Diamond Stained

by J M D Reid

  “If she wasn’t?”

  “If she had and was sorry, I would forgive her. We all make mistakes.” A darkness clouded his face, a deathly rasp to his voice. “Mistakes that cost.”

  “Like hiring the wrong doctor to heal your wife?” She regretted the words the moment the left her mouth.

  He cleared his throat. “I am sorry, child. I need to take my wife for a walk. I haven’t in a few days.”

  Avena nodded as he retreated. She pondered her hollow soul. She wasn’t angry for being betrayed, but at Ōbhin witnessing her being a fool and at Miguil for using her as his mask. She had pursued the handsome young groom when he first was hired, his smile setting off the passion Chames had stirred in her. She’d won him over a few of the other maids.

  And he hadn’t loved her back.

  “I didn’t love him,” she whispered as she finished cleaning. “Did I ever love Chames, or did I think I did?”

  A chill ran through her.

  “Did I ever love Evane?” I stood there and watched her die.

  She dissolved into tears.

  *

  Ōbhin wasn’t surprised when Avena didn’t show up to the morning practice after breakfast. After last night, he couldn’t blame the girl for not wanting to show her face. He knew that betrayal well. The way it tore out your guts and heart all at the same time. He remembered the gasping realization that the woman he loved had given herself to another.

  Even if only once.

  He’d never had the courage to confront Foonauri after they’d left Qoth. He didn’t want to hear the truth from her lips. He’d rather pretend that Taim had forced her into the engagement and his bed. To hate the man he’d murdered.

  Every time he saw her naked face, he knew Taim had seen it, too. The lie crumbled bit by bit.

  I am such a coward.

  Ōbhin drifted through his dark thoughts as he watched the training. He had Bran and Dajouth paired up. They needed the most work. Both were young and eager. Aduan had as much skill as Fingers while Cerdyn could challenge Ōbhin. The large man had faced real death. He’d clashed blades and come out a survivor. The sort of man Ust would hire for his brigands. A skilled killer. The other two seemed harmless. Dajouth had an innocence about him that he tried to hide with his constant flow of flattery to any woman that caught his eye, while Aduan was an old friend of Smiles.

  Fingers cracked his knuckles while he waited for Aduan to stand up, wrapped up in a binding. Ōbhin nodded in approval. With Avena missing, Ōbhin was the odd one out. Which was fine. He was their leader.

  He had to be separate from them.

  For now . . . Why am I here?

  The creak of wheels caught his ears. Joayne was pushing Bravine around the yard again. If it was a nice day, Joayne would wheel the woman out to the lakeshore or around the flowers. The motherly nurse would babble to the invalid like Bravine could understand. Instead, she’d drool onto the bib that protected the elegant dresses she wore.

  Today, it was Dualayn pushing the wheelchair, Joayne following at a distance. She glanced at Ōbhin and smiled, waving. The Qothian frowned and was about to wave back when Bran gave an enthusiastic shout.

  Of course, she was waving at her son.

  “Are you sure you should be training instead of suckling at your mom’s teat?” asked Dajouth.

  Purple light flared and Bran gasped. Dajouth, with a causal prod of his binder, had wrapped up the youngest guard. Bran fell forward on his face and squirmed on the ground, his cheeks going red as he rolled onto his back.

  Smiles burst into laughter. “Oh, Bran’s been weaned from his mother’s teat, but he still hungers. I’ve seen him buggin’ the barmaids.”

  “Smiles,” groaned Bran as laughter chuckled from the other guards.

  “He was tryin’ to root at Shevina’s troth last night, weren’t he, Smiles?” Aduan asked, a big grin across his splotched face.

  “She let me feel ‘em,” said Bran, sounding proud. “I gave ‘em both a good squeeze.”

  “Shevina’ll let anyone grope her. How much did you tip her?”

  “A day’s pay and . . .” Bran trailed off. “Oh.”

  “You could have spent that much on a whore,” Dajouth said. “Not for me, of course. I prefer to woo my ladies. Your mother’s a widow, right? I bet she’s lonely—”

  Though Bran’s torso was bound, his legs weren’t. He kicked hard, foot slamming into the back of Dajouth’s knees. He went down hard, landing with a grunt on his back. Ōbhin’s laughter joined the others’, Cerdyn’s the loudest.

