The Rogue Guardian

Chapter 20: About Your Thief

So I had a real creative streak this week and wrote down a lot of ideas for later in the book, making my plot plan a whole lot more solid, but I feel like more importantly I owe everyone an apology for the fact that we're on chapter 20 and we're not at anything really important yet. I swear I meant to get into the thick of things quicker in this book but apparently that's not how I roll so... here we are. I promise we're getting somewhere.

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The temptation to go back to Xalva's cell was very strong. Nemia knew it was a bad idea, but it had been such a relief to talk to someone, to look him straight in the eye and feel some of the pressure on her chest lift. Even if he was a slippery, dangerous person. Even if every time she thought of going back to see him was one treacherous step towards making another deal for something much more dangerous than a dream.

It was Irina's voice that pulled her back from the verge of taking one of those steps.

"Nemia?"

Her name in someone else's voice gave her a queasy feeling in her stomach, half desperately elated and half heavy and sinking. She needed someone to talk to, she knew that, and Irina should have been a better candidate than Xalva, but all she could think of was escape.

She pressed her lips together and opened her water flask with shaking fingers, pretending she hadn't heard. In the corner of her eye Irina drew closer, tugging at the quiver of arrows slung over her shoulder.

"Nemia." She reached out a hand as though to touch her shoulder and Nemia quickly turned to face her, out of reach.

"Yes?"

"Can I talk to you?"

"I'm busy." She dreaded that look in her eye. Her expression was sympathetic, but below her carefully arranged soft smile there was an edge of determination she didn't trust.

"It's about your Thief."

Her chest tightened. Water spilled over the top of her flask as she squeezed her hands into fists over it, splattering the dry dust at their feet into mud that splashed Irina's pristine black boots. Irina's smile became more forced but she otherwise did not acknowledge the splatter.

Cheeks reddening, Nemia took a drink, drawing out the moment to avoid making eye contact. "I'm in the middle of training," she finally said.

"I saw. And I figured you could use a break. How about practicing some shooting instead?"

That was a very well thought out offer. If she took it, she wouldn't be abandoning her practice and no one could criticize her, but it would still be a welcome break from the sweatier, more aching work of sword practice.

But she would also be giving in to Irina's clear attempts to force her to talk.

Still... it was about Morie. That wasn't something she should put off. It could be important.

"I'd like that," she said quietly, and Irina beamed.

"I'll go get you a bow and arrows, meet me at the archery range."

Nemia gathered her swords and put them away in her cubby in a tack shed, where she kept her weapons when they weren't being used during the day-- really two cubbies with her name above both, as her weapons pile had grown as she had.

Nick had come in after her, but waited for her to acknowledge him before he said anything. That was one of the things she liked about him-- like Morie, he understood that she liked to do things her way. She would make eye contact when she was ready, speak when she was ready, let down her guard when she was ready. Accepting that made those things happen much quicker.

"What does Laycreek want?"

"She says she wants to talk about Morie."

"Probably wants to ask if you know where she is."

"She already asked me that." She wrapped her arms around herself, and she knew Nick noticed the gesture. He wasn't fluent in her silent language like Morie was, but he made an effort to interpret.

"You know you don't have to talk to her if you don't want to."

"I know." Impulsively, she reached out one hand to him and he grabbed it with both of his, strength and warmth wrapped around it like a glove. She hadn't realized how cold she'd felt, even in the heart of midsummer, since the night Morie left-- as though the sun had been shining with brightness but no heat.

She was a wreck, she thought, and all she wanted to do was go to bed and sleep for three weeks. Maybe when she woke up then Morie would be back.

"I have to go."

He let go of her hand and she left the tack shed, the raining yards, and finally the shouts of guards training behind her. It was a long loop around the castle to the archery yards in the back but she didn't feel like cutting through the noise and clutter of the castle, so by the time she arrived Irina had clearly been waiting for a while.

She was sitting on a bench behind the archers firing at brightly painted targets, her chin resting on one hand and the other in her lap, her expression deep in thought, and she jumped when Nemia reached for the bow lying next to her. "When did you get here?"

"Just now." She took a handful of arrows as well as Irina stood. She wondered when it would be polite to skip right to what she wanted to know as she followed Irina to the target she'd picked out.

"I'm not any good, so you'll have to excuse me," she said, picking an arrow.

Nemia nodded awkwardly, not sure how to respond. She wasn't well versed in excusing mediocrity or failure after so many years of being taught not to accept it in herself. It turned out not to be all that necessary anyway. Irina was a dependable, if not great, shot. She suspected targeting was her strong suit, though she was slow about it. Methodical and careful, as though something depended on every shot.

Nemia, meanwhile, had never been good at archery-- or, never as good as she was supposed to be. Long out of practice, she wasn't doing much better than Irina. She couldn't concentrate either, and decided to not to wait any longer.

"About Morane..."

Irina tucked a strand of hair that had wormed its way out of her complicated braid behind her ear. "Yes. I learned something about her disappearance." She was watching her closely, and Nemia realized she was looking for a reaction. She didn't have one. There had been many rumors flying around. She wasn't all that convinced Irina knew anything more than the rumors did, and she wasn't getting her hopes up.

"Luca went looking for evidence two nights ago, and he found something to do with ship logs. It's all very suspicious, apparently, and he's nearly certain that's how she left."

"Did he find out where she went?"

"Well, no. But I think if I can convince him to give me a copy of the logs I might be able to figure it out. Do you want me to try?"

Nemia tensed. There was no reason for that to be a question-- Irina had to know very well that her answer would be yes. The only reason to phrase it like that was to make Nemia ask her for it, make it a favor.

She didn't trust people who tried to build up stacks of favors. They were inevitably saving them to force you into something bigger.

But surely if she was careful there was no harm in this just one time. She had no intention of playing Irina's game.

"Yes, please."

Irina smiled.

Of course, at this point Nemia hadn't realized that Irina's game was much more complicated then she'd thought.