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Owen whooped and darted to grab the practice spears, while Alem gave her a look. Thank the One god looks couldn’t kill — if they could, Alem would definitely make the deadlier assassin.
“Better wooden spears than metal blades,” Verve murmured.
Alem’s brow creased. “I suppose.”
The lad returned and tossed Verve a spear, and they spent a few minutes going over the basics like grip and footwork. Alem muttered, “call me when the bleeding starts,” and trudged off with his potted plant. Verve tried to ignore him and focus on Owen, whose movements were energetic, but utterly without finesse. That was expected of a novice, of course, but the bright eagerness in his eyes made Verve uneasy. He missed every feint, stumbled over every parry, but nothing dimmed the hope in his expression.
He’s just a kid, her better sense whispered after he fell to the dirt again. What are you doing?
Teaching him, as he’d begged. Teaching him to take care of himself. He and Lio were alone, after all. No one else would watch over them.
Right?
“Shit!” Owen’s cry snapped Verve out of her distraction. The lad clutched his hand, where red splotches had appeared at his knuckles. He bit his lip and winced as tears slipped down his cheeks. “Shit,” he hissed again. “That really hurt.”
Verve dropped her spear and approached him, her heart in her throat. “I’m sorry, Owen. I wasn’t—”
“It’s all right,” he said, sniffing. “A little blood’s part of the learning process, right?” He gave her a watery smile that made her want to hit something.
“What happened?” Alem said as he came jogging up. His gaze fell on Owen’s hand, and his eyes narrowed.
“The spear slipped and stung me,” Owen replied. “I’m fine.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Alem took Owen’s hand and rested his own across the boy’s knuckles. As the dawn light fell over them both, Alem’s brow furrowed in concentration, while Owen’s shoulders relaxed.
And Verve stood aside, guilt churning in her guts.
Stupid.
At last, Alem drew his hands back. Not a trace of the injury lingered on Owen’s skin. The boy flexed his hand, then grinned at Alem. “Thanks.”
Alem ruffed his hair. “Any time. But let that be a lesson to you, all right?”
Owen bit his lip and glanced at Verve. “Actually… I want to try again.”
“Absolutely not,” Alem said before Verve could speak.
But the lad ignored him. “Verve? I think I know what I did wrong. I could—”
“What part of ‘no’ don’t you understand?” Alem broke in.
“It’s not up to you,” Owen shot back. “It’s up to Verve.”
“Verve isn’t responsible for your wellbeing.”
“I’m fifteen,” Owen snapped. “I’m old enough. Come on, Verve. What do you say?”
They both looked at Verve, who wanted nothing more than to disappear. She was the last person in the world who should have any part of taking care of another. But she couldn’t admit that to Alem, and she couldn’t face Owen’s eagerness any more.
“I must go,” she said, edging away. “Lots to do today.”
Without giving either of them a chance to reply, she turned and darted away, out of Lotis.
* * *
As Verve slipped out of Lotis, she passed by Nori and Kyon, the latter in his antelope form, as they stood watch on the outskirts. No telling if these newcomers were trustworthy, but Ivet had insisted they participate in Lotis’s fortifications. Both mages tensed at Verve’s approach. She ignored them—as they no doubt wanted her to—and soon she was out of their sight, out of the village’s sight, and alone in the marshlands of Greenhill Province.
Out here, beneath the open sky tinged with hints of the day to come, Verve could breathe easier. The incident with Owen faded from her mind as she wove through the patches of solid ground with familiar ease, avoiding the places where the marsh grasses looked deceptively firm. As she went, blackbirds chirped warnings to one another, and more than a few turtles plopped beneath the water, fearful of the human’s passage.
