Diamond Stained

by J M D Reid

  “Forcing?” Ōbhin asked, his voice calm. “He looked like an eager participant.”

  Her stomach curdled. “They’re men! They shouldn’t be doing that. It’s a sin.”

  Ōbhin shrugged. “It’s their business. They’re not a threat to anyone.”

  “But they’re . . . and he’s . . . that’s my promised!” She pointed back at the clearing and stabbed repeatedly at the air. “He’s being made to do that. We have to help him.”

  “I’m sorry, Avena, I am,” Ōbhin said. “Some men have different tastes. Prefer to live in log cabins, as we say in Qoth.”

  She frowned at him.

  “We live in houses made of stone, places of wives and family, but when men go to work in the mountains, they build temporary houses. Log cabins. Some men . . . don’t like to return.”

  Her cheeks burned. “All you easterners are filthy. We have to help Miguil. I know him. He’s not a log cabin man! He’s a stone house man. With me.” He had to be. She felt tears building in her eyes. He was so handsome. He’d always complimented her and given her gifts. She was sure he loved her. “Please, Ōbhin.”

  “Have you ever been intimate with him?”

  She hissed, “That is a disgusting question to ask a woman.”

  “I can see the answer in your expression,” he said. “Women shouldn’t have naked faces. You can witness everything.”

  “And?”

  “And you’ve never lain with him? Not like with Chames?”

  Her ears warmed now. She’d forgotten that night she’d drunk too much. Secrets had poured out. “No. He’s a proper man. He’s fine with waiting.”

  “That’s not suspicious?”

  “Not every man is a dog who’ll chase any bone they see,” she muttered. “Miguil is a gentleman and . . .”

  Ōbhin’s eyebrows arched.

  Her stomach curdled. She’d heard rumors of men who liked men and snuck out behind their wives’ backs to indulge in pleasures declared sin by Elohm’s church. Men who married women to hide what they were. I’m his masquerade mask!

  Embarrassment flooding through her, she broke away from Ōbhin and fled into the night, castigating herself. How had she not seen it? He never kissed her on the mouth. Never did more than hold her hand. Always the perfect gentleman. Even Chames had tried to sneak kisses when they were alone.

  A collage of emotions filled her. Anger at being used, heartache at the betrayal, confusion at why Miguil would prefer Pharon over herself, embarrassment at Ōbhin witnessing it all. Each emotion was a different hue. A different color that formed a pattern of bewildering impulses in her.

  She didn’t know if she should laugh at how stupid she was or cry bitter tears at Miguil toying with her affections.

  She found herself doing both, tears pouring down her cheeks as she cackled, stumbling towards the house.

  *

  Ōbhin followed Avena back at a slow pace, giving the woman space. He knew the pain of betrayal too well. At least she won’t drive a dagger into Pharon’s heart.

  He’d noticed Pharon’s orientation from the start. The butler had always shown interest in the Qothian. It wasn’t uncommon for the butler to find an excuse to watch the training. Miguil would, too. Ōbhin had always thought it was to keep an eye on Avena.

  He was jealous of me all right, Ōbhin thought, his cheeks warm. He’d known one man in the palace guard back in Qoth who preferred log cabins, a good soldier who took his duty seriously. It never made much sense to Ōbhin. Women had a soft, sensual vulnerability about them. Seeing only their mysterious eyes through their masks and witnessing the curves of their bodies stirred that protective ache in him. They were the opposite of everything Ōbhin was. You fought beside a man to defend a woman.

  Avena fought beside you, whispered through Ōbhin’s mind. To protect Dualayn and the injured.

  Ōbhin shifted his shoulders.

  He found the gate opened. He closed it behind him and heard a grunt from the left. Cerdyn appeared out of the darkness. His eyes flicked up and down then he said, “Evening.”

  Ōbhin nodded. “Seen anything?”

  “Just that girl rushing back to the house.” He gave an evil chuckle. “Didn’t like the size of your sword?”

  Ōbhin shook his head. “Pharon and Miguil are out in the grove. You didn’t notice?”

  “‘Course I did. They want to play house out in the woods, no Black staining my soul.” He spat. “Ain’t that girl promised to Miguil?”

