The Broken (The Lost Words: Volume 2) (20 page)

The next morning, she seemed more energetic, more buoyant. Sleep must have healed her a little. She did not talk about the previous night. Ewan decided to never again broach the topic unless she did it first. He would respect her privacy, even though he burned with curiosity. He wanted to know more about this unnamed, mysterious person. He wanted to know more about the girl who made him ignore the cold panic in his belly.

Something large and sinister waited for him. Something that had made the Abyss spit him out. Ewan knew he would have to go west. However, in a way, he did not really want to learn any more about the gods and their divine schemes. Spending eighteen years sharing a nightmare with so many had been plenty of a burden for his soul.

Sometimes, he tried to justify the experience, make it easier to cope with. But he felt empty. He remembered a tale about a dockworker named Gerome. The man had lost an arm in an accident, so they said. Naturally, he had been laid off, with an invalid’s pension and a mind full of bitter memories. Everyone had expected Gerome to simply fade away. But he had come back several weeks later beaming cheerfully. He did not understand why everyone shunned or pitied him. He seemed to have found new meaning to life, now that he had the use of only one hand, and did not regret the accident. He claimed the experience had sobered him. But for everyone else, the scarred little stump was a gruesome reminder that any one of them could be unmanned any day, made redundant and useless. Eventually, Gerome had gone away, scorned and hated for his newfound philosophy and good mood. No one liked happy cripples. They were supposed to be suffering. It made life simpler.

They had told Ewan the story about Gerome on the fourth day at the docks. He did not know if it was truth, but it smelled too cruel to be just a bored dockworker’s tale. But he did know that meddling in the gods’ affairs made him feel like Gerome. The experience had made him stronger, perhaps, but he just wished he did not have the extra insight. The price was too high. He wanted to be like normal people, ignorant of divine truths.

Ewan was not sure he was ready yet. Even if every inch of his body tried to convince him otherwise. But he could not leave this girl. He just could not. Ayrton would have done the same.

The girl was slim and small, but she was a fighter, as he had thought. She was weak, but she managed almost a quarter of an hour walk in the small room before she admitted she needed some rest. In the afternoon, they tried again, plus another quarter of an hour stretching, exercising the lungs. Ewan never left her side.

The following day was the same.

“I don’t need the nappies anymore,” she declared as the sun set. Ewan nodded. He was relieved to hear that.

“I need to ask you something,” he said, hesitant.

The girl went taut.

Ewan raked his oily hair. “I need to clean myself. I have not left this room in a long time. Would you mind if I went away for about an hour or two?”

She was silent for a moment and then started to cry. “Sure,” she said.

Ewan grimaced. “Why are you crying?”
Again
.

“It’s my back. It really hurts. Please, go.”

Ewan sighed. She must have thought he would take advantage of her. She tried to smile encouragingly, but her lips quivered. He said nothing more and left. When he came back, she was fast asleep.

The third day was a good one for both of them. Ewan felt reborn. He was clean, and he wore fresh clothes that smelled of soap. He felt pure and whole. Even the pain of urgency in his stomach had subsided. He was almost his old self.

The girl drank his enthusiasm and managed a whole hour of slow, painful workout, working life back into her stiff muscles, stretching them, flexing them, gaining her old strength back. She tried all kinds of breathing exercises. They hurt, but she did not relent. Every new breath was easier than the last one. Even her appetite came back. It was a good sign. She was healing.

Ewan left for another hour in the evening and came back with all kinds of supplies, some clothes for her, rudimentary makeup, and two portions of lamb stew from the kitchen below. They ate in silence, content with the simple success of their third day together. Ewan asked no questions and let her talk, if she wanted. But she did not. She kept staring at him, long thoughtful stares, but her mouth was silent.

“I’m Constance,” she declared on the fourth day, after the exercise.

Ewan said nothing for a few moments. Then, he smiled. “It’s a lovely name.” It sounded posh. Most of the girls he had met seemed to have simple names. “Constance” had a rich quality to it.

He appraised the girl with this new conclusion clouding his mind. She was beautiful under all those yellow bruises. She had a healthy, symmetric face and good skin color. She did not look like a dock rat. But he did not dare ask any questions.

“We could go outside,” he suggested.

Her face darkened. “Not yet, I’m not ready.”

He sighed. He ached for activity. His body was used to countless hours of hard work. And even if his muscles did not feel the burden of labor, his mind did. Ewan needed to release the pent-up energy, let go of almost two weeks of worry.

“I will protect you.” Ewan pushed and immediately regretted it.

Constance seemed to withdraw, shrinking back. Her face turned stern. A ghost of panic flicked across her features. “I can’t go out there,” she mumbled.

