Oskaren loosed a small breath. “For thinking I could….It doesn’t matter.”
Thia closed the distance between them, walking around the girl to face her. “Yes, it does.” She looked up, steadily. “You matter, Oskaren.”
Oskaren hissed, tearing her face away. “Don’t say things like that.”
Thia crossed her arms. “Why not?”
Oskaren pressed her lips into a thin line. “It hurts.”
Thia’s lips parted.
Oskaren didn’t seem to realize what she’d said. She was pulling her shirt untucked, trying to see her wound.
“Let me,” Thia said.
Oskaren sighed. “How many times are we going to do this?” But she shifted, making space for Thia to look.
Thia bent closer. She should have been practiced at this, but she still had to will herself not to blush as she gently pressed her fingers to the girl’s skin. Oskaren’s breath was uneven, but Thia presumed it was from the pain.
Oskaren was right—she would live. She wouldn’t even need stitches. Thia had scraped more than stabbed, and the wound was barely a scratch.
“I am sorry,” she said softly. “I was…distracted.” She said it like a question, imbued with implication, if the girl was willing to note it.
“Thia.Don’t.” The word was a growl.
Only when hearing it did she realize how rarely Oskaren used her real name. She straightened. “You’ll be fine.”
Oskaren stepped back, lowering her shirt.
Thia hovered awkwardly, shifting her weight between feet. She didn’t want to leave, but she didn’t know how to stay. Oskaren’s attention was everywhere but on her. “Who taught you to fight?” Thia asked, at last.
Oskaren blinked at her, then away. “Many people. First? My mother.”
Thia’s lips parted. “Sorscha?” She couldn’t imagine the kindly woman fighting anyone, much less with a sword.
Oskaren managed the barest hint of a smile. “She doesn’t enjoy it. But she learned out of necessity and learned well. I pity the person who tries to hurt her loved ones.”
“Someone hurt you.” It slipped out before Thia could stop it.
Oskaren’s mirth disappeared in a flash. “Yes. Well. Mine was a different story.”
“What was it?” Thia asked. “Your story, I mean.” She didn’t answer, so Thia continued in a hurry. “A soldier said you were involved with the Phantom Guard.” There it was. Cards on the table. The question she’d been too afraid to ask since the moment they’d freed Oskaren.
The girl watched her for so long Thia wanted to bury herself in the ground.
“What do you know of the Phantom Guard?” Oskaren asked.
She blushed. “Nothing. Not really. Does that mean you were?”
Oskaren shook her head. “No. But I was a page to the Kingsguard. I heard things.”
“What about the woman who founded the group? Melina?” She reminded herself to breathe.
Oskaren cocked her head. “Melina.” She said the word slowly, like she was trying to taste its meaning. Then her face lit. “You think that Melina is your mother.”
“How many other mage Melinas does this world have?” She didn’t mean to snap. She wasn’t mad—at least not at Oskaren. But she hated that yet another person knew more about her parents than she did.
Oskaren raised a hand toward Thia, then seemed to think the better of it and let it drop. “If I knew something about your mother, Faelyn, I would tell you.”
