Ruby Ruins

not mine, I don’t drown. It’s hard with Avena bein’ ’round. I keep seein’ Usrella in her face. And now . . .”
He looked on the edge of tears, about to spill his emotion. Ōbhin wanted to do something. He ached for some measure of control. For something he could do. He hadn’t even found out the information they’d been looking for. He’d left Creg . . .
“Come on,” Ōbhin said, resting his hand on Fingers’s shoulder. He squeezed through the jerkin. “I need your help.”
“With?”
A darkness surged through Ōbhin. “Talking with the man who did this. I left him with a severed leg. He can’t have gotten far if he hasn’t bled to death.”
Savagery filled Fingers’s eyes.
“I can come, too.”
Ōbhin stiffened. He hadn’t heard Smiles’s approach. He turned around to see the friendly-looking man. He was a respectable distance away, wearing a padded gambeson. He had no sword but a binder on his hip. A smile grew on his face. Vicious.
“I would love to say a few things to the pus-filled roach that hurt her.” The anger that came from Smiles felt so genuine. For more than fifty days, Ōbhin had yet to find a single slip-up in the thing’s impression of Smiles. No one, not even Jilly, suspected him.
But Ōbhin and Avena had seen Smiles take wounds he shouldn’t have been able to walk away from unscathed. They’d seen his flesh turn white and flow like potter’s clay being molded by unseen hands.
“I need someone I can trust staying here,” Ōbhin said, the lie coming easily. “Fingers is going with me, so who am I going to trust?”
“Cerdyn,” said Smiles. “Even Dajouth might be trustworthy. He adores Avena.”
“Pissant pants after her like a runt wantin’ his turn to suckle at her teat,” muttered Fingers.
“True,” Smiles said, eyes sliding to Ōbhin. “Avena is like my Jilly. She inspires a man to rise and defend her.”
“Please, Smiles, I need to know that she’ll be safe,” Ōbhin said, his stomach curdling. The real Smiles—Phelep, reminded Ōbhin, that was his real name—had been an easy-going and affable man. The sort of person with a ready joke or an ear that listened. Ōbhin hadn’t known him long, and it galled him that he had to pretend with this thing.
But if Ōbhin was correct, the thing worked for Grey and was probably another of Dje’awsa’s creations. It was placed here to protect Dualayn. For now, it was best to watch and not force the Brotherhood to act.
“I’ll stay,” Smiles said. He extended his hand.
Ōbhin gave a firm shake, nodding. “Thank you.” You’re going to pay one day for murdering my friend. “We’ll be back soon.”
*
The march to the house in the Greenlet passed in silence. The two men stalked with a fury that melted the locals out of their path. They were eyed suspiciously by a few of the guards, but many knew them by sight. Guard-Captain Thoph, who commanded the city guard in the nearby neighborhood, had even become friendly, coming around with pies his wife made.
On the porch of a nearby tenement, the Green-Faced Boys nursed broken limbs and sullen looks. None of them said a word. Ōbhin almost wished they did. The darkness inside of him itched for a release. His resonance blade would . . .
He battered down those thoughts. He couldn’t give in to despair just yet. Avena still lived. Lausi’s Hope still harmonized in his soul.
The first floor showed signs of Avena’s battle. Broken cudgels and dropped saps littered it. The disturbance in the dust showed the battle raging through the room. He smiled, a moment of pride resonating within him.
He’d taught her to protect herself. With her earthen gauntlet and binder, she had incapacitated the street thugs.
“Where’d you leave the Black-damned bastard?” Fingers growled.
“Upstairs,” Ōbhin said. He led the way, chainmail rattling. He took the steps two at a time. He passed a crossbow bolt embedded in the wall. He marched down the hallway to the open door. Avena’s binder had come to rest against the wall. Her blood had dried to a small patch of brown.
Ōbhin picked up her rod, turning it in his gloved hand. Then he glanced into the room. A large pool of blood coated the floor, the surface covered in a coagulating film. A browning smear dragged off towards the right and then stopped.
“No,” Ōbhin growled, stepping through the blood to where the trail ended.
“Sword scabbard’s thrown to the side,” Fingers noted, moving in behind him. “He must have used his belt as a tourniquet.”
“And hopped out of here?” demanded Ōbhin.
Frustration boiled out of him. He whirled around and slammed his foot into the corner of the rickety bed. The frame cracked in a splintered groan, the hay-stuffed mattress sagging. An angry thought pounded in his mind over and over: If I’d just let the piece of sword hit my shoulder!
He fought to control himself. He needed answers. He would tear Kash apart to find Creg.
 

Chapter Six
Anger simmered in Ōbhin after speaking with the sullen Green-Faced Boys.
After stalking out of the house, he confronted a few lounging on the porch of the rickety tenement they occupied, demanding answers.
“Your quim broke half our bones,” complained the biggest one on the porch, his arm in a sling. “Why should we do more than piss on your boots?”
Fingers cracked his knuckles. “You got another arm and two legs that look fine to me. Pity if something happened.”
“Just tell ‘em, Dirk,” a boy muttered, a large bruise running across his bare chest, the center a dark purple. “Elohm’s Colours, wot do we owe that snot-nosed runt?”
“He’s in with the Rangers, that’s wot we owe,” Dirk said. Ōbhin fought not to snort at the pretentious name. “They’ll like to slit our throats if’n