He was too rattled to muster a sardonic comment. Instead, not looking directly at his companion, he went to the packs to find a cloth to clean himself. Selly intercepted him, her scuffed boots intruding into his lowered gaze, replaced by the water flask and a towel. Muttering his thanks, he tipped his head back and emptied the flask over his face, embracing the cool wash of it to bring him back to the here and now, wetting his hair, too. The shock on his scalp helped. It’s in the past, he told himself firmly. Get a grip. But those images burbled up, gleeful in their freedom, reveling in blood, pain, and screams not all his own.
Tipping the flask upright, he allowed Phel’s embedded ever-replenishing water to refill the thing, then emptied it over his head again. It helped, but not enough. Desperate for distraction, he fastened his thoughts on the problem of the magical refilling being triggered by turning the flask upright repeatedly. No doubt that Phel was powerful in his water and moon magic, and innovative in blending the two to make the always-full flask, but the untutored wizard was clumsy in his execution in small ways like this one.
No blame to him, really, as Phel hadn’t had the benefit of intensive tutoring in wizardry. Also, if Phel didn’t have this failing, he wouldn’t need Jadren. Well, not beyond satisfying the terms of extortion that Lady El-Adrel had used to leverage Jadren’s placement at House Phel, without the usual documentation and providing of his MP scorecard. Jadren didn’t have much of an applicable skill set with his fraught and shadowy wizardry, but he could perform simple enchantments like fixing this flask. What would be ideal was if the dropping water level triggered the refilling.
Fixing his thoughts on solving that problem helped to dispel the sickening memories and, after a third deluge, he felt slightly more in his right mind, the past firmly locked away in the depths where it belonged. Using the towel, he scrubbed his face and hair—carefully avoiding that particular spot near his eye orbit, just in case—then mopped at his water-soaked clothing. Belatedly, it occurred to him that his post-puking behavior likely looked just as bizarre as the sudden bout of sickness had to begin with. Too late to change it now, however.
Mustering his courage and covering the persistent concern that Selly would discover that his arrogance was a thin crust over a morass of debilitating weakness, he met her curious amber gaze with cool dismissal. He handed her the flask and damp towel, making sure to treat her like an underling, then ran his fingers through his hair to reorder it.
“Snakes or blood?” she asked.
“Excuse me?” he returned the question with cold hauteur that would shut down most reasonable people. Selly, however, was far from reasonable.
“Was it the snake or the sight of blood that made you ill? I know people can have irrational reactions to either thing. Although I suppose you could be afraid of both at the same time.”
“I am not afraid of blood or snakes,” he bit out, angry that she’d suggest such a thing.
“Then it’s something else.”
He set his teeth, swallowing bile. “You have no idea.”
“Not unless you tell me about it,” she conceded. “That’s why I’m asking. I’m willing to listen.”
“Well, I am not willing to discuss anything with a low-born, house-poor familiar. In the future, keep your puerile theories to yourself.”
Selly didn’t flush or stammer apologies as she should, given his scathing set-down. Instead, she cocked her head, studying him far too cannily. “Then this has to do with what you said before, about knowing what it’s like not being able to trust your memories and perceptions. The thing that happened that you don’t want pity for.”
Which he still didn’t want, still had no intention of discussing, and now deeply regretted mentioning. That’s what he got for feeling even momentary sympathy for someone else. He’d learned long ago that opening even a sliver of access to his emotions allowed others too much opportunity to manipulate him. He was finally free—more or less, current losing-of-shit notwithstanding—so he’d be worse than a fool to subjugate himself again. “Keep your pity and your conversation, crazy girl.” He aimed his words like a lash, to hurt her and shut her up.
She shrugged, unperturbed, then replaced the flask and towel in one of the packs. “I assume you’re no longer in the mood to eat?”
“No.” Just the thought had his sour gut threatening to revolt. “You should, though. You’re still way too skinny. All knobs and twigs.”
“I’m not hungry and my strength is good, thank you very much.” She shouldered the heavy pack, a stubborn set to her pointed chin, and held out the lighter one.
More pity. “I can carry the stupid packs,” he told her. “I know you didn’t want to bring them.”
She stood there, pack dangling from her outstretched hand, expression bland. “Maybe I’ve realized having these supplies came in handy just now. Also, you’re right—it will take us days to walk to House Phel, and that’s if our enemies haven’t destroyed it. In any scenario, we might need everything we have so I’ll do my part in carrying the stuff.”
Feeling as if he had been the one to receive justified chastisement, he yanked the pack from her and shouldered it. “Was the snake venomous?” he asked.
“Yes and no.”
“Which is it—yes or no?”
“It has venom, yes, but the venom isn’t lethal, which is what I assume you’re wondering. Instead the venom paralyzes the snake’s prey so it can leisurely consume it whole.”
Oh. Delightful thought. “So the paralytic would’ve worn off eventually?”
She shook her head. “Sadly permanent. Your lungs would’ve stopped working after a while and then…” She slid him a grim smile. “I don’t like to kill animals unnecessarily, but it was better that I did in this case.”
Better for him, that was for sure. So, Selly had saved his life. What to make of that?
“Why do you always say that?” Selly asked after a while. “You have no idea.” She growled out the words in a voice he supposed was a passable imitation of himself. Also, a completely irreverent and impudent imitation.
“You know,” he said, the burr of irritation in his voice ruining his attempt to keep it light and conversational, “if you were to treat me with this sort of attitude in Convocation Center, you’d be arrested and taken for retraining.”
She made a show of looking around. Though they still hadn’t reached the Dubglass River, which meant they were still in Sammael and had not yet crossed into Meresin, the sunlit forest had given way to a damper landscape, the trees casting deeper shade with bigger, waxy leaves. The ground squelched unpleasantly around his boots, which did nothing to ease his sore feet and overworked leg muscles. At this point he’d sell himself back to House El-Adrel for an elemental-powered carriage.
