Phony Potions

Chapter 25.5

"Bernard!" Osoro barked. The little shoesmith jumped, his attention immediately leaving me. Osoro's heavy armor clinked with each angry step across the floor toward the cordswainer. Bernard stumbled back, blinking.

"What has you so cross?" he asked. "Did you overhear? I'm sorry Sir Osoro, I'm not meaning to gossip, but you ARE incompetent about the missing kids—"

"As if I don't have enough concerns, I just had to get Winsor to stop crying," Sir Osoro cut Bernard off, coming to a stop in front of the other man. "I was sitting there at the circus, trying to enjoy myself, when your father called me over. He prompted Winsor again and again to share what was bothering him, and finally, I ended up asking Winsor about why he didn't attend my tournament a few days ago. And you know what he said?" Osoro continued, angry.

"Don't shout. You lecture me all the time about controlling my emotion and here you are—"

"He said that he didn't think anyone wanted him at these events." He placed his hands on the jutting silver hip plates. "He said that everyone would prefer it if he kept to his room, and ever since you'd said that to him, he'd been noticing that he thought it might be true and was having a hard time enjoying himself at the festival!"

"And it's better for everyone that I told him the truth about how people feel, isn't it?"

"It's disgusting how you are so threatened by him when you should be nurturing him," Osoro said coolly. They were completely locked onto each other. I, as quietly as possible, moved back toward the door I'd spied earlier. If this had been a normal argument, they may have seen me. But there was noxious emotional energy running through the two of them.

"I didn't realize you were chummy with my brother," Bernard said. I kept one eye on the two of them as I inched closer and closer to the door.

"I'm not." Sir Osoro shook his head. "He's a scrawny, timid, odious example of a sorcerer. His only merit is magic." He gestured conciliatory at Bernard. "But of course, if the man who the entire festival is about avoids it—"

"You should have seen the way he was misusing people at the play!" Bernard said. "He was levitating and moving them through the air."

"You did the exact same thing and worse at his age! He'll get over that if he spends more time around people besides your father and the help," Sir Osoro said. "He doesn't know how to conduct himself as a man instead of a petulant child." He crossed his arms over his chest. "And as an elder brother, you are not setting a very fine example."

"I didn't cast or lay a hand on him. I leave him alone, just like you told me to." Bernard protested. My own hand slipped against the cool doorknob. I prayed that the doorknobs in this place were as ritzy as the rest of it, and well oiled. If the door squeaked when I opened it, I'd have the wrath of two pretty angry enchanted beings on me.

"But you still bullied him," Osoro cried. I used the shout as an opportunity to test the knob. The door silently cracked open. "You can hurt him with your words as much as you used to with your punches and spells. This shouldn't need to be explained."

"He brings it on himself by dressing like that!" Bernard scoffed. I peeked behind the door. Stairs. It led down to the cellar, a dark void. "How am I not supposed to torment him?"

"It's embarrassing but doesn't hurt anyone. Let him dress how he likes; it has nothing to do with the poorness of your behavior."

I waited with bated breath. Then, after a few seconds of silence, he stepped forward and put a hand on Bernard's shoulder. When he started speaking again, I slipped behind the door onto the stairs.