“Aster’s going to be busy,” I reply.
Finch lets out a low chuckle that does interesting things to my insides. “Just a little bit of excess energy to get out after dinner. Don’t worry, they’ll tire themselves out soon enough.”
Then my skin tingles as someone else joins us at the bannister, and I just know without looking that it’s Aster.
“Lots of people heading your way, apparently,” Frannie tells him, earning herself a nod.
Aster reaches out as if to touch me on the forearm, just like we usually do to communicate, but then he pulls back like he’s uncertain if I’d accept his touch.
“They’ve been throwing themselves down the stairs,” I tell him quietly. “And hiding under floorboards. Someone might need a couple of stitches.”
“Hey mute man! We could do with your help over here,” someone yells from the bottom of the staircase, causing Aster to suck in a sharp breath.
“Don’t call him that.” Torin’s voice growls a reply without missing a beat, the sound echoing off the stone and bare floorboards.
It strikes me I could ask Aster right now for his help with my skin. I don’t know why I don’t.
It’s chaos, sure. But it’s always chaotic around here, so that’s not abnormal.
Maybe I’m a coward after all because the words just don’t come out. Not while there are so many distractions and other people standing around.
“Come find me once you’re done with this lot?” I say to him instead. “There’s something I want to talk to you about.”
Aster’s expression brightens so much, it makes my chest ache like a blunt knife is slowly twisting between my ribs. Our bond is dead, so how can he still affect me like this? One look, one smile, and it’s difficult to catch a full breath.
He opens his mouth to say something, but then there’s another pained yelp as someone’s carried bodily up the stairs in Torin’s strong arms.
“Another one for you to fix up,” he tells Aster grimly.
Aster
AFTER GETTING OUT OFthe sorceress’s basement, I’ve been learning a lot about myself.
It’s funny how spending years in survival mode doesn’t lead to much development as a person. I feel like I got frozen in time as a young adult, like I’m stuck at twenty-two even though I’m so desperate to move on. To grow into something more than an empty shell.
One thing I’m learning is that I’m good at making people feel at ease. And at mixing up potions. Maybe it’s because half of the crew hasn’t quite wrapped their heads around the fact I can now understand them, but they still mostly act like I’m not really there. They chat away and spill their secrets like I’man inanimate object, even when I’m stitching them up or giving them something to help with their issues.
The others don’t seem all that bothered whether I can understand them, they still ask for my help either way. Every dislocated shoulder and sliced up bit of flesh, they’ve been coming to me asking for help at all hours of the night.
... another thing I’ve learned about myself is that I like feeling useful. And I’m terrible at saying no to people.
Hence the potions. The splinters in my fingers and the gritty feeling in my eyes since every spell and potion seems to work better at midnight or by moonlight.
Every night over the past week, someone’s gotten injured or needed something in the middle of the night. I’d suspect that they were hazing me, the newest guy on the crew. But I’m pretty sure they all just happen to get particularly bored at night. None of them switch off easily and their games and competitions go well into the early hours.
I might be terrible at saying no, but when it comes to choosing between the guys who repeatedly give themselves head injuries by smacking themselves headfirst into solid wood, or talking to Reva, there’s no contest.
So why am I letting Torin drag me along the hallway instead of staying with Reva? It’s the first time she’s looked at me, let alone spoken to me, since she found out I’d been lying to her from the first moment we met.
But before I can argue or drag my feet, I’m being ushered upstairs into the room I’ve turned into a makeshift clinic, slathering yet another healing potion onto the flesh above Blade’s eye. Torin heads off to keep an eye on the rest of the rabble downstairs, leaving me to deal with a crew I can’t speak to. Not yet, anyway.
One benefit of not sleeping more than a couple of snatched hours before the nightmares begin is that I’ve got plenty oftime on my hands. Time that I can spend listening to others’ conversations and practicing learning their language.
I knew it was only a matter of time before Reva wouldn’t be able to translate for me, and that time came quicker than I anticipated. But I’m learning. Slowly. Now that I’m able to understand the crew—courtesy of a magical aid Jack gave me—I’m getting more familiar with the language.
Another small step toward being not so useless around here.
“You’re a good egg, mute man.” Someone ruffles my hair, and I fight against an instinctive flinch at the unexpected contact.
