I waited until everyone fell asleep.
During the day, I’d snooped around until I discovered where they were keeping him. Now, as Bren inhaled deeply in her sleep, I donned my best dress—one must always look their best when greeting new visitors—and headed out the door.
Foresthome was dark at night, lit only by occasional torches and moonlight filtering through the trees. I didn’t need much light, though, because I’d been wandering these pathways ever since I could walk.
I stopped some distance away from the cabin where they kept our guest and peeked around a tree. In the afternoon, Jastin had been posted as guard in between interrogations by Galen. Now—I squinted into the dim light—it looked like Jeribo was the sentry.
Jeribo? How come a fisherman got to be a guard and not me?
I shook off the question and crept closer. Two torches lit the entryway of the cabin. Jeribo sat in a chair tipped back far enough to lean against the rough logs of the cabin wall. His chin rested against his chest, and a half-knotted rope lay in his lap. A snore rumbled out of his throat.
Good.
I darted to the cabin entrance, careful to keep my steps light, and poked my head through the heavy curtain covering the doorway. The room was completely dark.
Was the guy even in here?
With a quick glance to verify Jeribo was still asleep, I lifted one of the torches out of its sconce and pushed the curtain aside.
A shadowy shape sat at the back of the small cabin, but I couldn’t make out any details.
I needed to get closer, so I slipped inside.
Holding the torch high in front of me, I strained to see the figure in the chair. His arms appeared to be bound around the bedpost behind him, with his body slumped forward and his head drooping in sleep.
Feeling braver now that I knew he was tied up and unconscious, I crept closer. That was when I finally noticed his skin. Was it skin?
I held the torch even closer. His arm appeared well-muscled, but looked . . . lumpy. No, not lumpy. I examined it more carefully. Banded! Stripes of overlapping segments covered his arm. Was he wearing some kind of strange armor?
I followed the length of his arm, up to his shoulder, and across his broad chest. Even his neck was covered in these segments. It reminded me of that animal I used to hear stories about from traders—what was it called? An armored dingo? No. Armadillo! That was it. Based on their descriptions, this was what I imagined an armadillo would look like. Only less . . . man-shaped.
My eyes continued up the contours of his neck, fascinated by the grayish-brown texture of what I now determined was indeed his skin. It seemed to go all the way up his hairless scalp, and—
I gasped and jumped back when I found him watching me.
“Um, hi,” I said automatically.
His head listed to one side, like he was the one examining me.
“I’m Nirrin.”
He continued scrutinizing me, his eyes traveling down the length of my hair—which I quickly smoothed with a nervous hand—and down my dress.
“It’s rude not to offer me your name,” I said.
“It’s rude to tie up a visitor.” His voice was hoarse, and I wondered when he’d last had any water.
A quick survey of the small room revealed a bucket of water in one corner, so I tucked the torch into a sconce and retrieved the bucket. A wooden bowl floated on the water inside, so I filled it and brought it to the prisoner.
He eyed it, then turned away.
“Look,” I said, pushing the bowl closer, “dying of thirst when you have access to water is a stupid way to go, if you ask me, so just drink it.”
He glared at me, and I glared right back at him, nudging the bowl against his lips, which, I noted were not banded. He finally let out a breath and attached his mouth to the bowl to suck in the water. I tipped the bowl as his sips turned into greedy gulps. I accidentally tipped it too far, and water sloshed down his chin and onto his chest.
“Sorry!” I set the bowl aside and began wiping water off his chest with my hand. Its armored surface was hard, like a turtle’s shell, but unexpectedly warm. I had to stop myself from knocking on it like a doorway, just to hear what kind of sound it might make.
I picked up the bowl and asked, “More water?”
He was watching me again, this time with a curious expression on his face. “You don’t find me hideous?”
“No. Do you?”
A corner of his mouth quirked. “More water, please.”
He seemed younger than I first thought, like maybe my age. It was hard to tell with his unusual skin.
I gave him more to drink, then set the bowl down when he was finished. “Now will you tell me your name?”
“You are persistent.”
“It’s one of my finer qualities.” I flipped my hair behind one shoulder for emphasis.
“Fenrook.”
“Excuse me?”
“My name is Fenrook.”
“Oh! Well, it’s nice to meet you. I’d clasp hands with you, but . . . you know.”
He shifted his arms, which were probably sore from being bound all day behind him. “Why are you here?”
I raised my eyebrows. “Hey, I’m supposed to ask you that.”
“You are an unusual interrogator, I’ll grant you that. But don’t think a pretty face will make me talk.”
I smiled. “You think I’m pretty?” It was inane, I realized this. But I was also a girl who went out of her way to look nice.
His lips pressed together in response.
I shrugged at him. “Whether you want to admit it or not, you’ve been talking.”
His jaw loosened as he studied me, the surface where his eyebrows would be scrunching together. “It’s remarkable.”
“You’d be surprised how many people I can get to talk to me.”
“No, I mean the resemblance.”
I leaned away. “Resemblance to what?”
His dark eyes continued roving my face. “You look just like—”
“What are you doing in here?” the voice of Jeribo demanded from behind me. “That thing is dangerous.”
I whirled around, irritated. “That thing can talk, so I’m pretty sure it’s a person.”
He eyed Fenrook behind me with suspicion. “Then he must be one of those Gifted—”
“Hey!” I pointed an admonishing finger at his face. “I know you’ve been here less than a year and all, but we don’t say ‘one of those’ anything around here. You’re either Gifted or you’re not. I don’t say you’re ‘one of those fishermen,’ now do I?”
Growing up with Sember and watching all her struggles made me hyper-aware of the prejudices that still lingered, which made me quick to mouth off about it.
His own mouth opened and closed like a fish in one of his nets.
I took this chance to face Fenrook again. “Sorry, I have to cut this short. Looks like I have to go.”
He looked from Jeribo to me, and nodded.
“Nirrin,” Jeribo warned.
“I’m going! Don’t be such an impatient sow.” I flounced past him before he could say another word, and headed back to my cabin.
What had the captive been about to say before that i***t interrupted us? I resembled someone he knew? Was that a good thing or a bad thing? I would have to get more answers tomorrow.
Also, that someone whom I resembled had better be pretty.
Aksara