  “You deserved that,” Fingers said. “Only thing worse than boastin’ about wooin’ a man’s wife before him is talkin’ ‘bout his mother.”

  “Lesson learned,” groaned Dajouth. “So I shouldn’t try to charm Jilly.”

  Smiles shrugged. “My wife ain’t like Fingers’s wayward bride. My Jilly’ll just laugh in your face.”

  Fingers spat. “Waste of time carryin’ on for women. They just suck everything from you. Stick you full of needles and let your blood drip out bit by bit. Why there’re so many widows.”

  “You need to find a better woman,” grunted Cerdyn.

  “You have a wife?” Fingers asked with skeptical derision.

  “Had.”

  Fingers studied Cerdyn for a moment as the grins faded from Ōbhin’s lips and the others’. “Sorry,” muttered Fingers. He popped his knuckles. “May her soul have risen cleansed to Elohm’s bosom.”

  Cerdyn nodded once.

  Ōbhin cleared his throat. “Okay, let’s get back to sparring. Bran, in a fight, never turn your back on someone even to wave to your mother. We all love ours, but we don’t act like a three-year-old boy who found his first pine cone.”

  Bran blushed again and nodded.

  As the clash of metal rang, Ōbhin glanced up at the blackberry hill. Should I be here?

  A pull, deep inside of him, grew. It was around his naval, tugging at him, wanting to draw him away. If he stayed, he’d just let Dualayn and the others down. He’d failed so many. Taim, the prince he’d sworn to serve. Foonauri, whom he’d sworn to love. His family. Carstin.

  Ust would have no reason to threaten Dualayn and his people if he left. Avena and the rest would be safe.

  Ōbhin’s black-gloved hand tightened on the hilt of his resonance blade. He should just kill Ust and leave Kash before the city watch could track him down. He could find another bandit band and sink back into the darkness.

  The numbing black. No emotions. No cares. Was that so bad?

  He stared at his gloves. What did it matter? He was stained. Nothing could wash his crimes away. Why bother?

  He didn’t notice Smiles until the man said in a low voice, “You okay?”

  “No,” Ōbhin said, too worn down to lie.

  “You need to talk?”

  “I don’t.” The words wouldn’t come. Not yet.

  “Well, when you’re ready.” Smiles clapped a hand on Ōbhin’s shoulder and squeezed him through the leather jerkin. Then he jogged over to where Cerdyn glowered on his back, wrapped up in the purple binding. Smiles had no limp, healed by Dualayn’s creation.

  Ōbhin sighed. Will I ever be ready?

  *

  After finishing cleaning Dualayn’s lab, the need for answers itched at Avena.

  She went in search of Miguil.

  She exited the house by the kitchen. From here, she could see the back lawn sloping down to the lakeshore. Near the small dock, Dualayn knelt before his wife, holding her hand. He appeared to be speaking to her. The intimacy struck Avena.

  She hurried to the stables, her dark-brown skirts swirling.

  She found Miguil spreading hay inside. One of the carriage horses neighed, sticking his muzzle over his stall door, his black eyes staring at her.

  “He wants a blackberry,” said Miguil. He bent down to a bucket and plucked one out. “Picked some for ‘em.” He tossed it at her.

  She gasped and fumbled to catch it. The small, plump berr
y bounced off the front of her dress and landed on her wrist. Before it rolled off her, she snatched it up and held it for the horse. He licked it off her palm, soaking her hand.

  “We need to talk,” she said as memories of last night swirled through her mind. The embarrassed anger returned as she batted away the disgusting images.

  “‘Bout what?” Miguil asked.

  “I am breaking our promise. I no longer intend to be your wife.”

  “Oh,” he said.

  She stared at him. “That’s it? ‘Oh’?”

  He shrugged. “Any reason you’re breakin’ it?”

  “I don’t love you.” She folded her arms before her, aware of how sticky her palm was. “That seems good enough cause. Do you love me?”

  He shook his head.

  “So why did you ask for my promise?”

  “Thought you’d make a good wife. Nothing says there has to be love. We’re good together, or so I thought.” He smiled at her, that handsome, beguiling grin that made his face go from handsome to beautiful.

  A flutter stirred through her; that heat she’d mistaken for love.

  “I figured we’d sort of grow close. Become fond of each other. Grow old knowin’ the other was dependable. Someone supportive. Someone you can count on.”