Sooner or later, she would have to. They could not stay in this inn indefinitely. He could not stay. He would have to go west, leave Eybalen. He knew he was delaying the inevitable. For now, fate was merciful and let him sleep at night, but the nagging feeling sat at the back of his mind like a rabid monkey, waiting to pounce.

“We could go to another city,” Constance said.

Ewan arched a brow, but this time kept silent. Perhaps Constance was not afraid of going outside in general. Perhaps she feared Eybalen. Or someone in Eybalen. She could not know if her assailants would come back. For that matter, neither did he. She had never asked what had happened to the five men, but she must be dreading them still. He could not blame her.

But if she could rehabilitate in another place, away from Eybalen, then so be it. That would suit him just as well. They would travel west. But that meant Constance would be going with him. He could not afford that. But did he have an alternative? What could he do? Leave her alone in a city she feared? The city that had almost killed her? She was still badly hurt. She probably had no way of making her own living. And it would be a long time before she was well enough to work, regardless.

If she came with him, though, she would be exposed to all kinds of dangers. It would be selfish of him to put her in his situation. While he might not care about food, water, fire, cold, or even sword blades, she was vulnerable to all of them. Worst of all, he did not know anything about her, her past, her ability to survive outside civilization. Maybe she was sensitive to all kinds of wild foods. Maybe she did not know how to ride a horse. She would hamper him. And he would put her in mortal danger.

He hated this ugly choice. Whatever he chose, it would end badly. Deep down, he knew it. There was no way he could escape making a terrible decision. But he’d committed himself when he’d stepped into that alley. There was no going back. He’d made one gallant deed; now he had to make a hundred more. It was the price of responsibility.

“Yes, we could leave Eybalen,” he admitted after a while.

Her face was impassive. “When will we go?”

“When you get better,” he said, and it almost sounded like a chide.

“I’m fine now,” she lied. The panic in her voice made him uneasy. She burned to flee Eybalen.

Ewan tried to put his doubts aside.
Make no heed, she’s just a terrified girl with a scarred soul. She just wants to put it all behind her. She’s lost her baby, for gods’ sake
. He did not know what to say.

“I promise not to slow you down. I promise not to whine or complain. I will be strong,” she declared fiercely. Her eyes were moist.

Please, no crying
, Ewan begged. He rubbed his face. She still had the cast on her arm. If they left in this state, he would have to care for her like a little bird with a broken wing. Their progress would be excruciatingly slow. But he did not have a choice.

“All right, we will leave in the morning.”

“Let’s leave tonight,” she said. “It’s better if we leave when it’s dark.”

Ewan shook his head. “We will leave tomorrow evening then.” Traveling at night sounded like a stupid idea. But he would indulge her that much. Besides, he needed time to buy supplies, prepare his horse, and get ready for the journey. He needed all sorts of items. He needed directions, maybe even a map. Luckily, he still had enough gold.

Ewan considered giving her a short speech on what he expected from her. But he decided against it. What could he expect from her? Two weeks ago, she had fled near death and lost her unborn child. She would have looked like the worst beggar if not for his gold that had restored her teeth and vanished some of the worst scars and bruising. She was young, slim, fragile. She was most likely younger than him. What kind of wisdom could he sell her that would make him feel any better? What did he know about life and the road’s perils anyway?

There was nothing to it. She was his protégé. Saving her life did not make her indebted to him. It was the other way around. He would help her. He would not abandon her. He would do what Ayrton had taught him. The gods could wait.

CHAPTER 13

A
malia entered her bedchamber and closed the door behind her. She leaned against the doorframe and sighed deeply. It had been another long, exhausting day. Another day of balancing tens of thousands of innocent lives on the edge of a sharp blade.

Even though no war had officially started, Roalas was, for all practical purposes, a city at war. The rumors of an impending conflict had brought thousands of people from the countryside into the city. Athesian citizens had become refugees, with not a single enemy to threaten their lives. It was exactly the opposite of what Amalia had expected and hoped for.

People had fled villages and small towns for the safety of the capital and its thick walls, which left the Athesian pig farms and rye fields empty of their crucial labor force. The shortage of goods was already being felt, with prices going up and the black market booming. Mayor Benedict’s predictions had been too optimistic. Roalas would hunger long before the winter.

The commerce that did flow in and out of the city crawled at a snail’s pace. Increased highway banditry forced smaller convoys to wait for military escort to travel, if they deigned going in the first place. The fear of espionage and subterfuge saw just about anyone entering the city’s perimeter thoroughly examined by the already too thinly stretched City Guard, which caused huge congestion and even longer delays. The secret police were unearthing spies, assassins, and saboteurs like worms under a rock. Animosity between nations was rising. The Caytorean and Eracian merchants still loved their gold too much to halt the trade altogether, but they kept to themselves and did not walk the streets of the capital, for fear of being arrested, or worse, attacked. Many parked outside the city walls, in the budding fields of slums and shacks that grew around Roalas.