Early next morning, Magdala entered in the results of her latest failure into the project’s notes:

> Trial #17

>

> Action: A nQeanum casting was prepared at the smallest possible attenuation along with a nQerikwem casting at one standard level of attenuation. Both castings were released in quick succession and followed by an incomplete Qe casting.

>

> Result: The thin skin created by nQeanum failed, releasing the liquefied azade. Qe resonance was not established. Remains disposed of using standard protocol.

In other words, Magdala’s efforts had turned the azade into a sticky mash. At least she’d reformed most of the skull sized azade spheres into much smaller palm-sized ones, which had made clean up take only a quarter of an hour after each failure instead of a full hour. That said it was clear that she was doing something wrong.

She glanced at the empty seats across the table from her.

Magdala’s attempts to get Francesca to come back had been just as successful as her attempts to set the Qe into the azade by herself. She’d tried logic, emotional appeal, and even the promise of glory, but her roommate refused to return and had even taken to waking up early just to avoid Magdala at breakfast. As for the third member of the team, Magdala had glimpsed Colin once or twice before he disappeared into the college’s basement library.

Hoping to move past these thoughts, Magdala grabbed another small azade sphere and placed it on a stand in the center of the table, but before she could start attempt number eighteen, doubt snuck in a few questions. Why couldn’t her roommate see things her way? Was this the end of their friendship? Was joint magic the only way?

Desperately, Magdala seized on that last question, which had other implications beyond the personal. Thaumaturgically speaking, joint magic could be introducing some kind of magical interference that was getting in the way of Qe setting into the azade and since spell preparation could also result in some overlap of spells, it could also be creating this hypothetical interference. Dwayne’s notes didn’t mention such a thing, and neither had her lord uncle in his many lectures on the subject, but they had been relying on a sound metaphor this whole time and that had always been a concern for musicians. Perhaps reducing the number of spells cast would get rid of the interference? She should drop nQeanum, it was definitely her weaker spell, and find a mechanical way to replace it, something like…

It didn’t take her long to jury-rig a solution from a large beaker and filtered water. After filling the beaker with the water, she dropped the azade in, waited for it to sink to the bottom and then turned the water into ice with a quick casting of nQeanum. Then she flipped the beaker over, hit it on its bottom to pop out the cylinder of ice, and then used a few delicate castings of nQerikwem to revealed a dot of azade.

Now for the moment of truth. “nQerikwe.”

Immediately, the spell settled onto her temples as two half doun weights. She was used to it now, ever since she’d forced herself to use spell preparation to create Dwayne’s spell shunts, but she was still glad she didn’t have to prepare the second spell. How adults managed five or more spells she’d never know.

Gently, she placed the tip of her finger on the azade. “em. Qe.”

Her prepared spell worked perfectly, but Qe casting rebelled immediately, which was different. In the previous trials, the Qe casting had screamed for direction and then just died, but this time, it twisted free of her control and ripped through the liquid azade, causing it to boil and melt the ice, and that wasn’t right, it couldn’t be right, and so she bit off the casting.

When the smoke and mist cleared, there was a dark orange stone sitting on top of the table, the wreckage of the ice melting around it. Magdala picked it up out of the puddle of water and stared at it. It was as if the azade’s natural deep ocean blue color had been burned away.

“That is a fascinating result.”

Magdala almost dropped the thing. “Dean Bruce!”

“At ease, young Gallus.” The dean plucked the what-was-once azade out of Magdala’s hand. “This almost looks like… nQeuom.” She grinned. “I knew it. It’s tytumber.”

“Tytumber?”

“A somewhat rare substance mostly found in azade mines.” Dean Bruce held it up and watched the gray morning light curl around the little bubbles. “The Vanurians claim that it’s completely useless and don’t bother to sell it, but I heard that the Empire has found certain… applications for it.” Her eyes dropped to Magdala. “Speaking of mines, how is young Kalan?”

Magdala blinked at the sudden shift. “He’s fine? I haven’t spoken to him since…” Cups, had it really been almost a week? “Well, for some time.”

“Then you haven’t had a chance to wield those new flame spell apparatuses he made?”

Magdala had heard that Dwayne’s new fire spell vials were a hit among the minor mage families, which she really was happy about, even though it was Colin’s sister who was getting all the praise for helping him out.

“I haven’t.”

