The freckled girl, Aun, approached them. "Matei, come with me. You're in terrible shape. And you, Mhera—you must come too."
Aun reached into her boot, producing a sharp little dagger. She smiled at Mhera with compassion, and thus she became the first person in Hanpe Mhera did not fear. She allowed Aun to cut away the ropes that bound her.
"Thank you," Mhera said.
"You're welcome. Matei, come. I do not know how you can walk."
Aun took Matei's arm and guided him toward the door. Again, the crowd parted, permitting the man who seemed to be their leader to pass freely. Mhera walked close behind, still carrying Matei's tunic. She ignored her aching feet and kept her expression calm, not looking at anyone as she went. She felt them all staring at her.
The infirmary in Hanpe was built the same way as the other buildings of the settlement, but it was larger than the cottages. Within were many plain cots, one of which was occupied by a sleeping old man. Between each pair of cots stood a small table. Shelves near the hearth were well-stocked with a wide array of jars, pots, bowls and basins. There were rolls of bandages and stacks of clean linen neatly arranged on the lower shelves. In one corner was a changing screen with a chair set behind it.
Aun directed Matei and Mhera to a cot, then went to the hearth to check on something simmering there over the fire.
Matei eased himself down to sit on the cot. The wounds on his back glistened in the light. Pity twisted Mhera's stomach. "How did you come all this way like this?" she asked him in an undertone.
"I had no choice," Matei said.
"Mhera, will you please go to that shelf and bring me two rolls of bandages?" Aun carried a small bowl of warm water, fragrant with herbs, and had a cloth draped over her shoulder. "There's also a salve we will want—the pot on the end with a blue flower painted on the lid."
Mhera moved immediately to obey. She found the items easily and brought them back to Matei's cot. The rebel now sat on the edge of it, slightly turned so that he could present his wounded back to Aun. She had dipped her cloth in the bowl of water and was gently sponging the wounds. Mhera stood a short distance from the cot, holding the things she had brought.
As Aun cleaned Matei's tortured back, Mhera watched his face. His expression was schooled to calm, but beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, and she could see his cheek twitch as he tightly clenched his jaw. She wondered how many times he had swallowed his exhaustion and his pain so he could keep moving forward. All for Hanpe; all to carry the news of danger to his people.
His determination was a fearsome thing. No normal man could have done it. Against everything she had felt for him thus far, she regretted his pain. Surprising herself, Mhera found that she admired him for his determination.
"There we are," said Aun, sounding displeased. "You have a fever, Matei. Had you not arrived when you did, you may not have survived."
"Ah, Mhera could have carried me," Matei said. He quirked a queasy grin at Mhera.
For the first time, Mhera smiled weakly back at him. "I don't think so. You aren't as dainty as you think," she said.
Aun laughed. She beckoned with her finger, and Mhera handed her the pot of salve. When Aun opened it, a soothing medicinal scent rose from the pot. Matei did not seem soothed as she began to smooth the ointment onto his back, however. He grimaced.
"Evil woman," he muttered, screwing his eyes shut.
"Yes, yes, I've heard it all before. Be quiet and let me work," Aun replied. "You're staying here tonight, Matei. I want to watch this one. Mhera, the bandages, please? You can help me, if you wish. Hold the end of it just there while I wrap it round."
"Don't go teaching her this wretched craft," Matei said. "She's trouble enough, Aun."
Mhera and Aun shared a glance. Aun said, "You came all this way? Alone? With him? It must have been horrible."
It had been. It had been the most horrible thing Mhera could imagine. But somehow, she smiled again.
"There. That should do it, and the tie shouldn't bother you." Aun put the top onto her pot of salve again and handed it to Mhera, as naturally as if Mhera had always been there to help her with her tidying-up. As Mhera took the pot back to the shelf, Aun cleared away the bowl of water. It was murky, red with blood.
"Thank you, Aun," Matei said. "All teasing aside, I'm grateful for you."
"As you should be. I've probably saved your life, you fool," Aun said—but her cheeks had gone pink at Matei's words. "Now, stay here and rest. Mhera, would you stay, too? I'll go to the longhouse and get us some lunch if there's any left. It's probably ... safer for you here."
"Will you need help?" Mhera asked.
"No, dear. I bring a basket back every day for those I'm tending. Stay with him. There's water; will you get him some?" She pointed to a pitcher on a table near the wall. "If he gives you trouble I'll think of a suitable punishment when I return."
"Still here," Matei said. He had lain gingerly on his side on the bed. "I can hear you."
"I know. Be good," Aun said, and she left.
Mhera went to pour Matei some water. As she reached for the pitcher, she was reminded of the last time she had brought Matei a drink. Her hand fell limply to her side; she stood there for a moment, remembering.
"I should have been there," Matei said, interrupting her thoughts, "at the start of it all."
At first, Mhera was not sure what he meant. He had been there. Then, she realized he was talking about the trial, not the dungeon. "You let them take me," she said. She reached again for the pitcher and poured a cup full.
"I couldn't fight them all. And what I said about you, I needed to say in front of everyone."
Mhera moved toward him, holding the cup in both of her hands. "Do you think it will make a difference?"
