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“Maybe he… well, you’re probably right. I suppose it was right in front of us, all the while.”

“I always knew my father was a bloodthirsty war-king, but I thought he at least saw me as his. I’ve always hated him. But I never wanted him to hate me back. Silly, isn't it?” His voice thickened as he talked, until Oraik turned his head away from me, hiding his expression.

I struggled for something cheerful to offer him, some bit of reason not to mind that his own countrymen were plotting to kill him.

“Now that the Temple knows, everyone will take care of it. He won’t be king much longer. Won’t that make you king? You can make your own decisions from now on, live your own life. Cheer up.”

He turned to stare at me. I could see his eyes through the mask. His mouth was tight, and I shifted anxiously back, feeling like I’d said the wrong thing.

“Yes,” Oraik said sourly. “Now that I know my father would rather I die like the rest of my mother’s kin, I can do anything I want. What a blessed relief. I’d better just move on and forget it even happened. Sorry I forgot to smile for a moment.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Just stay out of it, please.”

I bit my lip. “If that’s what you want.”

“Clearly it doesn’t matter what I want.”

Kalcedon returned, gray hands hidden in his pockets and red mask bobbing as he walked down the street.

“Where now?” I asked Oraik awkwardly, trying to ignore his tone.

“I think I’d like some time to myself.”

“No,” Kalcedon said, catching up to us. “That’s not safe. No splitting up.”

“Mist off,” Oraik snapped. His voice sounded uncharacteristically sharp. He turned and started to walk away.

“Fine, go die then,” Kalcedon called after him.

“Heave-to,” I said. I trotted after Oraik. He huffed when I caught up with him and didn’t stop walking.

“Please, Meda. I’ll meet you back at the inn.”

“Are you going right there?” I asked, but he didn’t answer. Oraik kept walking, his strides lengthening to stop me from catching up. I groaned and walked back to Kalcedon.

“If you’d been nicer to him, he wouldn’t have left,” I said accusingly. But I wasn’t sure if I was lecturing Kalcedon or myself. “I think I hurt his feelings.”

“It’s not our fault he’s an overgrown baby.”

“Kalcedon, that’s not nice. He’s had a rough few days.”

“Has he? I wonder what that’s like,” Kalcedon drawled.

“I know, but maybe you should apologize to him.”

Kalcedon ignored the suggestion.

“If we aren’t going to follow him, let’s go back to the inn. I’m tired of this blasted mask.”

“But do you have to be so…”

“Heartless?” he asked savagely. I sighed but didn’t answer.

I followed Kalcedon back, feeling a little sick. I knew Kalcedon would calm down in his own time, having experienced his moods before. But I didn’t like the idea of Oraik being upset. Kalcedon went into his room and slammed the door. With another heavy sigh, I asked the innkeeper for something to write with.

Dear Oraik, I’m sorry for my thoughtless words. Meda.