“I will be fine,” Moria said. “Halmond didn’t do anything.” Except humiliate her. Make her feel helpless and powerless. Remind her that she wasn’t the Keeper of Edgewood here. She was just a girl.
The door opened again, and the young guard carefully pushed in a food tray, as if he didn’t dare set foot inside. When he tried to leave, the old woman barked something at him. He clearly didn’t understand the words, but he caught the meaning well enough and paused.
The healer looked at the food. Then she made a few gestures to the guard. He seemed to take a moment to understand, then nodded as he withdrew.
The old woman set the tray in front of Moria and glowered at her, as if she was going to stand there and watch her eat every bite. Moria looked down at the plate. Sticky rice, a steaming pork bun, and dried persimmons. A simple peasant’s meal, but better than she’d had in five days. She set on the fruits first, devouring them as if they were honey cakes. When the guard entered again, he had a pot of tea, a pear, and an apple. The old woman grunted her approval and, this time, waved that he could come in and set them on Moria’s tray.
He did, keeping his gaze down.
“Thank you,” she said.
“Whatever you need, my lady,” he said. “You only have to knock.”
“I’d like my daggers back.”
His lips twitched in a smile. “Except that, I fear.”
She was about to let him leave when she caught sight of the ink on his arms. Stylized dogs.
“The Inugami clan,” she said. “There was one of your family in Edgewood.”
“Orbec. He is – was – my uncle.”
“Gav… Lord Gavril has told you what happened to him then?”
“He has.”
Moria wanted to ask exactly what Gavril had said. It was not, she suspected, the truth. But she heard her sister’s voice, telling her to hold her tongue. To be cautious. She’d not win allies in this place by turning them against the Kitsunes.
The young man continued, “My uncle spoke of you, my lady, in his letters home. He said he taught you to throw a blade.”
“He did.”
A faint smile. “All the more reason why I’d not return yours. I know my uncle’s skill.”
“He was an excellent teacher and a warrior who died with honor. When I was brought here, I had two daggers. One was his. I took it to return to his family, but I haven’t gotten the chance. If you want it, ask Lord Gavril. He’ll see it’s returned to you.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
The young man withdrew. When he was gone, the healer nodded, as if pleased that Moria had been so courteous. She motioned for Moria to eat while she examined her wounds.
The healer grumbled when she reached Moria’s ankle, though it was in no worse shape than it had been down in the cell. Perhaps in the better light, it simply looked worse. The old woman bound it as Moria knelt, eating. Then she pointed toward Moria’s foot.
“Walk.”
Moria lifted her brows. The woman’s accent was so thick it was sometimes hard to tell when she was attempting words in the common language.
“Walk,” she said again. “Need walk.”
Moria waved at the small cell and said, “No room.” The woman motioned that Moria needed to go out, both for exercise and air.
Moria laughed at that. “I would truly love to, but I think I’m as likely to get that as I am to get my dagger returned.”
The healer snorted, as if she got the gist of Moria’s words. A few emphatic gestures followed. None of them made any sense to Moria. Then the old woman motioned for Moria to finish her food and tea as she gathered her things and departed.
Moria attempted to contact the spirits as soon as she was alone. One answered… and told her to be careful. Very unhelpful. Moria asked the spirit for assistance. When that failed to get an answer, she set aside all her dignity and begged. Finally, the spirit relented… and said she was safe enough. That was all. It did not know anything about Ashyn or Daigo or Tyrus or the children of Edgewood. Just a weak and random spirit, called forth by her pleas, unable even to act as her spy. Useless. Like 90 percent of the spirits out there. And the other ten never seemed to be around when she needed them, blast them.
It wasn’t yet time for the evening meal when Moria’s cell door opened again. Gavril walked in, followed by one of the guards that had accompanied him earlier.
“What’s this you told Rametta about needing to walk?”
“Rametta?” Moria said. “I suppose you mean the healer. I don’t know her name. Conversation is difficult when one doesn’t speak the common language.”
“Oh, you two seem to be communicating just fine.” Gavril waved for his guard to come in and close the door. “Rametta is from my family’s homeland. The old witch is too blasted stubborn to learn the common language, but as I’m sure you’ve noticed, she understands quite enough of it. About this walking nonsense —”
“It was her idea.”
His glower deepened. “I’m sure it was. Just as I’m certain you only wish to walk to stretch your legs.”
“What else would I do? I’m in an armed compound. There’s no way for me to escape.”
“That won’t stop you from trying.”
Moria sighed and lowered herself, cross-legged, to the floor. “Believe what you want. I would still welcome the exercise, even if it came with ten guards.”