“They appear to use an azade solution as a medium.” Dean Bruce rolled the tytumber between her fingers. “And there are reports that he’s taking credit for creating the solution himself.”

Magdala scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.”

The dean’s eyebrows lifted. “That Dwayne created them?”

“That Dwayne would ever take credit for something he didn’t do.”

“But could he do it?”

“Ah…” Magdala didn’t need Dwayne covering her mouth to know they’d stumbled into dangerous ground. “My lord uncle mostly focused on his Qe education.”

“That makes more sense. Lord Kalan was never known to be proficient at nQe magic.” Dean Bruce glanced at the empty seats at the table. “I notice that Mr. Fletcher and Miss Lucchesi are not here.”

Oh good. Technically less dangerous ground. “We’re, ah, working the problem from different angles. Because our first attempt went so badly.”

Dean Bruce’s eyes flicked to the project log. “I see. Well, I should tell you that I expect your team to produce a demonstrable result for this year’s Mage’s Offering.”

The dean’s words hit Magdala like an avalanche. “You expect us to offer our results at the Harvest Ball?”

“Will that be a problem?”

The Harvest Ball was in just three days, Magdala’s team had scattered to the wind, and the only time they’d even gotten close had literally blown up in their faces, but despite all that a shocked Magdala heard herself said, “No, it won’t, Dean.”

“Excellent.” The dean indicated the tytumber. “May I?

“Of course,” said Magdala’s treacherous mouth. “I can always make more.”

As soon as the dean was gone, Magdala’s brain finally had time to survey the damage. There were only two real plans at this point and one of them undermined the very reason why she was doing this at all. The other one required her to do something drastic, something that part of her had thought was necessary from the very start, but that the rest of her had thought was unfair.

Apologize.

***

Even while living at Sanford, Mei had had no reason to visit the servant dormitories, so she was shocked to find that it was barely more luxurious than her room in the Bilges. In the corner farthest from the door, amongst a crowding of bunks and wardrobes, Rodion slept on a bunk next to the luggage Mei had last seen on the awful awrock cart that had brought them to Bradford. The steward had made no effort to add any personal touches to the space just like he was on the run from something.

After sending off the angry mage, Mei had dragged a distraught Rodion here to sleep, but that wasn’t enough to assuage the guilt she felt from abandoning him and Dwayne when they’d truly needed her.

“Dwayne…” The steward’s eyes snapped open. “Where’s Dwayne?”

Mei shook her head. “He’s not here.”

Rodion sat up. “I have to find him.”

“We will.” Mei pushed him back down. “What happened?”

“I didn’t tell you last night?”

Mei shook her head.

“Oh. Um.” Rodion closed his eyes. “After you left, I went to the kitchen to make dinner.” He told Mei everything up until the point when he’d been knocked out. “When I came to, he was gone, and… You were there and… I was so stupid. I shouldn’t have let Huan guard the door alone.”

Mei frowned. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

Mei’s features tightened. Her brother’s irresponsibility was becoming outrageous. “He had a date. I was on guard duty.”

“He didn’t tell me.” Rodion’s eyes went cold. “What did you see?”

“I was attacked too.” Talking fast, Mei relayed her version of events. “When I got back here, I got you to bed and… I’m sorry I didn’t stay.”

Rodion didn’t say anything for a long moment. “So they’re the book thieves and they’re the ones who’d killed that windsong. And now they’ve turned to kidnapping.”

Mei shook her head. “No, they haven’t. Dwayne is a noble and a mage and Maggie and her family would drown the city find him.”

“Ha, that’s true. And the Throne would get involved.” He let out a huge breath. “I think you’re right. They wouldn’t have killed him, not on purpose. Has your brother come back from his ‘date’?”

“No.” Mei was on her feet. “I will go find tracks.”

Before Rodion could stop her, she was already making her way downstairs. The steward’s sarcasm had dredged up all the small coincidences she’d been willfully ignoring: Huan insisting they switch shifts the night that Blue Mask and his gang attacked, Blue Mask speaking perfect commoner’s Tuquese, Gray Mask’s build being exactly like a certain not-a-soldier, and while there was solid tying them together, it was hard to deny so many.

It was almost a relief that Black Tiger and her archer had attacked. After all, the Empire was a simple threat; Either Mei and her brother would fend them off or they would be dragged back to Tuqu. Terrifying, but easy to understand.

