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I looked down at a small, gathered bag made out of linen. It had a red thread wrapped around the top, with enough length to allow it to be used as a necklace. Only nobody would bother, because the thing reeked like old Limburger.
“A protective charm,” Pritkin said unnecessarily, because I’d worn something like it once before. Only I didn’t recall it being much help the only time I’d run up against the Fey.
I didn’t recall anything being much help.
“If this creature is so powerful, you think this will stop it?” I demanded.
“No. But it will buy you time. Seconds only, but that is all you need to shift away. Keep your servant on watch when you sleep; when you’re awake, keep your shields up at all times. You’ll know if an attack comes. If it does, shift immediately—spatially, temporally, I don’t care. Just get out. It cannot hurt you—”
“If it can’t find me,” I finished dully.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can manage it. And then we’ll formulate a plan for killing this thing.”
I stared at the little sachet, talisman, whatever it was in my hand. It felt heavy, like there might be something made of iron in there. And faintly greasy, as if some of the contents were sweating through the material. Or maybe that was my palm.
“And if I order you to stay?” I asked, after a few moments.
Pritkin didn’t say anything. I looked up but I couldn’t see him very well. He’d leaned forward, out of the sign’s bloody light, and only a little filtered in from the lounge. But when he finally answered, his voice was calm.
“I would stay. And protect you as best I can.”
And possibly get killed in the process, because he didn’t know what he was fighting. It wasn’t said aloud, but it didn’t need to be. I’d felt that thing go after him. I might have been the chief target, but he’d been on the list somewhere, too.
And that wasn’t acceptable.
But neither was the alternative. I hugged my arms around myself and stared out at the night without seeing it. I was seeing another face instead, the cheerful, scruffy, laughing face of another war mage, one who hadn’t come back. One who would never come back.
I didn’t realize Pritkin had moved until he crouched in front of me. Green eyes, almost translucent in the darkness, met mine. “I wouldn’t be going if I didn’t think you would be all right,” he told me. “It is doubtful that this thing will try the same approach again, now that it knows—”
“I’m not worried about me,” I whispered viciously. And as soon as I said it, I knew it was the truth. Apparently, the surefire antidote for your own fear is concern for someone else.
Pritkin looked surprised, the way he always did at the idea that anyone might actually care about him. It made me want to hit him. Of course, right then I wanted to do that anyway.
“Nothing is going to happen,” he repeated. “But even if it did, you don’t need me. You don’t need—”
“That isn’t true!”
“Yes, it is.” He looked at me and his lips quirked. “You can’t fire a gun worth a damn. You hit like a girl. Your knowledge of magic is rudimentary at best. And you act like I’m torturing you if I make you run more than a mile.”
I blinked at him.
“But I’ve known war mages who aren’t as resilient, who aren’t as brave, who aren’t—” he looked away for a moment. And then he looked back at me, green eyes burning. “You’re the strongest person I know. And you will be fine.”
I nodded, because it sounded like an order. And because, all of a sudden, I believed it. And because right then I couldn’t have said anything anyway.
We stayed like that for a moment, until Pritkin stood up, as if something had been decided. And I guess it had.
I got up and walked him to the door.
“You never told me what you’re going to do,” he said, pausing on the threshold.
“About what?”
“The bloody heat.”
The question surprised me, because for a while, I’d forgotten all about it. Like the sweat trickling down my back, and the soap scale drying on my skin.
You’re the strongest person I know.
