The Fading Dream_ Thorn of Breland - Keith Baker [5]
“Very well,” he said. “You’ve bought time, not a friend.”
“I wanted to help you on your birthday, little brother. I’d hoped you’d do the same for me.”
Nandon scowled. He hated being called “little brother,” and not without reason; her extra five minutes didn’t give Thorn a great deal of seniority. Still, when they were children and alone, it had always been Nyrielle who’d stood up to the bullies, Nyrielle who made sure they had food.
“Not the first present you’ve given me, Sister.” He stared at her, and she looked away from his pale eye. “Are you certain you want me to return your favors?”
Thorn shook her head. “I don’t have time for this, Nan. I came here because I thought that we could help each other. Because something strange is happening to me, and I thought it might be happening to you as well. Because I thought my brother might like to see me on our birthday. If I’m wrong, just say so and I’ll let you get back to your slum.”
Nandon stood up, his good eye gleaming. “You can’t just walk in here with a handful of healing potions and dismiss what I’m doing here. This is your fault.”
Thorn was surprised by his vehemence. “What’s my fault?”
“This.” He waved a hand, taking in the blood on the bedclothes and the squalor of the surroundings. “All the work of little boys and girls playing at soldiers. You know who lives in this slum, Sister? Veterans who lost their homes in the war and those too badly crippled to work.”
“It seems I’ve been busy.”
“You and the rest of them. You couldn’t wait to follow in Father’s footsteps, couldn’t wait to sharpen your sword and shed more blood.”
Thorn fought to hold her temper in check. It was an old argument, one they’d been having since the day their father died. “The people you care for, Nandon, your cripples and homeless veterans, who destroyed their homes? I fight the enemies of our nation. The people who did that damage.”
“You’re still working for war instead of peace. As long as the Five Nations struggle with one another, there will always be more victims.”
“Who said the Five Nations were fighting?” Thorn said with a smile. “I’m looking after Oargev of Cyre today.”
Nandon opened his mouth then closed it again. “The Prince in Mourning?” he said slowly.
“That’s right. Lord of New Cyre, where our king has graciously allowed tens of thousands of Cyran refugees to settle in the wake of the Mourning. I know you think I’m a soldier, Nan. But believe it or not, I want peace too.”
He shook his head. “And what would you do then, if the Five Nations are reunited?”
“The same thing our father wanted,” Thorn said. “Come home to my family. I’m relying on you to start one.”
For a moment his gaze locked with hers. Then he smiled for the first time since she walked through the door. “I don’t know about that.”
“Why not? Surely you haven’t split with Calassa?”
The tension ran out of him. He shook his head. “I’m sorry, Nyri. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that. I just … I lost a boy today. Green fever.” He tapped the case she’d given him. “If I’d had this a day ago, he’d still be alive. But people down here can’t afford Jorasco goods. They can’t afford magic, and without it, it’s all too hard to work miracles.”
Thorn stepped forward and held out a hand. He ignored it and embraced her, holding her close for a moment. Then he took a step back and looked at her.
“So … something strange, you say?”
Thorn hesitated for a moment, trying to find the words. “Have you noticed anything unusual about yourself these last few months?”
“Certainly. My allergy to dustmoss has gotten worse. My memory’s not as sharp as it used to be. And I’m quick to lose my patience with evasive sisters. Do you have a point?”
“How well can you see in the dark?”
“My vision’s as good as it ever was, at least since the accident,” Nandon said. “Our mother’s blood still runs in my veins. Why? Is your eyesight failing you?”
“No, no. I’m not talking about seeing clearly in starlight, Nan. I mean full dark—reading a book in a closet at night.”
Nandon