Amyu lifted up on tip-toe, catching a glimpse of Joden through the high window.
He was circling Keir, laughing, his grin wide. His bronze face glistened with sweat, and his laugh… his laugh boomed out as Keir lunged and missed.
Amyu dropped down and stared at her wet hands.
“Good for them both,” Marcus said gruffly. “Work the body to ease the worries.”
Amyu turned her head to look at the scarred man next to her, calmer now that he’d had his say. “He almost went to the snows.” she shared.
Marcus’s scarred lips thinned, but he said nothing.
“He is broken,” she admitted in the quiet room. “Like us.” She picked up a wet bowl and picked at a bit of dried food with her nail. “I fear for him.”
“Dishes don’t wash themselves,” Marcus said pointedly.
Amyu stared down at the bowl. “How did you bear it, Marcus?” she asked, then froze, shocked that those words had come from her mouth.
Silence.
Maybe she hadn’t actually said the words out loud, and praise all the elements that—
“How did you?” Marcus asked. Quietly, without anger or shame.
Amyu didn’t look at him. “The Warprize gave me hope. I thought to find… more. To prove my worth is more than an ability to bear children.”
She risked a glance to find Marcus nodding his agreement. She dared to breathe.
“I had a reason,” Marcus said quietly. “People who I needed to protect. I lived for them, not for my own self. I lived for the Tribe, but it was not without pain or cost.”
Amyu stared down at the bowl again, watching a soap bubble pop.
“Dishes won’t wash themselves,” Marcus said again.
She nodded, and started back to work.
“He will need to find his own reason,” Marcus continued. “But the loss of a voice for a Singer,” he shook his head. “That is not easy to overcome.”
Amyu’s eyes teared up. She nodded, and for a while they worked in silence.
A movement at the door had them both looking up. Rafe stood there, his irrepressible grin in place. “Marcus, may I speak with Amyu? Under the bells,” he added, trying to look apologetic.
Marcus sniffed but nodded.
Amyu dried her hands and stepped over, but Rafe pulled her further away to stand in the doorway. Fylin, Soar, Ksand and Lasa stood there, just out of sight, all with an air of excitement. They were holding bundles and saddle bags stuffed to bursting.
“Amyu, we have permission from the Warlord to go back to your mountain path and explore,” Rafe kept his voice down, his joy obvious. “Come with us.”
Amyu blinked in surprise. “You don’t believe in airions,” she blurted out.
“Truth,” Soar’s eyes sparkled as the rest chuckled. “At best, we find some sign of them. At worst, we escape these stone tents for a few days.”
“Days?” Amyu asked.
Rafe nodded. “There are no orders yet, but every warrior will march with the Warlord when he returns to the Plains. Sooner rather than later. The Warlord will want every able-bodied warrior with him.” He shrugged. “I think he will call senel soon. But we will take these few days and explore, and find your airions. Come with us.”
“No, I—” the words were out of her mouth without a thought, but then she hesitated. This might be her last chance to find the creatures. And yet…
She looked down the hallway, toward the open door and beyond. Joden still sparred with Keir in the sunlight. He was still laughing.
