Page 33 of Minor Works of Meda

“They don’t cook to order,” Kalcedon said, after swallowing. “Yes, I asked. This was all they had. It came with the room.” He ignored the face I made at him. I picked up the piece of crusty bread balanced on the edge of my plate gingerly, wincing a little as my blisters from rowing complained.

Kalcedon saw and held his hand out. Reluctantly I set the bread down and showed him my hands. He shook his head and signed a quick series of sigils.

“You forgot to limit it,” I warned. Kalcedon narrowed his eyes at me, but he added the quick jagged boundary before releasing the spell. Relief blossomed over my skin.

“Do it yourself next time. Doesn’t take much heat.” Kalcedon deftly picked his utensils back up.

“It wasn’t bothering me.” I didn’t tell him losing that much would have killed me.

“Still ought to care for yourself,” he lectured. I shrugged.

Kalcedon ate in silence for a minute as I shredded my bread and ate it piece by piece.

Finally, he set down his fork and knife. His eyes stayed on the food instead of looking up at me.

“So, that man this morning. Who was that?” His voice was carefully measured, but I knew Kalcedon well enough to hear the strain beneath it.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous of Oraik.”

“Why would I be jealous?” Kalcedon snapped, with such disdain that I felt my cheeks flame in embarrassment. “I’m wondering why you were sleeping drunk on the beach with a man you don’t know.”

“It’s a long story,” I said. Kalcedon finally looked up at me. I buckled at the acid in his dark glare. “I didn’t have any money, remember? He took pity on me and invited me along. There are these boats, and it’s like a big kick, only we didn’t realize we couldn’t get back to the city after. Hence the beach.”

“I know what sin-boats are, Meda,” Kalcedon drawled. “What I don’t know is why you thought you had any business on one. Do you have any idea what could have happened to you? What if he wasn’t someone you could trust?”

“I’m not a child,” I told him airily.

“I know,” he growled. “But I can’t afford to lose you, so try not to act like one.” We ate in silence for a minute. I poked my fork around the plate, then finally braced myself to take a small bite of rabbit with a shudder. The thick, gloppy texture of the stew made my tongue revolt just as I knew it would. The taste of wine made my still-sensitive stomach complain too. I needed something simple. Eggs and flatbread, maybe.

“Can we get food somewhere else?” I begged as my stomach lurched.

“I’m not made of money,” he said, in a tone so pointed I just knew he was talking about Oraik and all his gold rings. “You want to pick the food, don’t get robbed.” He picked up my plate and scraped the stew onto his own. “And I have another bone to pick with you.”

“Not a rabbit bone, I hope.”

He ignored my joke, and handed me his untouched piece of bread. I took it gratefully.

“Why did you take that bird? I found it in your things.”

She was the last thing I wanted to talk about, a subject I would gladly have avoided for days. Weeks. Years. I ground the knuckles of my left hand against my jaw for a moment.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I just wanted… something. To keep her close.” I ripped off a tiny piece of bread.

“The blasted thing wasn’t yours to take.”

“Does it really matter? It’s not like…” I trailed off. Not like she cares, at this point, I’d almost said.

“I made it. For her. If you wanted a token, you…” he stopped abruptly and swallowed, then blinked and looked to one side. His reaction left an uncomfortable feeling in my stomach, and I felt my own eyes burning. I didn’t like the thought of Kalcedon in pain. I couldn’t imagine the size of his loss, the shape of it in his heart.

He just doesn’t want to be alone, the voice in my head said. Grief for his solitude. Not for Eudoria.

My voice was a whisper. “I didn’t know. You can take it back. I just thought it was hers. I’m sorry.” I would never have pictured Kalcedon carving anything. Nor enduring cuts and pain to give a bloodstained, ugly token to his teacher.

“You stole it, you carry it,” he muttered. “But be careful with it. And next time, ask, won’t you? Dung-brain.”

“Sorry,” I muttered again. I looked away, embarrassed at all the emotion on his face.

“Well. Fine.” He huffed and shook his head. “Alright. We’ll finish this, see the woman you need to see at the docks, and hire passage to Sable-Pall.”

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