He was already turning his back on Adalbrand, led by the High Saint, who seemed unconcerned by the other man’s flushed face or white knuckles.
Annoyance bubbled up in me. First, the High Saint had taken my blood and tears by trickery. Now, he ignored the Poisoned Saint and condoned the murder of the Inquisitor. I hated him for his arrogance. I hated him worse for the insult he dealt to my friend.
Good luck to them getting help the next time they needed it. Now that I knew what they did to the defenseless, you wouldn’t see me offering any.
“Bring your cups,” Sir Coriand commanded. “If we went to this trouble to earn them, we shouldn’t leave them here. I think I saw slots for them in the base of the clock.”
I turned my eyes back to Brindle. I didn’t care about the Cup of Tears. Not anymore. Losing Sir Branson now in finality hurt more than I’d expected it to. And I was worried about the demon. And I was so angry that I wasn’t sure I could hold all that anger inside my one measly heart.
I bit my lip hard and held on to my dog. I tried not to see how weak his breathing was, tried not to cry at how soft and furry and vulnerable he looked like this, and I tried not to think about what it would mean if Sir Branson was really gone after everything we’d been through.
Or worse … if Adalbrand offered to heal Brindle.
He’d told me he’d been one with me when he healed me, hadn’t he? He’d known me inside and out at that moment. What would that mean if he touched Brindle? Would he know what I’d allowed in the dog?
Fear spiked hard, and when something touched my shoulder, my eyes shot open and I jumped, my sword arm reaching for my hilt.
“Easy. Easy now.”
Adalbrand squatted in front of me, hands held up like I was a dangerous animal. Beside him, his friend Hefertus squatted, too, one eyebrow lifted, one finger tracing his pearls mindlessly.
“You’ve been through a lot,” Adalbrand said carefully. He was drawn and pale again. And why not? He’d nearly taken death from the Majester — who I saw out of the corner of my eye striding jauntily to the door as if he owed no man anything. There was a paladin I could stab in his sleep. No regrets.
“If you’re thinking of murdering the Majester,” Hefertus said in an undertone, his eyes finding mine and locking on, “I have prior claim. He attempted to kill me while I did nothing more violent than play a heartbreaking tune.”
“I was thinking that,” I admitted, as the heels of the Engineers vanished. There was no one left but us three. Four. I wouldn’t give up on Brindle yet.
Adalbrand ran a tired hand over his face. “I just healed the man and now my friends are fighting over who will try to kill him again.”
“I did try to warn you not to, brother,” Hefertus said, smirking at me as if sharing a joke. “Some men were born needing to die. Your heart is too soft to see it. The Vagabond sees, though. You can’t live destitute without knowing who people are at the core. What they’ll forgive in the rich is never overlooked in the poor, and what’s praised in the stable is often persecuted in the outliers, right, Beggar?”
“Yes,” I agreed fiercely.
Adalbrand looked back and forth between the two of us. “Must I remind you that the God forgives us as we forgive others? Must I remind you that we are commanded not to let hate and anger seethe within us?”
I should have felt chagrined. I knew that. He knew that. I did not feel at all as I should.
Hefertus merely laughed. “Preach all you like, Poisoned Saint. But give us some credit. The God demands forgiveness, yes, but he also demands wisdom, and it would be supreme folly to forget what we saw today.”
“I can heal your arm,” Adalbrand told me gently, ignoring Hefertus, who snickered at what he clearly considered a win. “I know it’s broken. You favor it still. Show me.”
I tried to remove my gauntlet and flinched.
“Set the dog down and —”
“No.” My denial was too fast and I knew it.
He raised his calming hand again and he kept his voice carefully neutral.
“I will remove your gauntlet for you.”
So I sat with a heavy doggy on my lap as a beautiful, disheveled knight gently drew a metal glove from my hand and checked my knuckles one by one with the smooth pads of his fingers while an even prettier knight looked on and snickered. This was possibly the most storybook-like moment of my life. And it was drenched all through with pain and blood and awkwardness.
“Your hand is unbroken,” Adalbrand said almost sternly, as if rebuking us both for our unforgiving hearts and silent innuendo. “Let us see to the arm.”
My sleeve would not move without me hissing in pain, and eventually, it had to be cut.
“You can have one of mine to replace it when we get up top,” Hefertus said easily. “I have a silk blouse the color of a blooming lilac that would look very fine on you indeed.”