  Before Ōbhin could answer, the sound of singing drifted from the front gate. Then came the rattle of locked iron. Drunken singing increased. Ōbhin’s hand drifted down to his sword while Cerdyn stiffened.

  “I expect it’s Smiles and the others,” Cerdyn said, his voice a soft rumble.

  “Probably,” Ōbhin said and advanced across the lawn, the hulking Cerdyn at his side.

  “So I whipped off her dress to see the rest,” sang Smiles and Aduan as they leaned against the bars. “And had me a great big shock.”

  Ōbhin relaxed. Bran leaned against the gate looking about to pass out while Dajouth clapped along to Smiles’s and Aduan’s bawdy song. They trailed off when Smiles noticed Ōbhin and Cerdyn a few paces off.

  “There you are!” Smiles said. “You should have come out with us.”

  “Could have kept him from passing out in the alley after taking a piss,” said Aduan, smiling. In the dark, his splotched face was all shadows beneath his hat.

  “The landlord served a strong brew tonight,” Smiles said. “Hit me hard.”

  “I went to hose down the gutters when I found him snoring, his face an inch from a yellow puddle.” Aduan grinned. “Saved him from drowning.”

  “It was your puddle,” Smiles said.

  “And?”

  Both men burst into laughter. Bran groaned beside them, clutching his stomach. The young guard staggered and fell to his knees. Ōbhin winced at the retching sound.

  “Needs to learn to hold his liquor,” said Dajouth. “Can’t be a proper guard if you can’t do that. That’s what me ma always told me.” His hand clutched the front of his shirt like he was grabbing something beneath. “Dajouth, my boy, your pa was a true guard. Could drink the entire ale barrel and still break the bones of any man who thought to trifle with my honor.”

  “Charming woman,” Cerdyn grunted.

  “Just the best,” Dajouth said, smiling foolishly. “As pretty as Avena and food cooked as good as any delight that comes out of Madam Kaylin’s kitchen.” He smiled. “Do you think there’s anything to eat?”

  “Wake up the cook, and she’ll serve you for supper,” Bran muttered.

  “What a sweet woman,” Dajouth said, then he staggered up to the house.

  Smiles snorted. “That’s not a word ever been used to describe Kaylin.”

  “She was better before her husband died,” Bran said. He stood up with a groan. His legs quivered.

  Smiles shrugged and march up to the path without a limp. “Jilly’s going to be mad if I don’t get back to her bed. She gets worried, you know.”

  “You mentioned that,” Ōbhin said. “How’s your leg?”

  “Good, good. Those topaz healers do wonders. I could march up the blackberry hill and down without a problem.”

  “You do that right now, and Jilly will skin you and serve your tripes for supper.”

  “She’d never do that. My Jilly’s a sweet girl.”

  Ōbhin snorted at that. He walked with his men up to the manor house. No one was meeting with Ust tonight, but the bastard was out there. Plotting. Ōbhin needed to do something. These people were all in danger because of him.

  Should I just leave? Dualayn has competent guards. Mostly. Smiles and Fingers can teach the others.

  Ust’s words echoed in Ōbhin’s mind. Was leaving better for everyone else at the estate, or just for his own sake?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Thirty-Ninth Day of Compassion, 755 EU

  Avena blinked bleary eyes as s
he smoothed down her dark-brown skirt over her petticoats. She didn’t want to leave her room. Mortification suffused her over what she’d witnessed last night. She wanted to hide beneath her covers, fearing everyone would know.

  She sighed. She had her duties in the house. She patted her braid of brown hair and then opened her bedroom door. Her eyes felt like grit. She hadn’t managed to find sleep. She kept seeing that shocking sight of the two men pressed tight, their lips locked in the passion she’d always hoped for from Miguil.

  The passion she’d tasted from Chames before his death.

  “Blessed mornin’, Avena,” Jilly greeted, the brunette maid smiling over the pile of linens she carried.

  “Blessed morning,” muttered Avena.

  “You sound like my husband.” Jilly’s brows wrinkled. “The guards forced my Phelep to stay out drinkin’ far too late. He’s sufferin’ for it. Ōbhin shouldn’t allow them to go carousin’ in such perilous times. They should be here protectin’ us.”

