Inessa stayed in the corner, invisible, watching as Fadrique made his visits. He moved from group to group, so far not interested in finding her today. That was fine by her, but just in case, she stayed out of his line of sight.

Indenuel wasn’t there. Martin gave some excuse to a nobleman about how he needed time to rest. Inessa, being a tree talker, had of course heard the gossip. Indenuel broke down during one of his trainings and lashed out, using corruptive means to keep people away. The military and the High Elders tried to keep it hushed, but they clearly didn’t understand the power of tree gossip among the King’s Court.

Fadrique was on the move again. Inessa kept her glass of wine close as she quietly moved out of his gaze, keeping an eye on him, moving with the crowd.

“I understand how you came to that point, but I-”

Inessa froze, hearing the familiar voice so close to her. She tore her gaze from Fadrique to see Adosina talking with one of her friends from court. Adosina stopped in her tracks when she saw Inessa. There was a stretch of silence that didn’t seem long but did anyway. These silences never existed in their friendship before.

Adosina gave a curtsey, and Inessa did the same. She then moved out of the way, and Adosina moved past with a still face. The conversation she had with her friend didn’t start up again until they were farther ahead.

Inessa blinked repeatedly as she kept her sights on Fadrique. He had stopped with another group, so she blended into the background again and waited. She sipped her wine, looking at the members of Martin’s family. He and Sara were talking with their daughters, Rita and Maria and their husbands. Ana was laughing with Daniela who came with her baby. Rosa was outside with one of her sisters as she watched her boys playing in the garden.

Inessa pressed her back against the wall, Fadrique continually in her vision. She saw her concubine sisters, and she yearned to join them, but she couldn’t be distracted with conversation and lose track of Fadrique.

She took another sip of wine, waiting for the social to be done so she could go home. Rather, waiting until Martin was ready to leave. She needed to keep up the appearance of an obedient little concubine.

***

“Come in,” Martin said in response to the knock at his study door in the Cathedral. Tolomon opened the door as Indenuel peeked behind his shoulders. Martin smiled as they shuffled in. “Sword training went well yesterday?”

“It did, yes,” Indenuel said. “Not ready for combat style yet, but it was still good to study more.”

“Excellent. Now, I’d like to check the corruption in your body, see how much it’s healed from last week.” Martin held out his hands. Indenuel placed his hands in Martin’s, and they closed their eyes.

He sensed Indenuel’s soul. He reached over, prodding and poking around. Martin frowned, then cracked an eye open. Indenuel stood there, waiting. Martin closed his eyes again and searched through Indenuel’s soul.

“Tolomon, would you mind… I’d like to test his healing powers,” Martin said.

The man was already walking over. “Whatever you need, sir.”

“If you could do something to your arm, hurt it as badly as you can stand. I will heal anything Indenuel can’t,” Martin said.

“Of course.” Tolomon placed his arm on the corner of the desk before ramming it with one of Martin’s heavy trinkets, breaking his arm. He then grabbed his arm and forced it down, breaking the bone entirely and making it stick straight out of his skin. Tolomon made no reaction, holding his mangled arm out to Indenuel. The color drained dangerously fast from Indenuel’s face. Martin took his arm, feeding power to keep Indenuel from passing out.

“You alright?” Martin asked.

Indenuel closed his eyes, steadying himself. “What the hell goes on in the Graduate program?”

“None of us really know,” Martin whispered back.

He nodded, taking Tolomon’s broken arm without actually looking at it and healed him. Martin watched, his eyebrow raising in surprise at how quickly the bone formed, the muscle weaving together again, and the skin stitching back into place.

Indenuel opened his eyes and dropped his hands. The only remnants of an injury were the dried blood on Tolomon’s completely healed arm. Martin touched Tolomon’s temples, but there was nothing left for him to heal. “You’re powers. They’re… fine.” Martin turned to him, expecting him to answer, but Indenuel acted as though this was normal.

“I mean, when I used the… when it happened it was instinctual. Corruption goes away quickly after some meditation.”

“The first few might have been instinctual, but you hurt enough people to enter the devil’s sleep,” Martin said. Indenuel’s gaze dropped to his feet, a frown on his face. “Forgive me, I didn’t mean to remind you.”

He shook his head. “No, no. You’re right. I’m still ashamed of what I did.”

“It seems you lash out quickly and feel shame about it for days. Not necessarily healthy behavior, but it is a step in getting you to stop doing it all together,” Martin said, folding his arms. He studied the boy, trying to figure it out. Usually that level of corruption would take weeks for someone’s power to return as strong as it had. To have it back this strong was a testament to Indenuel’s desire to do better, and to how powerful he really was.

Martin frowned. He expected the entire time to go through, testing his powers and strengthening them, but it didn’t seem like he needed to. “Let’s, um,” Martin looked around. “Let’s test your powers again. But I’ll make the cuts, if that’s alright, Tolomon,” Martin said, remembering how quickly the color fled from Indenuel’s face. “Do you have a knife or a dagger?”

