Realising he had overheard the youths, she sighed and began removing the bandages around his chest and shoulder. “Probably not, but don’t be too quick to judge. I’ve seen more of the insides of people than most Kyralians have. Some nasty injuries and a few fatal ones that I doubt I’ll ever forget.”
“The dead are not scary. They cannot do anything to you.”
“But they smell almost as bad as those two back there.”
He smiled faintly, then grew serious again. “You should not let them speak to you like that. You are a magician now.”
“Apprentice,” she corrected. “You’re probably right. But then, I should have knocked or called out, not just walked in on them.”
“You should not have to knock.”
She gave him a level look. “This is Kyralia. Even magicians are expected to have good manners.”
He met her eyes for the briefest moment, then quickly looked down.
The wounds he’d suffered, even the cut her father had made to reach his broken ribs, had sealed into red, raised scars. She probed where the breaks in his bones had been, asking if he felt pain. He shook his head each time, and didn’t look as if he was trying to hide any reaction.
“You look completely healed to me,” she told him. “I don’t think you need any more bandages. Be careful not to pick up anything heavy, or strain bones that were broken.” She shook her head. “It’s amazing how fast you heal. I’m not sure you even needed our help.”
“I would have healed badly – crooked. Your father stopped that happening.” He paused. “Thank you.”
Tessia smiled, her heart lifting. “I’ll pass your thanks on to my father.”
“You, too,” he said, pointing to the discarded bandages.
“You’re . . .” He frowned, and gestured vaguely towards the stable door. “Not like...”
Was he talking about the stable boys, or had his gesture been meant to encompass more? The village, perhaps. She felt a stab of concern.
“Are the villagers treating you well?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I am a stranger.”
“Yes, but that is no excuse for... bad behaviour. Hanara.” She waited until he looked up and met her gaze. “If someone does anything mean to you – anything, ah, un-Kyralian – you tell me. It’s important. Just as you must live like a Kyralian now, by our laws and ideals, they must not start behaving like...like Sachakans. Do you understand? You mustn’t put up with it because you did before.”
He gazed back at her.
“You do understand me, don’t you?”
He nodded.
Letting out a sigh of relief, she gathered the old bandages into a bundle. “I must go. I have lessons to learn.”
He nodded again and suddenly seemed glum.
“I’ll come here to talk to you now and then, if you like,” she offered.
Though his expression did not change, a warmth entered his gaze. As she left the stable, she imagined she could feel his eyes on her back.
I hope I’m not giving him romantic notions, she thought. I can imagine Mother’s horror. She’ll barely forgive me for not trying to get Lord Dakon to fall in love with me, but if I end up with a Sachakan former slave writing me poetry she’ll disown me.
She considered the likelihood of Hanara’s writing poetry for her as she re-entered the house and headed back to her room to drop off the bandages and her bag. He probably couldn’t even write. But if he could, would she welcome it?
He’s quite attractive, in an exotic way, she decided. Now that the swelling has gone. But... no. I don’t think I know him well enough yet to even decide I like him. There’s too much about him that is secretive. Then she chuckled. I guess those novels in my room have it all wrong. Secretive men with mysterious pasts aren’t irresistibly attractive at all.
Reaching the stairs, she heard her name called and turned to see Malia hurrying towards her.
“Your father’s here, Apprentice Tessia,” the servant said. “Says he needs your help this morning – something urgent in the village.” Her brow furrowed. “I hope it’s nothing serious.”
“Tell him I’ll be right there. And could you tell Lord Dakon?”
“Of course.”
Hurrying upstairs, Tessia quickly deposited her burden in her room then backed out again. She checked her stride as she nearly collided with Jayan at the top of the stairs. The young man paused and looked at her, the annoyance in his expression changing to the smooth politeness he had adopted around her of late.
“You look eager for your lessons this morning,” he said.
“I’ll have to miss them today,” she said, wishing he’d move aside and let her past. “Father’s here and it’s urgent.”
“Ah, skipping classes again, are we?” He smiled and shook his head with mock disapproval – or was it really mocking? Was that a hint of true disdain she detected in his tone? She felt anger rising.
“At least I’m doing something useful with what I know,” she snapped, meeting his gaze and silently daring him to object.
His eyes widened in surprise. Stepping back, he let her pass, and watched her hurry down the stairs. She heard him mutter something, catching the word “idiot”.
So he thinks I’m an idiot, she mused. Arrogant fool. I bet he doesn’t know more than a handful of the people in the village, let alone care about whether they live or die, are sick or in pain. So long as they do the work of the ley he’s not interested. He’s no better than a Sachakan.
She resolved to put him out of her mind.
No matter how many times Dakon urged her father otherwise, Veran always came to the servants’ door and today was no exception. She found him pacing in the corridor outside the kitchen. When he saw her he frowned and she realised she was still scowling at her encounter with Jayan.
“Are you missing a particularly important lesson today?” he asked, picking up his bag.
She shook her head and smiled. “No. Don’t worry. It’s nothing to do with Dakon or magic or lessons. Just a petty annoyance. Where’s Aran?” She had grown used to the presence of her father’s new assistant, a quiet boy with a missing lower leg who had grown up on one of the more distant farms. The boy’s deformity prevented him from joining in with more robust tasks in the field, despite being remarkably agile on the wooden leg his father had made for him, but he had a quick mind and, she grudgingly admitted to herself, was proving a good choice for assistant.
“Visiting his grandmother,” her father replied. “She’s broken her arm and he’s helping her out.”
“Ah. So who are we treating today?”
He led her out of the Residence before he answered.
“Yaden, Jornen’s son. Pains in the belly early this morning. Worse now. I suspect an inflamed appendix.”
Tessia nodded. A dangerous condition. Her father might have to attempt surgery to remove the organ and the chances of infection were high. The boy could easily die.
Reaching the main road, they strode down to one of the last houses in the village, belonging to Jornen the metal worker. The man’s workshop was a small distance from the rear of his home, down by one of the streams that flowed into the river. On most days the smoke from his forge blew away from the houses, but occasionally what was known locally as “the smoke wind” gusted distinctly metallic-smelling clouds over the village.