Free Flecks of Gold by Alicia Buck Page A

of Cibar?”
    I blushed. I was so tired that I blurted out, “Look, I’ve never been in this stupid maze of a town before. Every turn just got me more lost.” I stumbled a bit over nothing and had to concentrate on my footing.
    “We’re almost there.” His voice was soft, almost kind, but I wasn’t in the mood to feel grateful for sympathy.
    I could hardly think straight, and my face was on fire with pain. The rest of me didn’t feel too hot either. Blasted desert , I thought irritably. “I want to take a bath and put ice on my face and knuckles. I doubt I’ll find either of those things in this third world country.” I realized too late that I was muttering my thoughts out loud.
    “What are you mumbling?” the man asked.
    “Nothing.”
    “What is a third world country?” he persisted.
    “ This is a third world country,” I exploded, gesturing around me. “This unsanitary dump with no plumbing, no electricity, and no blasted cars. Do you realize that I could get to your stupid capital in less than three hours if I just had a car?” Many of my words hadn’t translated, and the man looked confused, so I stopped my tirade with a sigh. “Sorry, I’m not at my best right now,” I apologized. He had apparently determined that it was safer to stay quiet.
    We reached an inn, but it was a moment too late to save what remained of my dignity. My body was in shock, and I stumbled on the inn’s steps, then folded up in a heap in the middle of the doorway. The man picked me up easily, and I wondered if all men from Iberloah were extraordinarily strong. It wasn’t simple to pick up a girl as tall and solid as I was, but he carried me into the inn and sat me down on a cushion near the wall. I leaned back and groaned when he touched my face lightly.
    “This will bruise badly if not helped,” he said.
    “I doubt you’ll find any ice in this . . . this place,” I finished lamely, too exhausted to find a word foul enough to express my disgust.
    “We do not need ice if I may have your permission to create a lacing to heal your wounds.”
    I sat up quickly against the wall and stared at him full in the eyes. The inn’s common room was well-lit, and I jumped in surprise to find that the man’s eyes were bright purple with a cluster of gold flecks shooting out from the center. My eyes must have shocked him as well—he inhaled sharply and muttered something unintelligible. I looked down again quickly.
    “You’re a magician?” I asked. There was a bite to my words.
    “Yes.” He had recovered his graceful poise.
    “Well, don’t try to put an enchantment on me. It won’t work. I know how to fend you people off now,” I bluffed.
    His shoulders rocked back as if from a blow. “I would never participate in such foul practices.”
    I risked a flick of my eyes to his. He looked furious. I recoiled, sliding along the wall further away from him, guessing I’d just put my foot in my mouth. I didn’t want to find out if he was offended enough to hit me. He knew how weak I was and how helpless.
    Then he spoke. “Wait, forgive me. I did not mean to scare you. I’m merely angry that such magicians exist.” He touched my arm lightly where one of the thugs had hit me.
    I winced. To cover my pain, I said, “I wasn’t afraid. I was just readjusting my position on my pillow, thank you very much.” I looked defiantly back into his eyes, hoping the gold would unnerve him. It didn’t. He stared back, lips twitching as if he were trying to suppress a laugh. The nerve!
    “If you don’t mind, you can just show me the lacing, and I’ll do it myself.” I glanced at him, but he simply nodded and showed me the pattern between us one strand at a time, as Ismaha had done. His lacings were a bright purple, and I finally realized that a person’s eye color determined his thread color. Or maybe it was the other way around. I was too tired to care.
    I looked at his pattern for a second. “Which one do I