Back to work.

Dwayne’s trail started in the dining room, raced down to the the cellar, stepped out of a pile of wrecked beer barrels, passed over the remains of the outer cellar door, and entered the sideyard where Mei found a battlefield made of boot prints, dried blood, a torn black sleeve, a body-sized indent, a still muddy empty grave, odd scorch marks in the grass, and even odder drag marks that led out of Sanford and into the street.

Rodion emerged from the cellar in a clean suit and neat ponytail, which made him look fresher if not more awake. “Do you know what happened?”

Mei didn’t know for sure, but she did know that Dwayne had fended off both the wind mage and the stiletto fighter alone.

She indicated the drag marks. “He chased them.” She pointed at the blood. “Someone was hurt bad. They didn’t get far.”

“That is a lot of blood.” Rodion knelt down, picked up a blade of grass that was covered in dried blood, and tasted it.

Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

“What are you doing?” asked Mei.

The steward paled. “I, uh.” He spat out the grass. “I haven’t eaten yet, and… Ahem. Anyway, let’s assume that this is my lord’s blood. Can you follow it?”

“Yes.”

Not at all wondering whether or not one could taste the differences in human blood, Mei followed the blood and drag marks across the street to an alley where there was a dried pool of smeared blood on the pavement and no body.

Rodion’s voice shook. “Where is he?”

Mei glanced up the alley. “Someone took him, but not the thieves.”

Up until now, the drag marks had only been accompanied by the blood, but the blood had been replaced with shoeprints.

“We have to find him.” Rodion dug through a pile of trash. “He has to be here.”

“He is not here.” Mei knelt to inspect the smeared blood. “Someone dragged him into the street.”

“Maybe someone took pity on him?” Rodion started to pace back and forth. “If he’d lost this much blood, he’d need immediate treatment, but he’s young, he’s healthy, he’s got decent odds of surviving.”

Mei eyed the steward. That was an assessment she could make from dozens of hunts, but the steward should only know things like how long it took to heat up tea.

She gestured at the cobbled street. “There’s no trail now.”

Rodion didn’t hear her. “If Dwayne had been taken to any doctor here in the Parvenue Quarter, we would know by now because they would have insisted on sending us the bill. Hold this.” He handed his suit jacket to Mei. “Thanks.”

Mei frowned as the steward rolled up his shirtsleeves. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going to find my lord by asking the one group of people who are everywhere at all hours.” He stepped out onto the street and flagged down a carriage.

The carriage’s driver leaned down to peer at the steward through her one good eye. “What, you want a ride?”

“Oh, no, I’m just chasing down this noble who didn’t see fit to pay me.” Rodion’s voice was higher pitched, his manner easy. “I just want the coin owed me.”

“You want coin, but is it worth mine to stay here and chat?”

A coin appeared as if by magic in Rodion’s fingers. “Is it?”

The driver took the coin. “I’ll chat to a baron. What’s your nob done?”

“Ran out on me after I provided such good service. Anything big happen around here last night, something that might have covered his escape?”

The driver thought about it. “Some idiot mage dropped a sleep bomb in the middle of the street. Half a dozen people just keeled over. It was a right mess.”

Later Mei would wince at the memory of how much damage her fumbled sleep bomb had done, but at the moment she was transfixed by the image of the normally stiff and somber Rodion acting like a hurt lover.

Rodion put on a sad face. “No, that sounds like change-mage work. Is there anything else?”

“Nothing I know of. I’m not normally… Hold up, Jan might know. Hey, Jan!”

Jan, another driver, halted his carriage. “What is it, Soph?”

“You hang with the night drivers, yeah? They mention anything unusual happen last night? Besides that sleep bomb.”

Jan snorted. “I’m not paid to hang about and chat.”

“Will this do?” Rodion flicked a coin in Jan’s direction.

Jan caught it and bit it. “Oh, it will. I got this, Soph.” As Soph left, the new driver leaned down to speak to Rodion. “Black Ed said he was going by here when some windsong came tearing out of that place there with some bloke over her shoulder, and a bleeding hellion tearing after her.”

Whatever a “hellion” was, a bleeding one had to have been Dwayne.

Rodion leaned against Jan’s carriage. “Black Ed say what happened to the hellion?”

“Nope, I didn’t let ‘em, I have needs you know, but,” Jan lowered his voice, “I’ll take ya right to him for the right price.”

