Chapter Seven: Breach of Trust


It was late in the afternoon when Molly awoke, a quiet knock bringing him up through layers of unconsciousness. It was Johann. The healer waited patiently for Molly to usher her through the door before pressing her fingers to Caleb's forehead. "He's recovering. Not as rapidly as I'd like, but he's a little on the undernourished side, and that can affect things. Do you get enough to eat?"

Molly had never had a parent, at least not one he remembered, but in that moment, Johann reminded him so much of Gustav that it provoked an honest answer. "We haven't been traveling together long, but I gather his cornucopia hasn't exactly been full."

Johann looked knowing. "I can see that easily enough. The body tells a story, you know. I hope both he and his little friend are in better hands now."

Bitterness flooded Molly's stomach, but one of the first rules of carnie life was that you didn't air your dirty laundry outside the tent. "We try."

"That's good to hear, because he'll need care. Newborn bones, muscle, and skin require time to remember how they're supposed to work. Then there's the traumatic nature of his injuries. Without knowing him, I can't tell you how he'll cope. Sometimes, there's a kind of amnesia. It can be helpful in the short term."

"He has a perfect memory." Molly gestured bleakly at his temple. "It's a...thing."

Johann's lips pressed together. "That's unfortunate. Sometimes blurred edges can be a mercy."

"Can we take him –" Molly paused around the unfamiliar word 'home'. Home, in Molly's limited experience, had always been people rather than a place, and that was what he meant now. A room in an inn, with the others nearby and the low murmur of a bustling tavern somewhere down below. He wanted Caleb in their own keeping.

The cleric considered. "He would do best in a place where he could get regular meals and a safe place to rest. Would you be able to ensure he gets these things?"

"Absolutely."

"Then I see no reason for him not to leave. He'll be groggy and need assistance, but his injures are mostly healed. You can move him without risk."

A preoccupied looking Nott slipped through the half-open door. There was a loaf of bread, two apples, an egg, and what appeared to be an entire wedge of cooked chicken tucked into her arms. When she saw them, she froze. Johann gazed at her plunder, almost certainly snatched from the larder of their host, but thankfully said nothing. Instead she excused herself and swept out of the room in a whisper of linen robes. Nott watched her go before returning to the bed.

Molly cleared his throat. "I thought we had a talk about the kind of people we steal from."

Nott's shoulders hunched. "Caleb will need to get his strength up." She looked at Molly with an expression that was equal parts stubborn and pitiful. "This will help."

It would have taken a harder soul than Molly's to rebuke her in the face of that kind of reasoning. "Right."

She relaxed. "Did that healer tell you when he would wake up?"

"Soon, but he'll be sore and weak. We'll have to take good care of him."

"I always do that," she answered. "If he was with me, this wouldn't have happened."

He heard her anger and wouldn't have wanted that acerbic hiss directed at him, not for all the gold in the world. Nott might not have been big or strong, but there was a ruthlessness to her, the kind that mixed poison and added it to your drink.

"We're still stronger together," he said. With several hours of sleep under his belt, his faith that this was the case had returned, though not without some misgivings.

Nott turned her head away. "Maybe."

This was another wound, Molly thought. A breach of trust, like the night in Zadash when the tower fell. How many moments like this would there be, he wondered, and how many would it take to break things forever? "Won't you let me help, Nott?"

He could tell she wanted to trust him, but she was wary, so wary. Finally, though, something in his posture or his history with her, or maybe just Nott's trusting nature broke through. Jerkily, she nodded. "Okay."

"Okay," Molly said. It was something.


Johann saw them off. "How much?" It was one of the last things Molly asked before they departed. It stood to reason. Even temple clerics charged for their services, and Caleb had stood at the very doorway of death.

But Johann demanded nothing. "As I understand it, you are participants in tonight's tournament, which makes you my responsibility. Besides," she said, and her eyes lingered on Caleb, wrapped in a woolen blanket. "I think enough payment has been rendered for one night. Go with my blessing, and my sorrow for what you have endured.

Molly shook Johann's hand. "You're a good woman, Johann."

"In a world such as this, I strive to be," the cleric said, and sighed from the depth of her bones. "Would that more of us succeeded."


It was several hours after dark when Fjord, Beau, and Yasha returned to the inn, trailing weariness and defeat behind them. They'd stopped at the manor, where they'd been told their friends had taken the 'poor wounded man' home. At the moment, that meant a tavern, and so that's where they returned. When they reached the top floor, Molly stepped into the hallway to meet them. "And where have you been?"