Matei gave a crooked smile. "You saved me, Mhera. I took your help when you would not have given it freely, but you saved me nonetheless. Now, I save you. They won't touch you—not now that they know what connects us. They respect me here."
Mhera offered him the cup. He reached up with one hand and took it, not touching her fingers as he did. He sat up, wincing with the effort, and drank. Mhera said, "You're their king."
Matei set the empty cup on a small table near the bed. "I don't like the word. Rhodana ... she raised me to this life."
"They called you by her name."
"Matei u Rhodana. We go by our mothers' names, and she's as close as I had."
"Matei ..." Mhera twisted her fingers together, meeting his questioning gaze. "Your back. I'm sorry."
The rebel waved her words away. "Mhera, what I said in the longhouse was true. You had no hand in this."
The young woman shook her head. "You don't believe that. And ... I don't either. I'm complicit in it. I knew of the war, but I never knew ... this. That you were tortured. Your friends. Whatever you've done ..." The words failed her, and she was left grasping. She was remembering her vision—her vision of the mill.
Matei looked at her for a moment, as if trying to read in her eyes what was on her mind. Then he glanced away and pointed to a chair resting against the wall. "Bring that over here and sit for a moment, if you like. Your feet are hurting you."
Mhera brought the chair over and set it an arm's length from Matei's bed. As she sat down, he said, "I've treated you cruelly, Mhera. That first night ... and when I told you about the bloodstones ..."
"It's horrible, Matei. How can I not have known?"
"What sense would there be in letting it be known? There are Arcborn who don't know. Many of them. It has a long history." Matei reached into his pocket and produced the wretched thing. He laid it on the blanket. "I'll bury it here in Hanpe ... Here where we're free. No one will ever use it again."
Mhera stared at the bloodstone. A sense of wrongness emanated from it, and she wondered how folk could use them, how they could make them. She tore her gaze away from it.
"But there is another side to all of this," she said.
"Oh, of course there is," Matei said, gently turning the bloodstone over with his finger and watching it glimmer in the light. "Some of us have done terrible things, Mhera. I know you feel that we're all of us evil. Especially now. I dragged you here. Your lorekeeper ... betrayed you. I'm not a heartless man. I know how that must have felt."
Mhera was silent for a moment. She was surprised by his words, by his perception. But she could not afford his sympathy. She cut right to the quick of it all. "Rhodana killed Koreti."
Matei looked up at her, and she saw the flash of anger and defensiveness in his eyes. He opened his mouth, but closed it again. She saw his shoulders rise and fall with a deep breath.
"Your people are far from innocent," Mhera persisted. "He's not the only Starborn dead by Arcborn hands."
"You're right, Mhera. It's war. A small war, mostly in the shadows—but there are battles, and there is death. Your people kill ours all the time, and we kill yours," Matei said. His matter-of-fact tone was revealing, suggesting that the war was not very small, after all.
"They did not even permit me to look upon him, so badly was he mistreated. I've Seen—" But she stopped, biting back the words.
"Seen what?" Matei's gaze sharpened; his brows drew together.
"... I've seen it in my mind. Thought of what it must have been like for him, alone and afraid." Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to pause for a second. "He was just a child."
The atmosphere between them grew tense. Matei's mouth was a hard line, ready with a biting response. Mhera twisted her sorrow into anger, and hot words rose to dance on the tip of her tongue.
Before the truce could break, Matei breathed a sigh. He folded his hand over the bloodstone. "This is what I know. You did not make this thing; you are no mage. You never laid the lash to my back, and you never killed any of my people."
Mhera waited, staring down at his hand on the blanket. She was thinking of what everyone had said about the massacre at the mill.
"And I did not kill your prince, Mhera. Rhodana—" He paused for a moment, but moved on without finishing his thought. "Can we move on from here? We may never be friends. I know that. You're far from home in the company of your family's enemies. You fear us. You hate us."
It was true.
"We fight against the empire. I cannot ask for your friendship or your help in our venture. But can we—you and I, two people trying to survive—can we agree that neither of us bears the guilt of a whole people on our shoulders? Can we try to move forward with some small measure of peace between us?"
Closing her eyes, Mhera considered her path. If she were to live here in Hanpe among strangers, rebel men and women who hated her people and especially her royal family, she needed Matei's protection. The fact that they would not kill her was only one consideration. How would they treat her? Where would she stay? Were she not to ally herself with Matei, the others would mirror his behavior toward her. She needed him—she needed his kindness, not his spite.
And she realized that, although she had suffered no small measure of fear that day as she waited in her makeshift prison and followed Uachi to her so-called trial, Matei had protected her. He had defended her in front of the city in no uncertain terms. He'd kept his promise.
Finally, she understood the truth at the core of all that had happened to her. When Matei had taken her in the dungeon, he had done it because he had no other choice. He'd languished there, knowing that the empire could find Hanpe and knowing its citizens were in danger. Men, women and children—a thousand of them, more. He had needed to escape so badly that he had dragged himself on foot through a forest, his flesh ragged from lashes and his body worn out by too much spellwork in too short a time.
Harm the one or harm the many. He had made his choice. And, considering, Mhera thought that she would have done the same in his position.
"We can try," she said.