Rodion gestured for Mei to join him. “Another baron?”

Jan scoffed. “Better make it two. Black Ed is just what us day drivers call him. The name he likes me to call out is Idris.”

“I see. Thanks.” Rodion took his jacket from Mei. “Get in the carriage.”

Mei did so. “Where are we going?”

“Idris is not a Souran name. It’s a Wesen one.”

Mei’s spine tingled. “We’re going to the Plague District?”

***

Dwayne awoke to attempted poetry.

“Asaph’s sect, no respect, dug up a spring filled with, with. No, that don’t sound right.”

Breathing in, Dwayne filled his nose with a spicy scent that brought him back to a village by the sea, where a father’s kisses and a mother’s laughter lay just out of reach. He opened his eyes. He wasn’t home. He was under a wood slat ceiling sealed with pitch in a hammock that hung low with his weight.

“Asaph’s sect, no respect, dug up a, a, pool. Unearthed a pool? Ooo, that’s better.”

Opening his eyes had summoned a monster of a headache, but Dwayne sat up anyway, shrugged off the scratchy wool blanket, and realized that he was naked. “Ri-”

He clapped his hand over his mouth before the spell could escape.

“You’re awake.” Akunna slid her notebook onto a shelf and pulled her chair up next to him. “How do you feel?”

She didn’t seem bothered, but Dwayne covered himself anyway as he did a frantic inventory. His shoes and his bracer lay, his clothes were nowhere to be found, and the vicious cut on his chest had been bandaged and treated with some sort of sticky jelly. All of that would have been reassuring if he couldn’t literally feel his tongue trying to form Ri spells with every breath.

Akunna was starting to look concerned.

“Ri…Ri…” The spell was not going to let him start any other way. “Respectable.”

“Respectable?” Akunna glanced at the naked and bandaged boy in her hammock. “Really?”

“Ri-really.”

There had to be an explanation for why his magic was acting up, like something he ate or a head injury. Cups, if it was a head injury, then he might stay like this forever.

“Stop your fretting and lie back down.” Akunna pushed him down onto the bed. “I’ll go get the healer.”

As soon as her door closed behind her, Dwayne tried to get out of the hammock, but that only added aching legs to his litany of pain. In fact, the only things that weren’t sore were his arms, which were not enough to get him out of the hammock before Akunna returned with a pale elder in green scarves.

“Back in you go.” Akunna shoved him back in and covered him with the blanket. “He keeps acting like he has somewhere to be.”

“No signs of paralysis at least.” As the elder drew close, a persistent keening came with him. It made Dwayne’s headache worse. “And there’s no sign of shock, at least not physically.”

Those clicked ‘c’s accent, those scarves, the deep knowledge of the human body.

Akunna grabbed him before he could escape. “Don’t move, you.”

“I’m not going to let them touch me!” Dwayne froze. His compulsion to cast was gone.

“Oh, now you can talk.”

The Vanurian healer sighed. “So you were a slave.”

“I was.” Dwayne’s headache still raged, but at least he could talk like a normal person again. “Why are you here?”

“I’m here because I made mistakes. Allow me to leave it at that.” The healer turned to Akunna. “Has he cast any spells yet?”

Akunna scowled. “No, there’s no way he’s a mage, not if he’s escaped… there.”

Perhaps Akunna hadn’t been listening back in Thadden’s office. “I was freed.” Dwayne sat up, groaned. “Thank you for your help. I’ll just get dressed and be on my way.”

“No, it’s far too dangerous.” The healer opened their bag. “Akunna, hold him down.”

Dwayne tried to resist, but she was too strong. “What are you doing? What’s too dangerous?”

“How hard was it for him to speak before?” asked the healer as they rummaged around in their bag.

“Hard.” Akunna caught Dwayne’s wrists and held them still. “He kept alliterating.”

“You’re lucky I’m just enough of a poet to know what that is.” The healer clicked something in their bag. “What’s your name, mage?”

Dwayne wanted to shout for them to let him go, but when he opened his mouth, his lips, his tongue, his jaw, all prepared to cast. Whatever the healer had done, it had banished the keening and locked up Dwayne’s throat with spells. It had also done nothing for his headache.

“Intriguing.” The healer peered closely at Dwayne. “He has both the characteristic cephalalgia of thaumaturgical shock and the distinctive aphasia of thaumaturgical deprivation.”

