Arc 2: Chapter 17: Clash of Arts
I admit, I was impressed. However, it didn’t make me any less furious.
“Damn it, Emma, I’m supposed to be protecting you!”
The young aristo still refused to take her eyes from the silent Scorchknight, who watched her with passive stillness as she drew to a stop about twenty feet away. She spoke to me without meeting my eyes.
“That is not why she sent you, and you know it as well as I do.”
I blinked, confused. What was she talking about? Nath had sent me to defend her from Orley, to keep the novice warlock safe — protecting an investment, I’d assumed.
But, I realized, Nath had never explicitly said that, had she? What had she said?
“You will go, speak in my name, act as my arm, and do as my disciple commands. Do this to my satisfaction, and I shall be well pleased.”
Had Nath wanted me to back Emma, just as she would as the girl’s dark patron? Had I only assumed my job was solely to fight her battle for her, because it seemed the sort of thing I’d normally be tasked with? No, because it seemed the knightly thing to do.
I kept making the same damn mistakes.
Even still, this went beyond the bounds of reasonable. I stepped forward, tightening my grip on the transformed Faen Orgis, which still subtly changed. The pain in my hand had evolved from merely terrible to a throbbing agony. I could feel it sucking my blood away through the burs dug into my palm, a nauseating sensation. At least when Catrin had done it, there’d been an element of fascination. This just hurt.
I ignored the discomfort, focusing on Jon Orley. The sound of grinding metal cut the air as he turned his half melted helm from Emma to me, as though trying to keep both of us in his vision. He still hadn’t moved, as though deciding which threat to focus on.