  “Well, I want more than that.” I want something that can fill this hole inside of me.

  Miguil shrugged. “Well, then find someone who you can love. I wish you the best.”

  She wanted to be mad at him. He was taking this too easy. It hurt knowing he didn’t love her. It was a selfish emotion. She wanted to have a handsome husband so bad. If she had never caught Miguil with Pharon, would she just have woken up one day and realized she’d never loved the man? Would it be in five years? Ten? Would they have had children? How miserable would she be then?

  How miserable would he be? He didn’t love her. Couldn’t be with the person he loved.

  “I do mean that, Avena. You’re a good woman. You’d make any man a good wife. A good partner. Find someone who you can love and be happy with him. That would make me glad. To know one of us had that.”

  “I don’t think I can,” Avena admitted. His open hope for her had her reeling. And saying things she shouldn’t.

  “Find someone to love you?” He grinned. “Can’t be hard.”

  It was all growing clear to her as she backed away. What was wrong with her all this time. Why she had just stood there and watched Evane drown, why she hadn’t loved Miguil, and maybe hadn’t even loved Chames.

  “What’s wrong?” Miguil asked, reaching for her as she retreated.

  “What if I’m incapable of loving?” she asked. “What if I can’t love anyone?”

  She whirled and hurried out of the stable. She couldn’t love. She never could. She was flawed, like her mother. She never loved either. How else could she drown her daughter with that smile on her face?

  Chapter Twenty

  Forty-Second Day of Compassion, 755 EU

  Three days later, and the urge to leave had only grown larger in Ōbhin’s heart. It spread tendrils throughout his body, ivy growing across the weathered exterior of an old castle. Bit by bit, it prodded at him, finding cracks in his resolve and widening them.

  How long until he crumbled?

  He didn’t see much point in staying now. The guards were settling in. Maybe one worked for Ust, maybe even Cerdyn, but it wouldn’t matter. Ust worked for Grey. The bandit leader’s vendetta was against Ōbhin alone. Dualayn had nothing to worry about once he’d departed.

  So why am I still here? he asked as he sat with the other guards in the servants’ dining hall off the kitchen, their fast broken with fermented soybeans served on slices of toasted bread. The hearty sausages were filling, the spices inside savory.

  The cook watched all, a confused look on her face like she wasn’t sure where she was. Ōbhin had heard Kaylin had changed after her husband, the old butler, died. Suspicion crept into her eyes as she stared back at him. He felt like a bug who didn’t belong, a fly crawling across the wedding curry.

  He looked down to his plate.

  I should go. Find Ust and put him down just to be safe. What’s one more stain? The world would be better without his disharmony ruining the Tones’ melody. Otsar’s notes strum loudest in him. Otsar was the Tone of the Fire, of passion and love, but when twisted by Niszeh’s Black, it led to anger. Rage.

  “Oh, Kaylin, this is what my belly needs,” Cerdyn groaned, leaning back.

  “I am glad you enjoy it, Kadayn,” the cook said, a smile flashing on her face. “You always liked my cookin’ more than most.”

  “Who’d dislike your cookin’?” Cerdyn asked, not bothered she called him by the strange name. “You got a deva’s touch, you do. Everything you caress is just a little brighter.”

  “Best not flirt with me. If my husband finds out,” the cook said, patting at her bun of hair. “He’ll . . .” Confusion rippled across her face. “No, no, he won’t find out. He’s . . . But I just saw him.”

  “It’s okay,” said a cook named Hajina. She shot Cerdyn a vicious look as she spoke to Kaylin. “Just come back into the kitchen and help me start the buckwheat noodles for lunch. Won’t that be nice?”

  “It’ll be necessary,” the cook said, lifting her face. She marched her fleshy form into her kitchen.

  Cerdyn’s heavy brow raised. “Husband? I thought he was dead.”

  “Kaylin gets confused sometimes,” Bran said. “The cooks’ll skin you if you hurt her.”

  “Pity,” Cerdyn said. “She seems like a woman with passions. That’s wot you want. Trust me, lad. They keep you on your toes. Don’t want no simpering milksop even if her delights are as big as a ripe melon. Beauty don’t last, boy, but a good fire in a woman, well, that’ll keep you warm.”

  “If she don’t burn you,” muttered Fingers.

  “Maybe if you didn’t run away from her,” Cerdyn said.

