Free Smoke and Rain by V. Holmes Page B

were midwife to? I was about four or five at the time. She came from the north and did not stay long.”
    Kepra frowned. “I remember all the women I help.” She looked away, but he could see the glint of understanding in her brown eyes.
    “Ma, please. I need to know where she went.”
    “South, that is all she said. Arman what you are implying is incredibly dangerous. She seems like a normal woman to me.”
    “South could be Cehn. Ma, her birthday was the 2oth.” He rested a hand on his mother's clenched fist. “I just wanted to know if it was possible.”
    Kepra sighed and ran her knuckles gently down Arman's cheek. “It is more than possible. Her coloring, her features, they are familiar. More so now that her tan is fading.”
    “But she's not one of them, so what is she?”
    Kepra shook her head. “I don't know. Arman this conversation does not leave this room. Am I understood?”
    He felt like a scolded boy again, and rose. “Yes, Ma.” He stopped. “She's strange and probably dangerous, but for whatever reason I can't give her up to fate.”
    Kepra's face softened finally. “I would have raised you wrong if you could.” She flicked her fingers at him. “Now let me rest. Next time you come knocking late at night you best be asking to give my ring to Veredy.”
    Arman knew he could not sleep. His thoughts were too strange, too violent. Instead he grabbed his cloak from the hook by the door. He flipped his hood up and strode off towards the tavern lane. Alcohol would help. A wave of warmth broke over him as he stepped into the Crook and Candle. He could already hear Kam's boasts from the corner of the dim alehouse. Arman flopped onto the bench beside Wes, his characteristic grin creeping onto his face. “Which story is it: the four trained assassins or the broken-hearted young widow.” Arman's voice was low.
    “I think it's seven assassins now, but he's detailing the fight on Box Corner.” Wes ignored the sour look Kam shot at him. “How goes your strange noble woman?” The words were not unkind, but neither were they respectful.
    “Still recovering. It's strange to have someone else in the inn. It's been just Ma and myself for so long.” He jerked his head at the bar. “I finished that hilt you asked for today – buy me a mug. I need a drink.” While Wes gestured for another round, Arman scanned the crowd. He disliked the tone of Wes' words, but he knew they were well founded. Alea was nothing like the city-folk here. Even picturing her at their ale-sticky table was laughable.
    A woman slid onto the bench beside him and he felt guilt bloom in his chest at the familiar hazel eyes. “Master Wardyn, I do not believe we've met before,” Veredy joked.
    He had barely seen her since the survivors arrived. He placed a hand over his heart with false dramatics. “It wounds, that you cannot remember my face.”
    Despite the jesting, Veredy's expression was guarded. “You have been busy, I hear. How does the lady fare?”
    “Well, I suppose. You should meet her.”
    Veredy nodded, fingering the jeweled pin that held up her fine locks. “Perhaps you should bring her out one evening.”
    Arman recognized the pin as one he had made for her and his guilt intensified. “Do you want to walk?” He offered her his hand suddenly. They ducked out under the cover of Kam's ruckus, and if Wes saw them go, he said nothing. Veredy tucked herself under Arman's arm with practiced familiarity. “I missed you.”
    “And I you.” He squeezed her slightly. “How is business?”
    “Good.” She steered them down a quieter street, walking towards the Rattles. “I prefer selling in the stalls, though. Do you think she will stay?”
    Arman asked, even though he knew. “Who?”
    “Your strange noble woman.”
    “She's not mine,” he retorted. “And I have no idea. Ma enjoys her help.” He sighed. “I have not seen you, though I go out often enough. Were you avoiding me?”
    Veredy nudged him with her elbow, but