The Carnelian Way

16.2

"What's wrong with you two?" asked Anat, grinning like an adolescent with hands-on-hips as she swayed on her feet.

"Nothing," snapped Martha before Rina could get a word in edgeways.

"Well, ex-cuse-me." Anat's smile deepened, and she held her hands up in mock apology.

Rolling her eyes, Sara walked to Rina. "She looks better already, Martha."

"Not you too."

"Me what?"

Martha crossed her arms. "Sara, she wasn't sick—she had a splinter. It's out. It's settled."

"I get that, but you know what—"

'Enough, Sara. I'm sick of talking about this. Sensing illness is questionable, even for the most gifted healers, and you sure as can't see a healed splinter wound from across the room."

Sara's head darted to Rina. "So, it is healed!" Not waiting for a response, Sara ran the rest of the way and grabbed Rina's foot.

"Sara, stop. You're overreacting."

Steady hands poked and prodded at Rina, but this time there was no pain, and then they stopped. "What the? Martha, how'd you do it?"

"Do what?" Anat had disappeared to a sideboard and poured herself some honey wine. She sauntered back to the group, the stem of a glass lazily balanced between thumb and forefinger, her movements rhythmic as a dancer's.

"Nothing," Martha said between her teeth.

"Hmpf, if I know Sara—and after all those weeks stuck on that boat, I do, down to how many times a week she needs to take a—"

"Anat!" Sara's face flushed.

"And I can tell you—" Anat continued, pointing her index finger, her speech slightly slurred "—she never gets this worked up over nothing." Halting before Rina, Anat closed one eye and peered down. "Bloody hell!" She stood straight and turned on Martha. "That was red as a pigs arsehole a few hours ago."

"Anat!"

Martha ignored Sara and spoke in a non-plussed drone. "Anya is a talented healer."

"No one's that talented," pressed Anat.

"Hey, stop that!" Rina started to giggle as Sara's thumb traced the skin, checking for any marks. A devilish grin crept across Anat's face, and she began to tickle Rina. Rina kicked back, and Anat wobbled, flinging sticky wine across Sara's dress and splashing Rina in the face.

"Oh, for Mai's sake, Anat! Can you stop acting like a drunk hussy?"

Rina froze. She'd never heard Sara shout before. Even Martha seemed shocked, which spoke volumes considering Martha had mentored Sara before she left for Amadore.

"A hussy, did you say." Anat's voice was cool, her expression sober. "You want a hussy." With deliberate slowness, she lowered her glass to the floor and slithered over Rina, sinuous as a snake. The cloying scent of incense came to Rina's nostrils, and her head spun. The edge of her awareness curled in on itself like a hot flame singled the line between reality and dreams. Then something rough and wet and warm slid up her cheek.

She shoved. "Anat! That's fucking disgusting." She wiped at the damp patch where Anat had licked her.

Anat fell to the ground, laughing, tears in her eyes. She rolled to her side, gripping her stomach, and laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

Rina, Sara, and Martha stared, uncertain of what to do or say. It was like Anat was possessed. After a time, Anat stilled. She pushed up on her hands.