  “At least Smiles should,” Avena said.

  Jilly’s grin vanished. “His name is Phelep. It’s a good name. A proper and handsome name. Now I have to change Bravine’s soiled bedding.”

  Avena nodded. It wasn’t uncommon for Dualayn’s invalid wife to have accidents in the night. The poor woman’s mind was lost, destroyed by the clumsy skill of a surgeon trying to repair a broken spine. Dualayn still labored to fix her.

  That’s love, Avena thought as she marched forward. Not pretending to court a woman to hide your true desires. Just using me!

  Anger seethed through her as she marched down the stairs to the main hall, her skirts swaying. She ran her hand down the banister. It needed polishing. Her heeled shoes clicked on the hardwood runners as she swept down into the grand hall.

  “I do not see why one of the guards could not do this job, sir,” came the fussy voice of Pharon.

  Avena hissed in a breath and froze on the stairs. She glared down at the butler, wearing his pressed jacket, struggling to carry a stretcher. The older man’s face was flushed and twisted with his exertions.

  Flashes of last night burst in Avena’s mind. Her hands clenched as she stared at the man who’d stolen away her Miguil. A moment later, her wandering promised appeared, holding the other end of the stretcher, a covered body on it. She wanted to march down and . . .

  Covered body?

  “Miguil, see that the church gives him a proper burial bathed in all the Colours,” came the weary voice of Dualayn.

  Avena’s stomach dropped. She hurried down the stairs as Pharon and Miguil carried the stretcher out. She glanced at the older man. He absently polished the glass face of his jewelchine pocket watch, attached to his waistcoat by a gold chain.

  “The third patient, Father?” she asked, taking a hesitant step towards him.

  Dualayn blinked and looked up. “Oh, Avena.” He tucked the watch into a small pocket in his waistcoat, his face haggard, almost gray. “I am afraid so. I need your assistance. We need to clean up my lab.”

  “Of course,” she said. She didn’t feel up for eating breakfast anyways, her stomach full of heavy ash. “I’m sorry it didn’t work, Father.”

  “Three days of work, and it wasn’t enough. Another failure.” He fixed red-veined eyes at her. “I thought I had him. That it would work. It almost did.”

  “You’ll get it, Father.” She patted him on the shoulder. “Shall we tidy up?”

  It wasn’t as bad as she feared. A heavy canvas bag held most of the bloody rags. The lab table needed a good scrubbing and the floors mopping. She’d grown used to the aftermath of a surgery. The pain the spilled blood represented was a sign of love, of the effort spent by Dualayn to heal them. It was proof of how much he cared for his patients. He saved lives.

  When he could.

  At least two of the patients recovered, she thought.

  She opened a cabinet in the corner and pulled out a heavy apron. She tied it before her then pulled on a white cap. Last, she donned thick gloves made of canvas. All would have to be washed afterward. She found the aquifer and filled a wooden bucket with it, the stream of water spraying from the sapphire. The size of the gem would allow more water to gush out. Jewelchines were like that. Bigger gems created bigger effects.

  It was one of the limitations of the healers. To be at all effective, they required some of the largest topazes found, the size of her fist. Not cheap and not common. Miners around the world searched for them.

  I imagine Qoth is happy to have a use for topazes that big. While there were plenty of mines in the Border Fang Mountains separating Lothon and Roidan, the best jewels came from the Vobreth Mountains and the central highlands of the eastern lands. Qoth lay in the center, a land of high valleys and soaring peaks.

  The bucket full, she grabbed a bar of hard soap, the scent of lye strong. She dunked it in the water and swirled it around to form suds. Once she had enough, she dipped in her pig bristle brush.

  “How is the research coming on the Recorder?” Avena asked as she began scrubbing the old blood.

  “Oh, I’d thought you’d forgotten about that,” he said. “Spending all your time learning to break bones.”

  A flush colored her cheeks. “It’s . . . necessary. When the riots happened, they—”

  “Ōbhin drove them back while you . . .” He sighed. “Maybe you do not have the temperament for fighting.”

