Lower City, Corus, the year 430 | Middle of the Night
“Gods, lass, are ye doing that with yer feet?” George complained, trying to pull his shoulder out of Rispah’s grasp.
“Aye, I’m sewing your shoulder shut with my feet, you bloody idiot,” she snapped, holding him firmly in place. “Mayhap if ye did duck faster, I wouldn’t’ve had to.”
He frowned, settling into a sulk. “I did duck. It was heading for me neck. Twas bad information in th’first place. Should’ve had more lads or planned different.”
Rispah leaned more closely, her hands gentle as she plied her needle. “Th’Rogue send ye?” she asked - not that it was much of a question at all. She’d patched George up too many times after errands for the Rogue seemed to suddenly go bad. No man in the Court avoided injury, but her cousin seemed to attract them. Besides if it were George's plan, he'd've changed it up when he saw it going bad.
George nodded shortly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he were trying t’get me killed,” he said, trying for joking and ending up sounding both sarcastic and near-defeated. He couldn’t blame the man - not for that at least - when George had returned from Fandom, he hadn’t exactly been discreet about his ultimate aim, and it had taken too long for him to realise that he needed more time in the Court under his belt before any would follow him in a bid for the Rogue’s seat. That was the last mistake he’d allow himself to make.
“Boy I remember would’ve been highly complimented by attracting enough of the Rogue’s attention that he’s considered a threat,” she said, tying off the thread and rubbing his shoulder gently. “Nearly done.”
“Ye always did have a terrible memory, cuz,” he snorted. Even if she was right. It’d been a long two years though, and few of George’s grandiose plans had come about. The people in the Lower City were near-starving even while the Rogue that was supposed to protect them feasted. The Rogue’s closest allies were those men more interested in violence than the traditions of the Court and the City, and even though the priestesses of the Goddess brought a heavy hand down on any caught abusing women, there’d been more than a few cases of violence unpunished.
“Like seeks like,” Rispah shot back, her caress turning into a smack across his head. “My memory remembers ye as a boy who wouldn’t bear this. What happened to the man? What are ye waiting for?”
George pushed himself up at the question. He didn’t care if she hadn’t bandaged the shoulder yet. It’d be fine. Not bothering to grab his shirt, he strode to the window, ducking under the frame to swing out and up to the roof. It was a stupid move, sure, his left arm would barely hold his weight, and he regretted it as he settled himself on the roof. Rispah’s comments cut to the quick, not the least because he knew just how right she was. He’d proved himself to those of the Court he wanted to lead. Waiting too long now would just get him killed or cause men to lose faith in him, but the final step still seemed out of reach. He worried that his time in Fandom had made him go soft, unable to make the challenge without knowing it would succeed. Why else was he still waiting and watching another man treat his city so badly? He wondered in the very back of his mind where he didn’t often allow himself to think if he was waiting for a summons from another world, waiting to fulfill a promise he’d made, worried if he challenged and lost, his oath to John Connor would go unfulfilled.
He jumped as Rispah swung onto the roof and took her scolding for paying so little attention without a word. She was right anyway, no point in arguing.
Rispah’s hands were full of bandages, but when she saw his face, she tucked them back into a pocket. His shoulder could breathe for a few minutes with no harm done. Worst come to it, and she’d be the one asking Mistress Cooper for one of her salves. Even if her aunt still refused to heal George when he was injured, she wouldn’t refuse Rispah’s request. Staying quiet, Rispah sat down beside him, wrapping her arm around his waist and smiling slightly as she felt his arm around her shoulders. “Stop waiting, George,” she murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder. “We all need you to stop waiting.”
Her voice sounded almost like Beka’s in his ears, and George couldn’t help imagining what that illustrious ancestor would say if she knew the state of her beloved city. It wouldn’t be pretty. Besides George did appreciate his ears unboxed. He nodded, resting his cheek on Rispah’s hair. “Aye, lass, I do hear ye.”
“Aye, I’m sewing your shoulder shut with my feet, you bloody idiot,” she snapped, holding him firmly in place. “Mayhap if ye did duck faster, I wouldn’t’ve had to.”
He frowned, settling into a sulk. “I did duck. It was heading for me neck. Twas bad information in th’first place. Should’ve had more lads or planned different.”
Rispah leaned more closely, her hands gentle as she plied her needle. “Th’Rogue send ye?” she asked - not that it was much of a question at all. She’d patched George up too many times after errands for the Rogue seemed to suddenly go bad. No man in the Court avoided injury, but her cousin seemed to attract them. Besides if it were George's plan, he'd've changed it up when he saw it going bad.
George nodded shortly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think he were trying t’get me killed,” he said, trying for joking and ending up sounding both sarcastic and near-defeated. He couldn’t blame the man - not for that at least - when George had returned from Fandom, he hadn’t exactly been discreet about his ultimate aim, and it had taken too long for him to realise that he needed more time in the Court under his belt before any would follow him in a bid for the Rogue’s seat. That was the last mistake he’d allow himself to make.
“Boy I remember would’ve been highly complimented by attracting enough of the Rogue’s attention that he’s considered a threat,” she said, tying off the thread and rubbing his shoulder gently. “Nearly done.”
“Ye always did have a terrible memory, cuz,” he snorted. Even if she was right. It’d been a long two years though, and few of George’s grandiose plans had come about. The people in the Lower City were near-starving even while the Rogue that was supposed to protect them feasted. The Rogue’s closest allies were those men more interested in violence than the traditions of the Court and the City, and even though the priestesses of the Goddess brought a heavy hand down on any caught abusing women, there’d been more than a few cases of violence unpunished.
“Like seeks like,” Rispah shot back, her caress turning into a smack across his head. “My memory remembers ye as a boy who wouldn’t bear this. What happened to the man? What are ye waiting for?”
George pushed himself up at the question. He didn’t care if she hadn’t bandaged the shoulder yet. It’d be fine. Not bothering to grab his shirt, he strode to the window, ducking under the frame to swing out and up to the roof. It was a stupid move, sure, his left arm would barely hold his weight, and he regretted it as he settled himself on the roof. Rispah’s comments cut to the quick, not the least because he knew just how right she was. He’d proved himself to those of the Court he wanted to lead. Waiting too long now would just get him killed or cause men to lose faith in him, but the final step still seemed out of reach. He worried that his time in Fandom had made him go soft, unable to make the challenge without knowing it would succeed. Why else was he still waiting and watching another man treat his city so badly? He wondered in the very back of his mind where he didn’t often allow himself to think if he was waiting for a summons from another world, waiting to fulfill a promise he’d made, worried if he challenged and lost, his oath to John Connor would go unfulfilled.
He jumped as Rispah swung onto the roof and took her scolding for paying so little attention without a word. She was right anyway, no point in arguing.
Rispah’s hands were full of bandages, but when she saw his face, she tucked them back into a pocket. His shoulder could breathe for a few minutes with no harm done. Worst come to it, and she’d be the one asking Mistress Cooper for one of her salves. Even if her aunt still refused to heal George when he was injured, she wouldn’t refuse Rispah’s request. Staying quiet, Rispah sat down beside him, wrapping her arm around his waist and smiling slightly as she felt his arm around her shoulders. “Stop waiting, George,” she murmured, leaning her head against his shoulder. “We all need you to stop waiting.”
Her voice sounded almost like Beka’s in his ears, and George couldn’t help imagining what that illustrious ancestor would say if she knew the state of her beloved city. It wouldn’t be pretty. Besides George did appreciate his ears unboxed. He nodded, resting his cheek on Rispah’s hair. “Aye, lass, I do hear ye.”