Fearless (Nameless #3)(30)
“I’ve come to offer testimony that Gryphon arrived at our tent well before the fire started, and didn’t leave until summoned by the guards.”
If by summoned the boy meant ripped from the tent with bodily force, then he spoke truth.
“I know you and the Ram boy share a tent, but how can you be certain?”
“I sleep by the door and wake easily.”
“I’m aware of the extent to which ‘Atiin will go to protect those who’ve earned their devotion. Are you sure this isn’t just a way to protect your charge?”
“I am absolutely certain Gryphon didn’t commit this crime.”
Laden excused Gryphon from the tent with a new set of guards assigned to follow his every move.
“I’ll walk you back,” Laden said to Zo when they were alone. It was a short walk to the Healer’s Tent, but Zo appreciated the company.
“The boy could be lying. Like I said before, he has motivation,” said Laden conversationally. “Raven take their role as ‘Atiin very seriously. If Sani thought I might execute Gryphon—even if the Ram had started that fire and killed someone in the process—Sani would be honor-bound to intervene.”
The commander clearly believed Gryphon didn’t start the fire, which was good, but Zo felt a twinge of guilt for lying to the man she’d always respected. And she hadn’t been the only one to lie tonight.
Seeing Gryphon’s swollen jaw and tasting the apprehension in the air when he’d delivered the lie about getting in a fight with Ikatou earlier that day gave her pause.
Had he only lied about the timing of his fight with Ikatou? Or had something else happened after Gryphon left her at the tent?
Her feelings for Gryphon had been so sure, her confidence in his character so absolute. She wanted a life with this man. A future. But his crafty lie to Laden and his flawless mask of composure drudged up memories of Gryphon inside Ram’s Gate—of the soldier trained to lie.
“Why don’t you believe he started the fire?” Zo asked without thinking. The tremor in her voice was subtle, but she knew Laden hadn’t missed it.
He stopped walking and stared into her face, scrutinizing every inch of her expression with a curious air. His studied gaze seemed to unlock her secrets, her every insecurity. The spell broke and he simply shrugged. “Ram don’t take honor from covert acts of violence. They think it weak and cowardly. If he wanted to take his revenge on those men, he’d look them in the eye as he did it.”
A cold chill rolled over her skin. “I’m going to check on the injured.” She darted into the dark tent before Laden could say anything more. Inside, low-burning embers struggled to breathe warmth into the space. The light pulsed and died, casting ominous shadows across the sleeping forms of the injured men. Millie and Tess each slept on one of the spare beds—a common practice when an injured soldier required constant care.
Zo scratched the side of her face, where her skin felt tight and irritated. Gryphon a liar. Gryphon a Ram. Gryphon, not wholly who she thought him to be … It didn’t feel true, but the logic was hard to dismiss.
But perhaps she was the better liar. After all, she had lied to herself, convincing herself that Gryphon’s caring for her was the same as abandoning everything he’d been raised to become.
“What happened to your face?” Millie hovered over Zo, holding a kettle in one hand and new muslin dressing in the other. Zo blinked away the effects of a scattered and restless sleep and, in a daze, reached up to brush the hot skin around her ear.
The skin was smooth, but tender and slightly swollen. “I … I don’t know.”
The old woman seemed to forget how to move or speak. Her eyes glazed over and some of the color drained from her usually rosy cheeks.
“What’s wrong?” Zo asked, sitting up and taking Millie by the arm. “What is it?”
Zo took the hot kettle from Millie and walked over to hang it on the hook by the fire. She should have been hurrying to pack for her trip to the Kodiak, but Millie’s reaction frightened her. She forced the old woman to sit and ignored a slight pain in her ribs as she crouched before her. “You’re scaring me,” said Zo.
Millie’s lips moved but generated no sound. When she finally did manage to speak, her voice came out in something of a choked whisper.
“You’re broken, child.” A tear leaked out of the corner of her eye. “You’re broken.”
Zo shook her head. “You’re not making any sense.”
“The barrier is breeched. The floodgates.” She hiccupped. “They’re open.”
“Millie?”
The woman’s worried eyes snapped into focus. “Where did you think the magic came from, child?”
“Are we talking about healing?”
“Healing, whether by body alone or with the help of a healer, is a magic as old as time. And just like anything else, it demands payment.” She reached over and ran her fingers along the wooden legs of the bed. “Everyone—healer or no—is born with the magic to burn away impurities and heal the wounds of the body. A scratch on the arm. A broken bone. Mankind doesn’t require a healer to mend themselves. That magic lives within all of us.”
She raised a withered finger. “A healer just helps it along. Without the fuel of a healer’s magic, the flame can flicker and die if the wound is too great. As healers, we are an accelerant to that flame. We grow the fire and keep it burning until the body is whole and well again.”