  “Because I’m a woman?” She scrubbed hard at a patch of blood. “Because I’m delicate and will faint?”

  “Because you have a healer’s touch, not a killer’s.”

  She froze for a moment. “I don’t want to kill, but I can’t stand by and do nothing. Not when I can help.”

  “The soul of a healer, child. We are going to revolutionize the world. What I am learning from the Recorder is fascinating.”

  “Like embedding gems throughout a body.” She glanced down at the mess. “Is that what caused this? The blood seems . . . old.”

  Dualayn glanced at the Recorder. “The implantation didn’t work. I suspect I didn’t hit the right nodal points.” He looked back at her, grinning. “But I learned. Oh, Avena, the knowledge I am deciphering. I have pages and pages written down. Did you know information can be transmitted through the air?”

  She shook her head, the whisk of the scrub brush dwindling.

  “When we speak, we transmit sound. Imagine doing that through the resonance of crystals, sending them across the world or using them to control devices. Mechanisms. Automatons.”

  “Like the clockwork dolls being made for the rich’s amusement?” She shook her head. “They don’t do anything useful. Just a way to flaunt money.”

  “Not useful, yet. I hear Bareyin Duames is close to getting one that can be programmed. He has a theory that instructions can be held in a jewel. Basic ones.” Dualayn smiled. “He’s right. I should write him a letter and nudge him in the right direction. Imagine a guard that can’t get tired. A whirling mechanism of gears that will protect you. Then you don’t need to risk getting your own head split open or leg cut to the bone.”

  And I’d have to stand there helpless.

  “So, these automatons . . .” She frowned. “Are those like the ancient crystalmen who fought the darklings before the Black shattered the world?”

  “And after,” said Dualayn. “For a time. They are mentioned in the Recorder. They were instrumental in the ‘sealing of the Ruby Nodule’ when someone named Ozsor lead the counterattack and created the Warding. I suspect it is the same Warding Boan Sword-Arm reestablished to stop the darkling incursion. The entry on the subject of Ozsor is the newest I can find. I suspect the city was destroyed not long after. Now Ozsor is a name that pops up in heathen mythologies, you know. In a variety of forms, of course. Scholars of theology had noted the various Heralds, Avatars, Tones, and Gods of the east. They have names that appear to derive from a single source, even in languages with no connection.”

  “So they’re named after real people who l
ived when the Black shattered Elohm’s creation?” Avena asked. “The centuries have just distorted things?”

  “Time has a way of doing that,” Dualayn said. “Look at me. I’m hardly young any longer, and my Bravine . . .”

  She shifted, an emptiness filling the air. “You love her a lot.”

  “More than I could possibly express, child,” he said, his voice tight, his words almost a groan. He stared down at his hands.

  “Did you ever love anyone before your wife?”

  “What a curious question, child.” His gazed lifted. Emotion still lingered in his glossy eyes, but his face had resumed its usual joviality. “No.”

  “You never courted a woman before Bravine?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  “It’s Miguil.” The embarrassment flooded through her again, her mouth drying. “I caught him last night . . . with another.”

  “One of the maids?” Dualayn asked. “Or a cook?”

  “No, no, it was . . .” The words caught in her throat. “No woman who works here. It doesn’t matter. But I can’t be with him.”

  “Do you love him, child?”

  She stared at the man who’d come to replace her father. She could never admit some truths to Dualayn, like her culpability in Chames coming down with the spring fever. She feared Dualayn would abandon her like her real father had. “I don’t think I did. I thought so, but shouldn’t it be hard to let him go?” Saying those words aloud welled a sadness in her. Not for losing Miguil, but for losing what he represented. “I think I was in love with the idea of being in love.”

  “You fear to be alone?”

  “I needed something to fill this . . . this hole in me. It never stays full for long. I keep feeling like I’m missing something. I thought Miguil would replace it, or maybe healing or even fighting. It distracts me, but . . .” Tears stung her eyes. “Can anyone love a person like me?”

  “My son did. I know he did.”

  “How can you be sure? How do you know that your wife . . . ?” She choked back the words. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to imply that.”

  “You can never really know,” Dualayn said. “As far as I know, she loved me. Was faithful to me.”