Beau leaned on her staff like it was a crutch. "Looking for the bastard who did this, what else?"

"And were you successful?"

Fjord slumped against a doorjamb, feeling like a man who had come through a hurricane with barely his skin intact. His voice was rough with weariness. "No. We didn't find anything."

"Stupid to try. You don't have the skill set to make heads or tails of what they left behind. The whole group ought to be in on that."

Yasha touched Molly's shoulder. "How is he?"

Mollymauk's noncommittal shift did nothing to soothe anyone's nerves. "Johann said he should wake up soon. He stirred on the way over, just enough to mutter something in Zemnian – 'ich bin so müde, Astrid' – or something like that. I can mimic the sounds, but I have no idea what it means. Just that the name upset Nott and Jester."

Fjord caught Beau grimacing and wondered what she knew.

"Jester brought him back?" That made sense. She was astonishingly strong for her size, and Fjord had seen her lift people before with no apparent strain. "Is she with him now?"

"No, I put her to bed. It's been a long day."

Fjord took in the maroon bags under Molly's eyes. "You look nearly six feet under yourself." He only realized the words might be tactless when everyone winced.

Beau jabbed him. "Good one, Fjord."

He hastened to apologize. "Gods. I'm sorry, Molly. I didn't mean anything. Like you said, it's been a long day."

Molly's nod jangled the chains on his horns, and Fjord was relieved to see the icy anger from earlier had thawed. This was a Molly who could speak and would listen. He looked at Fjord and seemed to read his need, consider it, and finally accept it. "Are you ready to hit the sack, Fjord, or are you up to taking a watch?"

Fjord was more grateful than he could put into words. "I'm up for a watch," he said. "Get some rest, everybody."

Molly reluctantly peeled himself away from the doorway. His red eyes bored into Fjord as he headed for their shared room. Fjord read the message in them: "Don't mess this up."

It was dark inside Caleb's room. The only light came from the coals in the hearth, but the monochromatic palette was no obstacle for him. It was just another way of seeing. He spotted two figures on the bed, one of whom was propped against the headboard. "Nott?"

He had to suppress a shudder when she looked at him like that. She looked like a predator, and it made his instincts jerk to life. But he'd never let himself be controlled by his instincts. Caleb was under the covers, leg extended stiffly. His fingers were curled neatly into his palms, an extremely welcome sight. Molly had told them they'd been saved, of course, but seeing it was different.

He drew up a chair to the bedside; slowly, in case Nott decided to refuse. Caleb stirred. For a moment, it seemed all he could do was feebly shift. Then, abruptly, his eyes flew open, the pupils darting. It took Fjord longer than it should have to realize the problem, and he snatched Caleb's hand. "Caleb, you're not blind. You're back in your body. It's just dark in here, that's all."

Nott lunged toward the lamp, lighting the wick and adjusting the band until it emitted a warm but not intrusive light. There were colors again, and the first thing Fjord saw was Caleb's eyes, blue swallowed in white. He was clutching Fjord, but his lips were pressed tight, and he looked like he sometimes did after a bad fire. Belatedly, Fjord realized the man was shivering. Shock or fear?

"Hey," he said, quieter this time. "Caleb, you're in the tavern with me and Nott and the others. You're in bed because you were hurt, but you're safe now."

Frumpkin meowed, rubbing Caleb's chin. It seemed to have a calming effect because the panic died down. Especially when Nott stepped back onto the pillow, carding her claws through his hair. His eyes fixed on her, and in a hoarse, barely audible voice he said, "Nott?"

"I'm here," she said, voice cracking with emotion. "I'm here."

Caleb sank back into the covers, and it was humbling to Fjord to see that complete faith. He remembered when he first laid eyes on these two, Nott with her creepy mask making eyes at their coin, and Caleb, looking like a quay-side bum. Yet of the entire party, it was perhaps these two who had the most intimate bond. They genuinely cared for one another, and they trusted each another in a way Fjord wasn't sure he was willing to trust anyone. As someone who'd grown up without a family, It made him uncomfortable at the same time he felt a prick of jealousy.

Relieved that Caleb was awake but still apprehensive, Fjord coaxed, "Caleb, do you remember what happened?" Caleb looked at Fjord with blank eyes, and for a moment Fjord was terrified that this was all that was left, that some irreversible damage had been done to Caleb's psyche, something a cleric's magic could not heal. His labored breathing was turning panicky again, and Fjord pressed a large hand to his chest. "Shhh, now. Just breathe."

