The Broken (The Lost Words: Volume 2) (19 page)

Nikolai coughed. “With all due respect, Your Holiness, we must discuss the disposition of our troops. There’s a great war to be fought, against godless people. What can be holier than that?”

He had a point, the king thought. The conversation swerved back to horses and broken axles and discipline. Sergei leaned back and let them speak. He was tired.

A horn blazed once, twice. Bedtime.

“Dismissed,” Sergei said.

The dukes rose, bid him good night, and staggered out. Ivan and Evgeny lingered, but when they saw the lethargic, drawn look on their king’s face, they relented and left. Giorgi and Timur cleaned the place. Sergei wiped his face with a damp cloth that smelled of oranges and went to bed.

The night slowly settled; the camp went to sleep. Sergei lay awake, road dust and sweat oozing off his skin, mingling with the citrus smell. He was thinking. Was he destined for greatness? Was he making the same mistake as his father? How did one justify wars when asked? History books always had page after page of reasons, but in life, things seemed so whimsical, almost random. His war idea was eighteen years old, a childhood fantasy that had grown old with him, like him. He had made Parus rich and strong and modern. So, maybe that was enough? Maybe this vengeance was just a fancy?

No, he would not balk now. He would make Parus the dominant force in the realms, the largest and most feared of all. For many generations, Parus had always stood apart, drenched in its own struggles, while the Eracians and Caytoreans exchanged a lifetime of cowardly blows over pride and matters long forgotten. But now that stale balance had been shattered. The old world order was no more. His nemesis had created a new reality. Adam had broken the centuries of political stagnation in the realms. It was like in the ancient times, when Pyotr had ridden forth and turned his little clan into a nation. Now, it was his turn. For a fleeting moment, he remembered his father’s madness.

I will be just and fair and loved. I will bring peace to the realms
. But peace must begin with war, it seemed.

CHAPTER 12

S
he awoke with a start.

Her eyes fleeted around the room, seeking danger, finding none. She slumped back into the clean bedsheets. The room was small, but airy and well lit. It smelled of old, crusted bandages and lemon, a perverted combination. A boy, roughly fifteen or so but with ancient eyes, sat in a chair near the foot of the bed, staring at her. He was the only dirty thing in the room.

He remained seated. He made no move, as if he did not want to startle her. “It’s all right. You are safe.” He spoke in a soft voice. “I saved you from the beating several days ago. My name is Ewan. Do you remember me?”

She looked at the boy, thinking, her mind racing. Could she trust him? Was he who he claimed to be? Just a nice boy who had saved her from certain death? The memory of that night was a vivid kaleidoscope of images in the back of her mind, painful and burning. Erratic scenes of that terrible ordeal strobed in rapid succession, mixing with white-hot pain and black panic. She remembered the leering faces of her assailants, their meaty fists, raw knuckles, and the shine of a ruby ring…Was that her blood or a real ruby? The faces. This boy, Ewan, was not one of them.

“You saved my life,” she said, her voice thin and coarse. It was part question, part statement.

Ewan grabbed a wooden cup from a small stand. He handed it over. “Drink this, please.”

She reached with her right hand. A lance of pain numbed her.

The boy smiled softly. “Your right arm is broken. Please use your left.”

Groaning, she propped herself up and drank carefully. The rim of the cup touched her lips. She reached with trembling hands and probed. All her teeth were there. But she had seen them flying like pearls.

“My teeth?”

Ewan slowly stood up. He raked his filthy hair. “After I found you, I took you to a healer. He…mended your wounds. You’re still weak, but you will be okay. You had several teeth missing. The man said he could reconstruct them with whale bone and silver.”

She stared at him, her eyes brimming. She kept her eyes lidded and watched him. He looked wild, disheveled, hardly the image of a hero any girl dreamed about. He wasn’t very tall or well built. He wasn’t that pretty, either. Just an ordinary lad, shy and confused.

But he’s saved your life
, she thought.
He paid for your teeth
. She gasped involuntarily. Her breathing turned fast and shallow. “Why?”

Ewan was upset. He did not know how to handle the crying. For nine days, he had not left the room, not so much as to stretch his legs. He had sat by her side, waiting, ignoring the raw urgency boiling in his guts. And her teeth had cost him more than half his savings, but the sight of a beautiful girl with her mouth ruined left a deep hole in his soul. No matter. Money was of no importance. He could always wrestle a shark and earn more.

“Anyone would do that,” he muttered.