“Meaning?” asked Akunna.

“He’s somehow cast too much magic and not cast enough.”

Dwayne had felt the effects of thaumaturgical shock before, but thaumaturgical deprivation was a new one.

“Ain’t that a paradox?” asked Akunna.

“Quite.” The healer inspected Dwayne’s eyes. “You’ve calmed down, so I assume you understand your situation. Is it okay if feel your throat? I’ll be checking for lesions and tumors and the like.”

Dwayne still didn’t want the healer to touch him, but the fact that they’d asked first went a long way to making it easier to nod yes.

“Thank you.” The healer pressed their cool fingers into his neck. “I know how important it is to get consent. I’m sorry for forcing things earlier, but we really couldn’t have a Ri mage randomly setting off fire spells everywhere.”

“I buy that he’s a mage, but he ain’t no fire mage.” Akunna caught the quizzical look on Dwayne’s face. “I wasn’t paying attention to that meeting you two had, but I would have heard about a male Ri mage running free in Bradford.”

As he silently endured the healer’s examination, Dwayne cursed his ignorance. If he’d known that not casting Ri risked revealing he was Ri, he wouldn’t have bothered with the oath. That said, there was something in the healer’s bag that had been suppressing his symptoms. Perhaps if he had that, maybe he could keep to his oath.

“I suppose anything is possible.” The healer’s hands dropped away. “Good, no lesions or bumps. We don’t have to treat a third condition on top of the two you already have. That would have been too much. Akunna, a moment of your time?”

As the two of them stepped outside, Dwayne’s eyes dropped to the healer’s bag, which was made of worn dark gray fabric and held closed with tarnished silver clasps. It was an old Vanurian surgeon’s bag, just like the one he remembered from the island plantation, and if it weren’t for the fact that Akunna clearly trusted this healer, he would have searched it for whatever it was that had allowed him to speak before. As it was, he didn’t want to give Akunna a reason not to trust him.

“I don’t see why that would work.” Akunna’s voice penetrated her door. “He’s seen how Thadden treats me.”

The healer’s reply was muffled.

“Whatever. Let’s get this over with.”

When she and the healer reentered the room, Akunna caught the question on Dwayne’s face. “I’m supposed to talk to you while they prepare your treatment.”

Dwayne blinked.

“Yeah, I don’t know why either.”

“Akunna.” The healer was rummaging around in their bag again. “Take this seriously, please. Dwayne, may I proceed?”

Dwayne nodded, although he wasn’t sure was he was agreeing to.

“So,” Akunna sat back down, “how long have you been in Bradford?”

Dwayne raised an eyebrow.

“I told you that I don’t pay attention to Thadden when he blabbers. So, how long?”

Dwayne held up four fingers.

“Four months? Four weeks. Wow, you’ve made quite a splash in barely a month.”

Dwayne shrugged then focused as hard as he could on his next words. “Why… here?”

“Why did I bring you here? I live here.”

Dwayne raised his eyebrows.

“You really don’t know.” Akunna sighed. “You think that I’m a regular servant, right? That I should either be living in Thadden’s house or be paid enough to live in Boscage, right?”

Dwayne nodded. Prestige and convenience demanded either one or the other.

“I live where all Wesen live around here.”

Feeling a knot in his stomach, Dwayne constructed his next words as if building a tent in a windstorm. “Where…here?”

“You never told him where he was?” asked the healer.

“Cussed lightning, he kept trying to get away and fretting and keening, so I went and got you.” Akunna turned back to Dwayne. “You’re in the Plague District. This is where all us Wesen-”

“And Vanurians,” added the healer.

“Stay. We’re don’t stay in Bradford proper. We’re not allowed to.”

“Ri-diculous.” Of course, Dwayne had noted that no Wesen or Vanurians lived in the city, but that was so blatant. “Ri-sible.”

“There you go alliterating again.” Akunna gestured to the room. “And that’s just how the world works. How come you don’t know this? You were a slave, you have to know this.”

It was getting harder to keep the spells in. “R-What?”

“You have to know that the only way a Wesen comes to Soura is as cargo.”

“Ri-ally?” Akunna had been cargo. Akunna was a slave. “R…Thadden…”

The healer looked up. “Now.”

Akunna pinned Dwayne down allowing the healer to clasp something silver and dark orange around his neck.