“No need to use one of Tolomon’s.” Indenuel pulled a dagger out of the sheath at his side. “Captain Luiz gave this to me yesterday.”

“Wonderful. A sword wasn’t enough for you?” Martin asked, trying to make the situation lighter.

“He said it was good to have two weapons of varying length. And if I lose my sword, I’ll at least have something else to defend myself if needed,” Indenuel said.

“He’s right. You must be protected,” Martin said as he took the dagger from Indenuel as Tolomon rolled up his sleeve, acting as though he hadn’t just mangled his own arm.

“Thank you for your willingness, Tolomon,” Martin said.

“Of course, sir,” he said, acting like he didn’t notice when Martin sliced his arm open.

“Heal that for me, Indenuel,” Martin said.

Indenuel hesitated, his eyes bouncing from Tolomon to Martin before he barely touched the man’s finger and the skin healed right up. Martin nodded. Today would be a very short lesson.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

***

Indenuel walked out of the Cathedral, heading down the stone steps, hands deep in his pockets. Martin had tested him for the rest of the time, looking more and more astounded when he showed his gift. Indenuel had always spent extra time meditating after accidentally using corruptive powers. It was a habit from Mountain Pass. Meditate as long as possible to get the mark off, then continue meditating every day until his powers returned to normal. Martin looked flabbergasted when he told him this. Honestly, what else did he expect Indenuel to do during his time of rest?

“That was gross, by the way,” Indenuel said to Tolomon.

“What?”

“You’re arm. Did that even hurt?”

“Of course it hurt,” Tolomon said before shrugging. “I’m just used to it.”

Indenuel rolled his head, remembering again how easily Tolomon grabbed his own broken arm and snapped it even worse, making the bone stick out. He swallowed down some bile at the memory, shaking his head as he continued toward his carriage.

Tolomon turned and pulled out a sword, pointing it at someone behind him. “Stay where you are, girl.”

A tiny gasp of horror made Indenuel turn to see a small child curled on the steps of the Cathedral still a good distance from them. “Honestly, Tolomon, she’s a child. What harm could she do?”

“Do you really want me to answer that?” Tolomon asked, his eyes remaining fixed on the girl, his voice emotionless.

It was then that the girl peeked through her long black hair. It was uncombed and matted, but he could not deny the bright blue eyes behind her hair. He stilled as he took the girl in. He couldn’t guess what age she was. She was so skinny and frail. Indenuel winced, seeing the state of her clothing, the rags she wore.

The girl bowed, but in a way Indenuel had never seen before. She sat on her legs and bowed her head, her nose practically touching the stone as her arms were extended out. “Pardon sir, are you the Warrior?” Her Santollian was impeccable. Indenuel didn’t catch a hint of an accent at all.

Indenuel looked at Tolomon, who still had his sword pointed at the girl’s head, watching her carefully with narrow eyes. The girl looked through her mess of hair again, waiting for Indenuel to answer her question, ignoring Tolomon’s sword.

“Yes.” He grabbed Tolomon’s arm and forced him to lower it. Tolomon answered by placing his free hand on the hilt of his other sword. “Yes, I am. How can I help you?”

Tolomon shot him a glance but said nothing. Seeing this girl reminded him of how clean the streets of Santollia City were. Her dirt encrusted face and bare feet should have been a common thing in a city this big. She stuck out, and not just because she had blue eyes.

“Please, my grandami is very sick.” Her blue eyes filled with tears. “My parents died three years ago, and if Grandami dies, I will have to take care of my two younger siblings, and I can’t.”

Compassion flooded Indenuel’s soul. He again looked at Tolomon who, though had pointed his sword to the ground, still studied the girl with a mistrusting gaze.

“How old are you?” Indenuel asked.

“God has given me ten years, sir.”

“What’s your name?” Indenuel asked.

“Baleeah, daughter of Hossei and Abbassi.”

Indenuel walked closer to her, and Tolomon followed. “I cannot leave Santollia City, but if you would like, I could give the message to one of the ministers of your town to see if there is an adequate healer there. Or, if you don’t live far, I can arrange with the High Elders to come visit your town.”

Baleeah looked confused. “I am from Santollia City, sir.”

Indenuel stared at her, once again taking in her clothes, her dirty face, her smell. He gave a faltering smile. “One moment, please.” He grabbed Tolomon and took a few steps away from the girl. Tolomon refused to turn his back to the girl, but they had enough privacy. “You told me there were no desperately poor people in Santollia City.”

“No desperately poor Santollians in Santollia City,” Tolomon clarified.

Indenuel felt as though he was punched in the gut. “What?”

“The High Elders aren’t going to marry Oraminian women.”

His breathing felt constricted. He closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Oramin is supposed to be our ally.”

Tolomon said nothing, his eyes still fixed on Baleeah. Indenuel shook his head as he turned. “To the carriage, Baleeah. Tell the driver where you live. Let’s go heal your Grandami.”

A huge grin crossed Baleeah’s face. “Yes! Thank you! Thank you, sir!”

