Free [Hurog 01] - Dragon Bones by Patricia Briggs

me.
    â€œYou mean when my aunt almost eviscerated me?”
    â€œNo,” he smiled at the wall beyond me. “When you made an idiot out of the new guard. Ilandei? No, that’s a Tallvenish name and he’s Avinhellish. Ilander.”
    My father was dead. My uncle was acting like a conscientious regent, handling the affairs of Hurog as well as if it were his own estates. Better, perhaps. For the last three days, he’d been out most of the day working to reclaim the land the salt had taken. He’d had broken shells brought from the sea in wagonloads and was directing their spreading on top of the salt. It wouldn’t work. My several times great-grandfather, Seleg, had tried something similar when the creep had first been seen, but it hadn’t worked. I’d read about it in his journals.
    I could have saved Duraugh three days of work. But an idiot would hardly have read the dusty, mostly illegible scrawls hidden on a remote shelf in the library. Guilt vied with fear. No longer was it fear for my life—nothing so noble.
    So to distract myself from the guilt of watching Duraugh put all the effort into a losing project, I played games with an unfortunate guardsman while my uncle struggled to do his best for Hurog.
    â€œYou showed him,” continued Oreg unhelpfully. “He won’t try that trick with oatmeal and helmets again. Not on you. He’s learned to treat the Hurogmeten with more respect.”
    I watched Oreg narrowly. Was he commenting or fishing? Could Oreg see the guilt that rode me? I couldn’t tell. My father’s care had made certain I was very good at reading people, but Oreg was another matter altogether. He’d been a slave for a very long time.
    I grabbed another sliver of soap and used it to scrub my hands clean of the metallic odor of my sword.
    â€œWhat was my uncle like as a boy?” I asked to distract him from this morning’s fight.
    â€œI think I liked him.” Oreg’s stool rocked back and forth. “It’s been too long ago. I used to remember everything, but I stopped doing that. Now I forget as fast as I can.” His face had a blank inward look that made me uneasy. It usually precluded some of his odder moments.
    â€œYou think I should let him know,” I accused. “You were the one who told me to listen to my instincts.”
    He set the stool carefully down on all four feet, then slid off and away, out of my reach. Pansy was coming along much faster than Oreg, but then Pansy had only four years of mistreatment to forget. “What could he really do to you? You’re not twelve anymore. I think . . . I think that the pretense is harming you more than it is protecting you.”
    â€œI’m going riding,” I said, standing up in a rush of water, ignoring his flinch at my sudden movement. I took a bit of toweling and dried myself briskly. “I need to clear my head.”
    As I dried off, I couldn’t keep my lip from curling up in a self-directed sneer. Oreg was right: Regardless of my uncle’s trustworthiness, it was time to throw off the disguise, but that’s where the fear came in. I didn’t want to confess to my uncle that I’d hidden myself under a mask of stupidity for seven years out of fear of my father. It had been easier to tell Oreg, but then Oreg knew my father as I had. He had been here when my father had beaten me almost to death in a frenzy of jealous rage.
    It was beautifully ironic. I, who had pretended for a third of my life to be an idiot, didn’t want to appear to be a fool.
    I laughed shortly and stalked to the wardrobe to get fresh clothing. “When I get back, I’ll tell my uncle that I’m not as dumb as I look.”
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    I HADN ’ T RIDDEN P ANSY much yet, and the ride I envisioned wasn’t one that would do him any good at this stage. My usual mount for my mountain runs was a big liver chestnut mare I