“Blessed is the water which flows from the mountain,” said the healer in somber Vanurian. “Blessed is Phons, for all our gifts flow from it.”

Dwayne had not consented to this. He tried to pull off the mysterious collar, but with Akunna holding his arms down, the loud keening in his ears, and how much strength it took to keep the spells from tearing free from his throat, he had nothing left to resist. All he knew was that if he cast now, it would be the end of Dwayne Kalan, Head Clerk of the Scaled Tower, Heir to Sanford. If he cast now, whoever was left would have to flee and never see Rodion, Mei, or Magdala ever again. If he cast now, someone would die.

One problem at a time. He could cast a spell that wouldn’t hurt Akunna and the healer, but doing so the only way he knew how would burden them with a secret they did not want to know. That meant he had to cast silently, which should be impossible except that knowing the words had never been enough. Dwayne had said Qe spells perfectly, but before the spell vials, they had never worked. If that was true, maybe the sound wasn’t the important part. Maybe if he just let his tongue waggle and kept his jaw shut that would be enough.

Ri’a’tha.

Nothing happened. Or rather no magic happened. His headache got worse.

“Are his eyes supposed to look like that?”

“He may have repressed his magic for so long it’s taking a long time to come out.”

“That sounds buxing stupid.”

Dwayne tried again, this time loosening his jaw and keeping his lips sealed.

Ri’a’tha.

Even more headache, enough that he wished he could scream.

“He isn’t saying anything.”

“That’s not good. He should be gibbering spells by now.”

When Dwayne was done with this, he’d figure out what was so special about this stupid collar around his neck before taking it apart and consigning it to the depths. Oh, right. He was frustrated and angry, which wasn’t the emotion that the happy warm Ri’a’tha required.

“Phons, this is taking a long time.”

“Should we be worried?

Through the pain and the keening, Dwayne searched for a memory to power Ri’a’tha. He couldn’t use what he remembered of the village he lost, and he couldn’t use the first time he’d cast magic because how Lord Kalan had abandoned him. He had to have something recent that would work.

“I may have to sedate him.”

There was one happy memory, when his world had opened up, when he’d actually felt supported. It was just a few days ago when Magdala had offered to take some of his burden.

Ri’a’tha.

The keening stopped. His headache dissipated. Dwayne fell back onto the bed. “I’m fine now. I’m fine.”

Unaware of the surprisingly small ball of flame floating over their head, the healer stared. “You are not.” They checked the collar. “You are. How?”

Ri’t. “I guess it just passed.” Dwayne tried to rip off the collar. “Get this off me.”

“Not until I’m certain that you won’t explode.”

Akunna jumped back. “Explode?”

“My lord would never explode.” Rodion stepped into the room. “He’s got friends for that.”

“Rodion,” Dwayne felt tears well in his eyes, “you found me.”

“And you are?” asked Akunna.

“Rodion Galkin, his steward.” Rodion’s bow wasn’t quite as crisp as it usually was. “And you are Akunna Ibeabuchi, called Gretchen, who is indentured to Baron Otto Thadden.”

“His steward.” Akunna curled her nose. “That makes sense. You’ve got that overprotective air about you.”

“Does your baron know about this situation?”

“I don’t tell ‘my baron’ about anything unless he asks me direct.”

“How did you find me?” Dwayne sat up gingerly. Only his headache was gone. His muscles still ached. “This is the Plague District.”

His answer poked her head into the room. “You’re okay,” said Mei.

“Who are you?” asked Akunna.

“Mei, meet Akunna,” said Dwayne. “She works with me at the Tower.”

“Scarring Sun,” muttered Akunna. “Of course, he works with a Tuquese.”

Rodion turned to the healer. “And you are?”

“Leaving. I’ll just take this,” the healer removed the collar from Dwayne’s neck, “and be on my way.”

Rodion blocked their exit. “Who are you?”

“Let them go.” Dwayne wrapped the blanket around his waist and got to his very shaky feet. “They were just helping me. Thank you.”

“Just don’t let it happen again,” said the healer as they left.

Rodion asked, “What happened to your clothes, my lord?”

“They got muddy and bloody.” Akunna dropped a pile of clean clothes into Dwayne’s arms. “You’ll have to wear my spare clothes.”

Dwayne looked at them. “But these are-”

“Go before I charge you rent.”