Page 31 of Tortured

Meuric sends a passerby inside with his twin swords, to leave them and to get my belongings and his long sword.

I glare at Meuric with agitation under my skin as I think of Shayla. My body is taut, but he holds me back with a palm to my chest.

“Leave it be, boy,” Meuric says. “She knows what she’s doing. This is the best life for her. She and her father want for nothing.”

I have a dozen things I want to say to him, but I hold my tongue. I might have passed his test, but at what point will this lord decide he’s done and do away with me?

Someone passes Meuric a water pouch, and he drinks eagerly. When he lowers the pouch, he hands it to me. “I have something better in mind planned for you, Seafarer.”

“Kenrik.” I take a swig. We both bleed freely, although I can feel the clotting start and the skin knitting together. How is Meuric not concerned about bleeding to death?

“I know. I heard, but I am also not blind to where you are from. You don’t blend in. You are not from Morvith.”

The passerby comes back with our gear. I shoulder my bags over my blades. Meuric gestures toward an alley. “She’s not far. Just at the end.”

“Who’s not far?”

“Follow me, Seafarer.”

I reluctantly concede.

The traffic resumes in the street as we limp away. Meuric bangs open a shop at the end of the alley. “Kitrena!”

A petite sprite of a woman emerges from the back. She takes one look at the two of us and nods toward the curtain. “Again? I thought I heard a ruckus down the street.” She grins at me. “He’s cute.”

“Fix him up first,” Meuric says as he ducks around the curtain. “I challenged him.”

“Don’t you always?” Her dark hair is twisted into a dozen or so braids and swept up at her crown to cascade down her back. Meuric sits on a waist-high table and indicates that I should do the same with the one beside him.

“I’m Kitrena,” she says as she shoves me back. She throws a rag at Meuric. “Put some pressure on that while you wait. What have I told you before?”

“You can’t make blood. I know.” Meuric presses down on his gash with the rag.

Kitrena shakes her head. “He’s too macho.” She rips the cut in my pants open wider and pokes around. “You didn’t do too much damage, my lord. The wound’s almost healed.” She narrows her eyes at me.

I raise my eyebrows and shrug my shoulders. Should I get into an explanation about my powers? Yeah, right.

But that doesn’t stop her. “What are you? You’re not a half-emrys.”

That grabs Meuric’s attention. “You’re sure?”

She looks at Meuric. “What do you see?”

“He carries light, but it’s everywhere. He has no concentrated heart-center.”

I try to sit up. “Yeah, about that…”

Kitrena shoves me down again. “Let me clean this up. You may be almost healed, but you look disgusting. I have some pants in the wardrobe in the corner too. You can change.”

“So what are you, Seafarer?” Meuric asks.

“I wish I could tell you.” I stare up at the beams in the ceiling, ignoring Kitrena with her hands dangerously close to my groin. I wince as she swabs a cold cloth over the length of my thigh.

Meuric snorts. “You’re making him nervous, Kitrena.”

She holds her hands up and backs away. “Fine. Just having a little fun.” After turning to Meuric, she forces him into a reclining position. She lifts the cloth from his wound as she gestures for me to find something to wear. Her hands stray all over Meuric’s thigh. She’s taking immense pleasure in being too thorough with her examination.

He grunts and grabs Kitrena’s wrist. “Stop teasing.”

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