig it true.
Belendin nodded, grasping the trowel as if his life depended upon it. “Just dig the form, no more no less. Never waste work, right Pa?”
Pa ruffled his hair. That’s right boy. You know our trade. You dig where I’ve marked, but dig true.
Belendin grinned. Dig. Yes, I can dig. I’m a digger, that’s what I do. “Thank you, Pa,” he said.
But Pa was gone, even though the salty taste of his tears remained. While he still had light left, Belendin scratched the hard clay where his father had marked, scratched deep enough to feel the mark after all the light had left the sky.
Castle Faldorrah
Sarea sat beside Dien on a bench outside the physician’s offices, her hand clenched in his. “Tell me it’s not true,” Dien said, his voice breaking. All his fury had left, leaving him empty and aching.
“I... I wish I could,” Sarea said, mopping at her eyes with a handkerchief. “Fyn told me, this afternoon, while you were still locked in Dubric’s office.”
“How... how far?” he asked, struggling to speak.
“Almost two moons.” Sarea hitched a sob and collapsed against him. “My baby!”
Our baby. But she’s not a baby anymore. He comforted Sarea as best he could and looked up as the door opened. Sir Talmil stepped out with his face set tight.
Talmil glared at Dien and Sarea, his dark eyes shining and his curt, black goatee twitching with fury. “Not only have you tried to kill my son, your trollop of a daughter has endeavored to entrap him. I’ll not stand for it, I tell you.”
Dien stood despite Sarea clinging to his arm. “Your worthless, piece of shit son molested my daughter.”