Read Online Wolf's-own: Koan by Carole Cummings - Free Book Online Page B

opportunity to see Joori and Yori together, he would have some idea what that sort of love was supposed to look like. Because Joori really had loved her, which was something else Jacin couldn't think about, because if he'd been just a little quicker in that alley, Yori would still be alive too.
    "You put another hole in that quilt,” Malick said from the door, low and carefully neutral, “and I will kick your ass. The inn's already going to charge me for mending it the first time."
    Jacin only flicked more ash into the saucer and took another drag. He didn't jump because he wasn't surprised. When Caidi disappeared like that, Malick generally made an appearance not long after. Which was one more tick in the not-his-imagination column, because how the hell would he know to make his own personal phantasm disappear before he even knew Malick was going to show up? Then again, Malick also managed to banish Asai, too, like he used to silence the Ancestors, so maybe it was just the way it was with him. Jacin wouldn't pretend to understand Temshiel magic, even if it wasn't supposed to work on him. He had a scar that should have been a fatal wound just below his ribs that said otherwise. Sometimes he still hated Malick for it. Most of the time, he was just pathetically glad that Malick was willing to touch him and at least pretend he loved him.
    "Who were you talking to?"
    Malick was still at the door. Jacin couldn't see him unless he shifted from his sprawl on the mattress, which he didn't, so he didn't know what look Malick was giving him. He rather suspected it was one of those wary-compassionate ones, though, so it was just as well. Jacin thought about answering Malick's question and decided he didn't want to, so he didn't. He merely dragged himself up off the bed, shambled slowly over to the washbasin and refilled the teabowl. He sucked on the smoke until the ember was bright and long, almost to his fingertips, then dropped it into the stale water and diluted tea in the basin.
    Malick watched him take a gulp of the liquor and then limp back to the bed. “How many have you had?” he asked as he followed Jacin over through the trail of smoke.
    Jacin shrugged, dropped himself diagonal across the mattress, and shut his eyes. He could feel Malick staring down at him, trying to figure out how to “handle” him, no doubt. Malick usually figured it out before Jacin did, so Jacin just waited.
    "I thought you were doing all right today,” Malick ventured. The mattress dipped to Jacin's right as Malick sat down beside him. “You seemed fine when I left. What happened?” Jacin's jaw stiffened, and he clamped his eyes tighter, lifting his bowl to take a drink, but Malick's hand laid itself warm atop it. “Fen,” he said, soft but stern, “who were you talking to?"
    He wouldn't be ignored—that was the thing about Malick. Talking at Jacin, all the time, or touching him, or just doing that staring-and-smirking-knowingly thing he did, Malick never let up . Jacin had no idea why he hadn't tried to kill Malick for it yet, but it was almost a bizarre comfort all by itself, so he took whatever Malick offered and kept his mouth shut.
    Jacin tugged at his hand—not too hard, so as not to spill the liquor, but just hard enough to let Malick know he was serious. Malick let go, so Jacin told him, “Caidi,” by way of conciliation.
    There was a pause. Jacin slitted his eyes and peered at Malick sideways. Malick's eyebrows had jumped up to his hairline. Mild surprise, but not shock. Jacin thought the surprise was actually due to having got an answer, rather than the answer itself. He wondered what Malick would look like if Jacin had admitted to Beishin, as well. He almost snorted. He took a drink instead.
    "Did she talk back?” Malick wanted to know.
    In other words: Exactly how crazy are you right now? Jacin did snort this time. “Yeah, she talked back.” He turned his gaze back up to the ceiling again.
    "And, um....” Malick pushed the