The girl lowered her eyes. Tears dripped on the gray cast on her forearm. Ewan stood, but didn’t move any further. He did not know what to do. It felt awkward and frustrating. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and sobbed some more. After a few moments, her breathing slowed down. She was asleep again. Ewan sighed deeply, sat back, and waited.

The mysterious girl woke again several hours later. It was almost sunset. He had lit a few lamps in the room so she would not be in the dark. He read a book on Eybalen fishing. The book was boring, but it was better than thinking.

Ewan looked up from his dreadful reading. “How are you?”

“My chest hurts,” she said.

“Your ribs were broken too. Luckily, there was no damage to your internal organs. The healer said that once you are strong enough to walk, we should leave the room and exercise outside. It will help your ribs heal back properly.” He coughed. “I put some onion salve there. It helps with the healing.” He blushed.

She patted her side gently. Beneath a simple white linen shirt, there was a swath of gauze wrapped around her middle, lumpy with coarsely cut onion slices. She reached farther down. Ewan winced. Her eyes went wide when she noticed she was wearing nappies. Her eyes watered again. Ewan understood that pained look. It said,
What have I done to deserve this?

He was feeling extremely uncomfortable. He was running his hands up and down his filthy gray trousers. “I never looked,” he mumbled. “I closed my eyes. Honest.”

She nodded weakly. “Are we still in Eybalen?” she asked after a while.

Ewan nodded. “Yes, we’re in the harbor area. This is the Drunken Parrot Inn.”

The girl panicked for a moment. “I can’t go outside. Not here.”

“It’s okay,” he said. After the horrible beating she had suffered, it was no wonder she would be reluctant to walk the streets again. But she had to walk, had to breathe deeply, let her chest expand and contract, let the ribs settle properly. “Whenever you’re ready. We can try small walks in here.”

Her arms trembled. “All right.”

He extended a hand. “Let me help you. Carefully. You’ve been in bed for nine days.” She froze. “Take your time,” he whispered encouragingly.

The girl listened. She sat for a while, flexing her arms and legs, working some of the feeling back into her weak, atrophied limbs.

Next, she put her legs down, over the edge of the bed, but did not rise. Even sitting perfectly straight must be an effort. Her back also probably hurt. For an hour, she sat there, staring at the sunset, bracing her nerve and strength. Ewan said nothing. He just waited, as patient as the chair he warmed.

“I will try to stand now,” she declared, but her voice trembled.

Ewan stood. She winced at his proximity. It was instinct, nothing more, but she recoiled as if burned.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” he apologized lightning fast, before she could even open her mouth.

He let her lean on his arm as she slowly uncoiled. Ewan was not a large man, but she was really petite. She was such a small, fragile thing. It was a miracle that she had survived the beating. But they said the smallest kids were always the toughest fighters. Ewan wanted to know her name, but he did not dare ask yet. No names, she had said. When she was ready. There would be time. How could he demand anything of her yet? After all she had been through?

She let out a small gasp of victory as she managed to stand on her own. She was slightly shaky and weak, but she managed to stay upright, with only a light touch against Ewan’s arm. Instinctively, as she stood, she reached toward her belly. She looked at him. Ewan paled and averted his eyes.

He pressed his hands together, trying to contain the flood of pain that enveloped him. But he had to tell her. He could not be a coward now. He had to tell her. His palms were bloodless. His hands trembled with tension.

“You lost your child,” he whispered.

The girl closed her eyes. She did not move or say anything. Tears inched from underneath her lids, streaming down her cheeks. Ewan bore it stoically, waiting. He focused on the hot, numb pain in his tightly clenched fists and was glad for the simple fact he could hurt himself, even if the entire world could not. He felt sad.

He had no idea who she was or what ugly circumstances had left her unborn child dead and almost got her killed, too. He could not imagine what kind of people would lynch a helpless woman. He was confused and somewhat angry. But he was mostly sad.

He thought about Ayrton. It was this kind of world that his friend had fled. Ewan recalled the faces of the five assailants. Just five ordinary faces. They could have been any five citizens. It seemed that cruelty did not need special champions; it would do just fine with average people. Ayrton had tried to teach him this, in the most oblique, gentle way possible, prepare him for the savage and harsh reality of life. But there was no way Ewan could have understood that then. He did now.

And he realized he would never again see the world through his old eyes. It was this brutal truth that made him sad. He felt a childish illusion evaporate.

Ewan could have killed the five men. Maybe he should have. But what difference would that have made? They probably did not know what they did wrong. That was the true horror. Their deaths may satisfy his inner sense of justice, but it would not change the world one bit. The realization crushed his soul.

“I think I’ll sleep some more,” the girl said after a while.

“Okay,” Ewan said and resumed his watch.