It took time for the glaze of his eyes to fade. The whole time he leaned into Nott's persistent gentling of his hair like a kitten. Eventually, though, he spoke. It was raspy, and his throat clicked the first few times he tried to form speech, but eventually he was able to say, "Some-someone came. In the warehouse?"

So he did remember. Fjord cleared his throat. "That's right. You were investigating the manor."

"Frumpkin," Caleb said, and the animal settled onto his chest. Caleb's free hand clutched its fur.

Fjord nodded. "You were looking through him, so you couldn't see or hear what was going on, and someone took advantage of that. We don't know how they did it."

Now that he was awake, Caleb's mind was working. "Arcane Lock, I think. It – is not for that, but, in theory it could – it could be –" His words cut off, unable to be articulated or just lost in the mire of his thoughts. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them, they shone in the lamplight.

"You were trapped."

"Trapped, ja. Trapped." Caleb started to wheeze again, but Fjord pressed down until his breathing evened out. "Then, shocks and knives. Tried to get into my head. My leg." He stretched it feebly. "And they took my, m-my – " His arms jerked, and this time nothing Fjord or Nott did could keep him from spiraling.

"No, Caleb. They didn't take them. We found a cleric who restored them. Look!"

The tips of Caleb's fingers twitched. He drew them to his face, touched his cheeks, his eyelids, his lips. In slow, deliberate movements, he flexed the joints. In the end, he rested them over his eyes and muttered something in Zemnian, "Gott sei Dank," which Fjord somehow understood even though the words remained foreign. He took a deep breath of his own. "Yeah. Thank the Maker."

Nott was trembling. In a tiny voice that was almost as deeply affected as Caleb himself, she asked, "Are you okay, Caleb?"

This question could only have come from her. Fjord was certain he'd have felt like a fool asking it, because, hell, how could Caleb be okay? But because it was her, Caleb emerged from where he'd retreated and extended one of his restored hands. She snatched it eagerly.

"It seems I've survived," he said, more steadily than anything that had come before, and Fjord was so grateful his throat closed, close to an emotional outpouring he was determined not to have. 'Strength,' he told himself. It enabled him to answer when Caleb said, "You found a healer? I would not have expected one in a town this small."

"It was the tournament cleric," Fjord told him. "They let you stay in Baron Urim's manor and everything. We brought you back this afternoon."

"Has it been long?"

"Only a day. You were attacked last night. It's dark now."

A slow consideration followed. It was so good to see him thinking coherently, Fjord wasn't prepared for what he asked next. "Is everyone alright, then?"

Fjord didn't understand. "Everyone?"

"Yes. Jester. I thought I heard her voice while I was sleeping. And Beau. Did those arschlöcher hurt them badly?"

A terrible understanding came over Fjord. When Caleb went under, the four of them had been together in the warehouse. As far as he knew, they'd still been there when the attack came. How did Fjord even begin to explain the truth? He looked at Nott, who was gazing at him accusingly. 'Explain yourself,' she seemed to say, but what actually came out of her mouth was, "Everyone is alright, Caleb. We can talk more later, after you rest."

But even in this state, Caleb was too sharp to misdirect. He gazed searchingly at Fjord. "Do not lie to me. How bad was it? Did they torture you, or – did they touch Jester or Beau? I was afraid for them."

Gods, was this his punishment? Only hours ago, they'd argued about Caleb's selfishness. Yet here he was, admitting that during his capture he'd been afraid his companions had died defending him, or that the women had been abused by the ones who abused him. Fjord's control threatened to break down. He pressed his temples, struggling for equilibrium. "No, he didn't hurt them."

"Good," Caleb said, sinking back into the pillow and blinking. "Good."

And though he should have seized that moment, right then, to tell Caleb the truth, to bring out into the open all that had happened and why, Fjord just couldn't. Nott glared, yellow eyed, as Caleb drifted off. Then she dropped the wick in the lamp, and everything went dim.


"He woke up," Fjord said as he pulled his sweat-stiffened tunic over his head.

Molly shifted, clearly awake. He folded his hands over his stomach. "How was he?"

"He asked if we were hurt. Jester, Beau, and I."

"Did you tell him?" When no answer was forthcoming, Molly turned over. "Coward," he said.

Fjord didn't argue.