Part 76 (1/2)
Jewel's mother was softer spoken and far less harsh, and she loved her husband dearly, so it was clear that not all men were beneath notice.
It hit her as she walked beside Duster: She missed her Oma. Her mother. Her father. She had to swallow, to stop, to force herself to breathe.
And to her surprise, the sounds that were mostly verbal grunts paused, and Duster was by her side with something that might have pa.s.sed for concern on her dark features. She didn't like to acknowledge weakness, especially not her own; it was natural that she a.s.sume that everyone felt the same way. So she was awkward in her concern, almost tongue-tied.
Jewel shook her head. ”He reminds me of my Oma,” she said quietly. ”I think she would have liked him. She wouldn't have trusted him, but she never trusted anyone who wasn't kin. I miss her,” she added, her voice dropping. ”I don't know what she'd say, if she saw me like this.”
”Do you care?”
”Sometimes. When I was little, I thought she knew everything. Sometimes I still do.”
”I never knew mine,” Duster told her. Jewel had already guessed this much. ”I liked my grandfather, but he died early. And I don't like the old man.”
”I know. He doesn't dislike you,” Jewel added. ”But he wants you to see things as clearly as he does.”
”As he thinks he does.”
Jewel shrugged. Stopped walking. ”You wanted this. You still do. We don't have what we need to do this on our own.”
”We could get it.”
”We couldn't, Duster. I mean to survive this. I know you don't care if you do-but I do. I care if you do.”
”Why?”
Jewel shrugged. ”Why do you always ask that?”
”Because I want to know. You're the one who speaks well for her station in life,” she added, in bitter mimicry of Haval. ”You find the words.”
But Jewel didn't have them. Not then. All the words she had were mourning words, lost words, and she could not bring herself to expose them to someone who had never felt the same way.
Nor, in the end, did she expose them to Teller. He came to sit by her side when she retreated into the relative privacy of the kitchen. He didn't speak, and he didn't touch her; he just took a seat beside her, and ran his fingers across the wood grain. He was only Finch's size, smaller even than Jewel, and his arms were as fine as bird legs, although they were pale and smooth. His eyes were pale brown in the odd kitchen light, and his face was drawn, the circles under his eyes p.r.o.nounced.
”You aren't sleeping well,” she said, to fill the silence, but not to obliterate it; she spoke quietly.
He said, ”Neither are you.”
She shrugged. ”I never sleep well. I dream too much.”
Teller nodded. After a brief hesitation, he added, ”Lefty told me. Arann tried to stop him, if that helps.”
Jewel almost laughed. ”Lefty didn't speak to me for days,” she told him, ”but he spoke to you and Finch after a few hours. Am I so scary?”
Teller shrugged. ”Yes,” he said, ”and no. You're sort of fierce, but you're not terrifying.”
”Then why do you think they're more comfortable around you?”
”Because they don't really care what I think about them; they care what I think about you.”
She looked up and met his gaze. ”I was thinking about my family today,” she told him quietly. ”About my Oma. I miss her.”
”My mother used to say that if you remember someone, they're not really gone.”
”Feels gone to me.”
”Me, too. I figure I'll understand it better later.” Silence again. She took his hand in hers, and was surprised at the feel of it; it was cold to the touch. He did not withdraw it.
”Carver's worried about you,” Teller said at last.
”He said that?”
”No.”
”But you know it.”
Teller nodded. ”Arann and Lefty aren't so worried, and Lander's in his own world. Finch worries about everything, but only a little, and Jester worries about gloom. Everyone worries about Duster,” he added, with just the hint of a smile. ”But not the same way.”
”No. They're afraid of her, not for her.”
He nodded.
”And you?”
”You want her here.”
Jewel nodded as well. ”But it's hard. Don't ask me,” she added. ”Don't ask me to explain. I'll explain after. If ever.”
”I think Rath is worried as well.”
The boy almost reminded her of Haval. ”Probably.”
”I didn't ask what happened to Duster,” Teller told her. ”I didn't have to. What is she going to do?”
”Kill a man,” Jewel replied. There wasn't much point in not saying it; he already knew.
”And you're going to help her.”
”I'm-yes. I'm going to help her.” And the words, when they left her lips, left like weights.
”Rath would kill him for you,” Teller said quietly.
Jewel was surprised. ”He won't.”
”He won't because you don't want it and wouldn't accept it-but if you would, he'd do it tomorrow. Tonight.”
”I can't ask that of him.”
”But you're asking it of yourself.”
”Myself is different. I'm me. I can decide what I do. And live with it.”