Heir of Dust and Wind

Chapter 17 - The Duel I

Shame.

There weren't clear thoughts or images Ava could pick up from Gainor when their eyes met for the briefest of moments, except for this one emotion which smothered any other thought: Shame.

He was ashamed of his weakness. Ashamed of his filthy state and his stench. Ashamed of the things he'd had to endure and ashamed that all of it was now visible to anyone here, especially ...

Astonished, Ava pulled back the tendril of her power back.

Afraid that she'd invade his privacy even more than she already had, she bit her bottom lip to keep her magic in check. 

Stop biting your lip! came Trygve's prompt response in her mind. 

Ava swallowed and tried her best to mirror is schooled indifference, knowing that she would never be able to pull it off. Especially not now, after what she'd just learned.    

That final image in Gainor's mind had really been none of her business. 

Even worse, infiltrating his thoughts further could have made him aware of her hidden ability. While she longed to send some comfort and soothing his way, he still owed allegiance to Frode.  And him knowing about Ava's gift was more than just dangerous.

"Take a breath, get a grip," Trygve urged through their bond. Even his stony facade revealed some cracks at the side of his former brother in arms. His thoughts were uncharacteristically plainly laced with his own feelings of discomfort. 

"Don't give him the reaction he wants."

He was right, of course. Frode never did anything without an ulterior motive. 

Revealing the prisoner's identity had not only been meant to show the Council that she could heal the wounded and even replace missing body parts such as Gainor's eye.  It had also served the purpose of warning her what happened to those who upset the Frode and thereby making her afraid. Even though he had more than succeeded, Ava was determined to not give him the satisfaction of showing it.

Lowering her hands and straightening her back, she returned her gaze to the king. Waiting for him to address her again.

If Farvald was impressed, his face did not give it away. He merely regarded her contemplatively before finally speaking again.

"Did you heal his eye and erase his scars?"

"Yes, my Lord," Ava was struggling to hold the king's blazing gaze but her answer had come promptly. She was proud that her voice didn't sound as wobbly as her legs felt.

Nodding ever so slightly in acknowledgement, Farvald continued, "Healing magic is indeed unique among us, and I have not seen a healer in over one millennium. Your talent will certainly be valuable to your kind."

"I hope so, my Lord." She replied humbly, looking down at her feet. While Ava shouldn't let the Council or the Colonels see her fear, Orla and Trygve had also agreed that underestimation would be her biggest weapon. 

None of the sorcerers would take a woman, especially one that was as small as Ava was, seriously. Unaware, Frode had even supported them by clothing her in the plain-white-lamb-to-the-slaughter-dress she was now wearing. Ava could only hope that the men in front of her would fall for the innocent-little-girl act. She needed to be seen as someone that was useful to the sorcerers but not a threat to them. 

And as not a bride either, she thought to herself. Ava fought hard to suppress the shudder that overcame her whenever she remembered Orla's theory for Frode keeping her unharmed. She could only hope that the colour of her dress wouldn't give the Council the wrong idea.