Tolomon winced but again said nothing. Baleeah skipped down the steps toward the carriage, talking quickly with the driver.

“She could be the one who leads unsuspecting travelers to a thieving ring or worse,” Tolomon said. “You are putting yourself in serious danger, Indenuel.”

Indenuel said nothing. He couldn’t bring himself to. The girl’s mannerisms, the dirt and the grime, he had lived that life not that long ago. Yes, she might just be desperate enough to steal everything from him, but she also might need her grandmother healed so she wouldn’t have to raise her siblings by herself. “I can’t turn her away,” Indenuel finally said. “I’ve seen you take on everyone at the training grounds. I feel safe.”

Tolomon sighed before sheathing his sword. “God protect us.”

“Your driver knows where to go,” Baleeah said. “Do you want me to meet you there?”

“Get up in the carriage, Baleeah. You’re not walking,” Indenuel said.

Baleeah’s entire face brightened. “Really?”

“Really. Go on.”

Baleeah squealed as she opened the door and climbed in. Tolomon got in next, sitting right next to Baleeah as Indenuel sat on the other side. The carriage headed away from the Cathedral.

“You have such a funny sounding name. Indenuel,” Baleeah said, at last the Oraminian accent coming through as she tried to pronounce his name.

“Did you know my great-grandfather was Oraminian?”

Baleeah’s blue eyes widened. “Really?”

“He was a stubborn fool.” Tolomon snorted at that. “My mother used to call me his name when I’d do something stupid.”

“Was it a lot?” Baleeah asked.

Indenuel chuckled. “Admittedly, yes. Yes, she did.”

“What’s his name?”

“Eskmenmar,” Indenuel said.

Baleeah nodded. “Bringer of peace. That’s funny.”

Indenuel’s thoughts wandered to Garen. “Yeah. Yeah it is. I must say, your Santollian is perfect. And you know Oraminian too?”

Baleeah gave a vigorous nod. “I know both. I was born here in Santollia City in the refugee camps, so everyone around me spoke Oraminian, but I picked up Santollian from the free schools offered us.”

“Oh. That’s great,” Indenuel said.

Baleeah shrugged. “I was one of the few that went. The others my age didn’t go because their parents thought it was Santollia’s way of getting rid of our way of life.”

Indenuel didn’t know how to react. He tried to smile, but it felt forced. Baleeah said it in such a matter-of-fact way. “Well, I wish I knew Oraminian. You know more languages than me.”

Baleeah smiled. “Your great-grandapi didn’t teach you?”

“Sadly, no. I never met him,” Indenuel said. But my father, Garen, is Oraminian. I’d like to learn my other language and my other culture.

Indenuel didn’t say it out loud. He didn’t dare. Not after Tolomon acted the way he did around a ten-year-old girl of a different race.

The race that slaughtered his family.

Indenuel looked out the window to see a vastly different sight. The streets were getting dirtier. Since coming to Santollia City, he had only seen one portion of it. The super-rich part, close to the Cathedral, close to the palace. But here he saw what he expected to see. People doing shopping in the marketplaces, children playing in the streets, some with shoes, some without. He saw clothes being draped from the windows to dry, neighbors chatting and laughing. Despite the dirt and the poor, this felt more like the home he remembered. Or the home he wished he could remember. These people may not have had much, but they had a loving community that he never had.

“You hate me, don’t you,” Baleeah said to Tolomon.

Tolomon looked down, cocking an eyebrow. “Pardon?”

“My eyes are blue, so you hate me.”

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Hate is not the word I’d use.”

“But whatever you feel, it is stemmed from hate, isn’t it?” Baleeah asked.

“I’ve learned to be weary of blue-eyed individuals.” It was then that Indenuel noticed Tolomon was thumbing the hilt of one of his daggers hiding just inside the sleeve of his shirt.

Baleeah shrugged. “Weary, that’s a good word. I’m weary of Graduates, too.”

Tolomon looked up at the ceiling of the carriage like he was saying a prayer to give him courage to continue this conversation. “We’re just following orders.”

“You don’t have to beat us to get us back into our homes. A few of us do know Santollian,” Baleeah said.

“I don’t hurt you unless you hurt me first,” Tolomon said.

“Same with us,” Baleeah said. “But you always come at us with your swords drawn, right?”

“We’re preparing to defend myself,” Tolomon said.

“So are we. And when someone who looks like you come at us with swords drawn, some of us start to panic.”

There was a silence that stretched between the two of them. Indenuel knew he should have said something, but he didn’t know what.

The carriage turned down a road and he saw the portion of the city he assumed the High Elders never planned to show him.

“We’re here!” Baleeah said, opening the door of the carriage and climbing out.

Tolomon got out next, holding the door partially closed before scanning the crowd before motioning Indenuel out. He climbed out and got a better look at the sight before him. It was a portion of the city that had no buildings, simply blankets or drapes to house what looked like a thousand Oraminians. There was little privacy, and it was loud. Each and every one of them were covered in dirt and grime, their clothes threadbare. Indenuel stared at the people and realized this was closer to his feelings of home than he dared admit.