Blade of Glass: Chapter 20

“So you didn’t kick him in the balls?” Kytto seemed impressed. “I’d have kicked him in the balls.”

Geneve hugged her hand to her chest. It throbbed. “I didn’t think of it. Ikmae’s pattern didn’t—”

“Ikmae doesn’t have any balls. Leastways, not all the time.” Kytto tried to take her injured hand, and she drew away. He hissed. “Let me see.”

“It hurts.”

“Of course it hurts. A kid put a drill through it. Bound to leave an impression.” Kytto’s voice was full of something Geneve couldn’t place at first. A timbre she wasn’t familiar with. She offered her hand, but cautiously. He took it, gentle as if it were a newly-hatched chick, and unwrapped the blood-soaked cotton around it. When the wound saw light, he winced. “Looks bad.”

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me it’ll be okay?”

“It’ll be okay. Still looks bad.” He gave a cautious half-smile, looking like the Feybrind she knew but had forgotten. “You sure Iz didn’t take the kid’s head?”

That tone again, and she understood what it was: real anger. Kytto seemed angry almost all the time, but she’d worked out it hid something deeper. Perhaps being small and scared, like her, but he seemed too broad shouldered for that. “He took him to the infirmary.”

“That doesn’t seem wise, but he’s the Chevalier. I’m just a Smith.” Kytto turned her hand over, nice and slow, but she winced anyway. “Wait here.” He bustled off to his workbench’s first aid kit, bringing the lacquered wooden box back with him. “This will sting.”

“Aren’t you supposed to tell me it won’t hurt?”

“Nah.”

“I’d like it if you tried,” Geneve admitted. “I don’t want to hurt anymore today.”

He opened the box, removing a clean roll of cotton and a small wax-sealed jar. He eyed his catch, then set them aside, retrieving another wad of cotton and a clear glass bottle full of liquid. “Need to clean it first.” He splashed the liquid onto the wad, and Geneve smelled the bite of alcohol in the back of her nose. “You ready for this?”

She was about to nod, and he wiped her hand with the cloth. Geneve hollered, pulling her hand back. “I didn’t say I was ready!”

“Life sucks sometimes,” he allowed. “We don’t lie, you and I.”

“To each other?”

“To anyone, I guess.” He seemed thoughtful, then shrugged, splashing more alcohol on her hand. Geneve gritted her teeth, lips a snarl. “But definitely not to each other. It’s why I don’t tell you things won’t hurt. They hurt all the time. They hurt a lot! There are Wincufs everywhere. Some use steel, and others a whip, but all of them are painful.”

“I know this.” She shook her head, then grabbed the wad from him. If her hand was going to hurt anyway, she’d be doing the hurting. Geneve moved to get better light from one of the globes above and wiped her wound. It was sore in an angry, insistent way, but throbbed less than it should. “What’s in this?”

“A little boom-boom.” Kytto looked away. “Don’t drink it.”

“Lucent Eleni says only the weak-willed drink alcohol.”

“Lucent Eleni needs to get laid,” Kytto said. “I’m not the man for the job, but I’m sure he’s out there. I’m beginning to think…” He trailed off.

“I don’t know why we’re doing this. Lucent Eleni will fix it.” Geneve thought she’d got the dirt out of the wound, holding it up for him to see. “How’s that?”

“Not bad.” He took her wrist, laying it on the table between them. His hands were callused like Israel’s, but his fingers were gentle, like she was made of eggshells. He cracked the wax seal on the pot, revealing an unguent. It didn’t smell of anything, or it was too faint to overcome the smell of steel and fire from the forge. He rubbed the salve into her wound, then bound it. “The good Lucent will be busy for many days with Wincuf’s injury. The boy will get his arm back, but it’ll take time, and all her will, and not a little of her life. Your hand needs to wait.”

“I don’t know if I want his arm to grow back.”

“I definitely don’t, but I’m—”

“Just a Smith. I know. I know! You say it a lot.” Geneve winced as Kytto tightened the bandage. “You say it all the time, but I don’t think you mean it.”

“He doesn’t mean what?” Vertiline’s voice made them both look up. She stood at the base of the stairs, braid hanging down her back, a glint in her eye. 

“Speaking of devils.” Kytto curled Geneve’s fingers on themselves, then patted her closed hand. “Vertiline, I’m going to tell you a story, and I don’t want you to kill anyone. Can you promise that?”

“No.”

“Then no story for you.” Kytto winked at Geneve. 

“Okay, I promise I won’t kill anyone today. How’s that?” Vertiline walked to where they sat, swinging an armored leg over the bench Kytto sat on. 

“I don’t want to be close when you hear the story.” Kytto looked sour, shuffling away from her. “Here’s what happened.” He laid out the story as Geneve told it. How she’d been with her tree, seen the others, and fought Wincuf. Kytto omitted their names, because Geneve hadn’t told him who the others were. He finished with how Israel sheared Wincuf’s arm with glass and Storm, then put his hands on the table in front of him. Geneve thought he sat very still on purpose.

“Okay,” Vertiline mused. “I’ll kill Wincuf tomorrow.”

“No! The whole point—”

“Please don’t.” Geneve rubbed her face. It still hurt from Wincuf’s mauling. “I need to fix it. If I don’t, he’ll always be after me.”

“Spoken like anyone four lessons into Justiciar Keel’s Psychology of Warfare class,” Vertiline said. “But he’s a giant compared to you.”

“It won’t matter.” Kytto stood, brushing his hands off against his leather apron. “They’ll toss him out the door for this.”

“Then we’ll have a Knight—”

“Novice.”

“We’ll have a wannabe Knight outside, doing Three knows what.” Vertiline frowned. “He can work the Storm. Not well, but a little.” She glanced at Geneve as if to say, and you can’t. Geneve knew that. The Storm never answered her call.

Kytto looked like he was sucking a lemon. “Someone will—”

“No one will!” Vertiline stood in a rush, the bench skidding back. “That’s the whole problem with this place! Just because you’re old and command the Sway doesn’t mean you can bend the rules. And the rules say excommunication, not execution.”

Geneve watched, wide-eyed, trying to make herself small. Kytto patted the air in the People’s way. {Calm down.}“That’s the problem, though. Not the being old part, but the Sway. It means you can bend the rules and keep twisting them as long as the Three have your back.”

Vertiline crossed her arms, turning away, braid lashing like a Feybrind’s tail. “It’s not how it should work.”

“I’m not arguing.” Kytto sucked air through his teeth. “If you’re asking me, though—”

“No one asks the opinion of a Smith.” Vertiline tried for a smile, but it withered on her face.

“Right. But this humble Smith says that kind of talk will get you thrown out, too. They’ve no need of argument at the top table, Tilly.”

She shook her head, gauntleted palm out toward him. “You sound like Iz.”

“Fuck.” Kytto sounded astonished. “Right, you two wait here.”

“Where are you going?” Vertiline glanced between him and Geneve.

“If I sound like Israel, something’s wrong.” The Smith headed for the stairs. “I’ll find a bucket, fill it with water, and drown myself. Don’t wait up.”

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