That’s what we call them.
“So what do we do?” I asked, looking up at Pritkin. “Tie him up and leave him for those things?”
“There’s an idea,” Alphonse said. “Anybody got a belt?”
“We aren’t leaving him,” Bodil said angrily.
“You saw what just happened,” Alphonse argued. “And in case you forgot, we need Cassie alive or none of us is going anywhere. So unless you feel like becoming a permanent resident in this little corner of hell—”
“I do not,” Bodil said, kneeling beside the fallen man. “But he is young and excitable. And consider what he just learned, what he experienced—”
“None of which is Cassie’s fault!” Pritkin said.
“No, but Issengeir was,” Bodil said. “And he lost many friends that day.”
“So did I!”
“I’ll make it quick,” Alphonse offered. He made a twisting motion with his hands about neck width apart that did not improve Bodil’s temper.
“You will do no such thing!”
“You know we’re right. You just don’t want to lose your champion.”
“That is part of it,” she agreed with surprising candor. She seemed to do that a lot. I didn’t know if it was a long-term character trait or if she was simply too old to give a damn. She also seemed to be throwing off the vision better than the rest of us.
I could still hear the wind.
“But he isn’t Aeslinn,” she added. “He is impetuous and acts on emotion far too often—”
“Something we can’t have in a situation like this,” Pritkin said. And unlike Alphonse, he wasn’t arguing. He was stating a fact and ending the discussion.
Only he wasn’t, damn it.
I sighed.
“No,” Pritkin said flatly, shooting me a look.
“Yes.”
“Why the hell would you want to risk it?”
“I’m not Aeslinn, either?”
“You’re also not a fool,” Alphonse said. “Get over the bleeding heart shit. This is the third time that moron tried to kill you—once in Feltin’s office, once when we first got here, and again now. And in times like these, three strikes, and you’re out.
“Only with me, it woulda been one.”
“He’s right,” Pritkin said, earning an approving glance from Alphonse.
“He also saved me in the pool,” I said, remembering.
“After you’d just rescued him,” Alphonse retorted. “He thought he might need more help; he wasn’t doing you a favor!”
“And how do you know that?” Bodil snapped. “I thought I was the only mind reader in the group.”
“I know the type.”
She gave up on Alphonse and looked at me. “He is a boy. Not that much older in our terms than the troll you saw. But unlike him, who seemed to have had a loving family, Æsubrand grew up with incredible abuse, enough to have turned most others into monsters like his father. Instead, he’s tried to do the right thing, advocated for his people, fought Aeslinn on their behalf more than once, and supported his mother in running away from their kingdom, even though discovery meant death for both of them—”