  Fingers spat to the side and rose. “Finished with breakfast. I got mornin’ guard, don’t I?”

  Before Ōbhin answered, Avena swept over to them in a dress of dark blue. She’d shown up for training the last two days, though she wouldn’t look him in the eye. Her cheeks held a faint pinkness. “Dualayn wants to go to see the hospital.”

  Ōbhin nodded. “Smiles, Fingers, Cerdyn, and Aduan, you have the guard with me. Get your chainmail.”

  Fingers arched an eyebrow. “And the gate?”

  “Bran and Dajouth can handle it.”

  “‘Course we can,” said Dajouth. “We’ll keep everyone safe while you’re gone.” He wasn’t speaking to Ōbhin. “And I must say, blue is a lovely color on you. Brings out the pink in your cheeks.”

  Avena’s lips tightened. “He wants to leave as soon as possible. He’s excited about something he’s learned. New techniques he wishes to try.”

  Ōbhin nodded.

  Miguil stood and said, “I’ll ready the horses.”

  Avena whirled away without an answer, her blue skirts swirling. They weren’t as long as her normal dresses. He could see her ankles, clad in dark stockings, above her heeled shoes.

  Ōbhin smiled. He’d also noticed the suspicious bulge on her right calf, pleased with her progress.

  As he headed to his room to don his chainmail, he thought today might be the day. He could find Ust and finish him. Ōbhin felt the bastard lurking in the city. The bandit leader had cleared out of his usual cesspit, Sword Arm Tavern. He’d taken his favorite whore with him, so Ōbhin knew he was around.

  Ust wouldn’t take Ruvine into the field to rob travelers.

  The chainmail rattled as he pulled it on. The coat fit his torso well. He strapped his heavy belt over it. That took some of the weight off his shoulders and shifted it to his waist, making it easier to wear. The sleeves went down to his elbows, the links broken and jagged there. It was heavy but would stop a sword or knife and blunt a mace. A bodkin-tipped arrow could punch through it, especially if Handsome Baill and his longb
ow fired it.

  Ōbhin pushed that thought aside. Nothing to do about it.

  Outside, Miguil had the new coach and the wagon ready, two horses hitched to each. He lounged by the carriage of blue-dyed leather stretched over a frame. It had sturdy wheels banded in steel and wooden doors with open windows. It wasn’t as fine as the one lost during the riots, but serviceable.

  Ōbhin doubted Dualayn cared.

  Fingers, Smiles, Aduan, and Cerdyn filtered out in their armor. It was all chain, but a mismatched lot. Aduan’s looked ancient like he’d found it rotting away in the attic and scraped away what rust he could. It had pits in places, the chains heavier than the finer coat Ōbhin wore. Cerdyn’s hugged his bulk, looking too tight to wear. He adjusted his heavy belt from which hung his binder rod.

  “Fingers,” Ōbhin said, nodding to the older guard.

  Fingers’s brow tightened and marched over. “I don’t plan on crackin’ Cerdyn over the head for wot he said ‘bout me and my wife.”

  Ōbhin swallowed his confusion. “I’m glad. Not why we’re talking. Anything happens to me, you’re in charge of the guard.”

  “What could happen to you?” Fingers glanced down at the resonance blade. “You could cut through the city wall with that.”

  “Just in case,” Ōbhin said, shrugging, his chainmail rattling.

  Fingers’s brow furrowed. “Fine.” He stalked back over to the other guards, adjusting his belt.

  “What was that about?” Avena asked. “He didn’t look happy.”

  Ōbhin turned around and glanced down. “A shorter skirt?”

  “Don’t say it out loud,” she said, her cheeks growing a brighter shade of pink, almost red. “I don’t want to trip. Just in case.”

  He nodded.

  “You’re not going to evade the question by staring at my ankles,” she said.

  “You Lothonians are such prudes.” He smiled. “In Qoth, girls show off far more than their ankles.”

  “I’ve heard,” she said, voice stiff. “Parading around half-naked, showing off their . . . their . . . You know what they show off.”

  “But not their faces.” He stared at her features. Her delicate cheekbones, the pale skin blazing pink, her dainty nose. The younger version of himself had fantasized about seeing a woman’s bare face. After two years, the sight had lost most of its shock. Still, there was something enticing about witnessing what should be hidden.