Page 84 of The Eyes of Tamburah
“Subtle.”
“Not surprising. Even though the monks remain out of Zirdai’s affairs, that doesn’t mean they don’t know what’s going on. I’ve plenty of blood on my hands.” He stated it as fact. No emotion tainted his voice. If it bothered him, he hid it well.
“And also, the prince might order the monks to hand me over. It would cause them considerable trouble if they refused, even though they do have that right. It’s best for all if I leave as soon as I can.”
That the prince had that much influence over the monks still surprised her. She glanced around and noted the numbers on the doors—they must be in one of the housing levels of the monastery. Probably an unoccupied one far from the others.
“Where are you staying?” she asked.
He pointed at the door across from hers. “We have the wing to ourselves.”
Keeping him isolated was yet another not-so-subtle indication they wanted him gone.
“Stay here,” she said. “I need to—”
“Get something to drink and eat?”
“No. I—”
“You’ve been asleep for two sun jumps. When’s the last time you ate?”
She thought back. Had she eaten in Tamburah’s judgment room?
“I thought so. Come on.” With both hands occupied, he’d no choice but to nudge her forward with his good shoulder.
She didn’t have the strength to fight him. They headed toward the dining area. Stopping every few meters, Shyla placed her outstretched hand on the wall to keep from falling down. Rendor limped along beside her at a slow pace, seeming content to pause when she needed. What a pathetic pair.
When they finally arrived, the hall was empty. The sand clock read angle forty-five, right between first and second meals.
“This way,” she said, going into the kitchen. The coals in the hearth had been banked. The room smelled of garlic, stirring memories of late night raids with an accomplice or two. One perk to growing up here, she knew where they stored the food and kept the jugs of water.
Not bothering to go out to a table, they sat on stools next to a counter to eat. It wasn’t much of a meal—gamelu cheese, thin slices of velbloud meat and a couple hunks of bread, but after all those sun jumps of jerky, it tasted divine. She was careful not to overeat or drink. But what she managed to imbibe revived her.
Rendor stared at her with his eyebrows slightly raised.
“All right. You were right. I feel better,” she admitted.
“Progress. There’s hope that some time you’ll be able to say it without the grumble.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
He opened his mouth to reply, but two monks burst into the kitchen. One of them was Easan—the monk who’d guarded the First Room of Knowledge when she was here before. She didn’t recognize the other.
“Why didn’t you alert us that she was awake?” Easan demanded of Rendor.
“No one asked me to,” Rendor said simply.
“She’d been shot.” Easan swept a hand out. “And you just let her leave?”
“I’ve no authority to stop her.”
Shyla almost laughed. Authority, no. Muscular manhandling, yes. “Is there a problem?” Shyla asked.
“Hanif wishes to speak with you,” Easan said.
“Now?”
“He’s waiting in your room.”
