That was really not helping. Solomon tensed further, his face tightening. "He didn't spare me," he said shortly, and folded his arms in the hope that it might stave off the urge to clench his fists on the scars in his palms. "For one thing, this was at a stage far before he came to be as powerful as he was. At that point, he could be fought one-on-one."
"But you were the only one that did, and lived," Saffron said, and there was a note in her voice, a quiver in her soul, which Solomon really did not like. It was bright and unflickering, and looked a lot like awe. "He was--frighteningly powerful even then. You were the only one that lived. I'm not sure even the High Priest could have lived if he'd tried."
"I wish he had," Solomon muttered. "Believe me, it wasn't--"
He was about to say it wasn't because of anything he'd done, but it had been. He just hadn't known it. And he didn't like that quiver in Erskine's soul, either, because that one was less bright and verged on a kind of resentment.
Saffron leapt in before he could figure out what to say instead. "But you did it," she said. "And you walked away this time too. The High Priest's furious. If I don't go back, he'll send someone to find me, unless I'm somewhere I can't be touched."
Healer she might have been, but she was definitely raised in the Temple. The words had an almost clinical practicality. Regardless of whatever other emotions she was feeling, she'd sought him out because she believed he could protect her. She was a fool.
No, she was just ignorant. She would have been a acolyte or an apprentice back then. A student, like one of the dozen he'd murdered to save himself. It took a moment for him to realise his skin was crawling.
"You don't want my protection," he said in a low voice. "I can direct you somewhere you'll be safe, I can give you a bit of advice, I can tell you for certain that remaining at the Temple is as great a risk as you're fearing, but I can't protect you or save you the way you're asking."
"That's not very fair."
"Life's not fair." He was prepared to give this whole meeting up as a mistake and call Tipstaff back to give her some money and a list of safe havens, or a plane ticket off the island, when her soul surged like a dam blocked and now unleashed. Before she even said anything, he knew what she was going to say, and his mouth dried.
"How did the acolytes watching that battle die?"
It took Solomon a moment to answer. He was shaken, and he looked it. He knew that. He couldn't help it. "What?"
"The acolytes who were killed during that duel," Saffron repeated. She was terrified. Terrified of Tenebrae, awed over Solomon, and God help him she was still Necromancer enough to play a trump. "I was just into my apprenticeship, you see. I helped autopsy the bodies. The High Priest wanted to know what side-effects there might have been. No one ever just fell dead on the sidelines like that before. Not that we discovered anything. I doubt we'd have discovered anything even if we had all the resources today; they just fell down dead."
"A great deal like the ability Vile later exhibited, you may have noticed," Solomon pointed out. He was slipping. He was slipping badly, if that had shocked him.
Who was he kidding? He'd slipped a long time ago, and hadn't yet regained his equilibrium.
"Yes, it was," she agreed, and then said nothing, but she didn't need to. The implication hung in the air, a visible thing. Solomon almost couldn't believe it was there. How could this, a healer, have known? And not said anything? It was impossible.
No, she was bluffing; she had to be. There was no reason to assume anything other than the fact that Vile had killed them. She was just tossing out aspersions, and he'd already tipped his hand too much. It was probably his comment that Vile hadn't spared him. If Vile hadn't, then Solomon had to have fought him off on his own--somehow.
Two weeks ago, Solomon would have lied without a qualm. Now, even though he refused to actually confirm it, he found that the words to deny it outright just wouldn't come. And the silence stretched on.
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"But you were the only one that did, and lived," Saffron said, and there was a note in her voice, a quiver in her soul, which Solomon really did not like. It was bright and unflickering, and looked a lot like awe. "He was--frighteningly powerful even then. You were the only one that lived. I'm not sure even the High Priest could have lived if he'd tried."
"I wish he had," Solomon muttered. "Believe me, it wasn't--"
He was about to say it wasn't because of anything he'd done, but it had been. He just hadn't known it. And he didn't like that quiver in Erskine's soul, either, because that one was less bright and verged on a kind of resentment.
Saffron leapt in before he could figure out what to say instead. "But you did it," she said. "And you walked away this time too. The High Priest's furious. If I don't go back, he'll send someone to find me, unless I'm somewhere I can't be touched."
Healer she might have been, but she was definitely raised in the Temple. The words had an almost clinical practicality. Regardless of whatever other emotions she was feeling, she'd sought him out because she believed he could protect her. She was a fool.
No, she was just ignorant. She would have been a acolyte or an apprentice back then. A student, like one of the dozen he'd murdered to save himself. It took a moment for him to realise his skin was crawling.
"You don't want my protection," he said in a low voice. "I can direct you somewhere you'll be safe, I can give you a bit of advice, I can tell you for certain that remaining at the Temple is as great a risk as you're fearing, but I can't protect you or save you the way you're asking."
"That's not very fair."
"Life's not fair." He was prepared to give this whole meeting up as a mistake and call Tipstaff back to give her some money and a list of safe havens, or a plane ticket off the island, when her soul surged like a dam blocked and now unleashed. Before she even said anything, he knew what she was going to say, and his mouth dried.
"How did the acolytes watching that battle die?"
It took Solomon a moment to answer. He was shaken, and he looked it. He knew that. He couldn't help it. "What?"
"The acolytes who were killed during that duel," Saffron repeated. She was terrified. Terrified of Tenebrae, awed over Solomon, and God help him she was still Necromancer enough to play a trump. "I was just into my apprenticeship, you see. I helped autopsy the bodies. The High Priest wanted to know what side-effects there might have been. No one ever just fell dead on the sidelines like that before. Not that we discovered anything. I doubt we'd have discovered anything even if we had all the resources today; they just fell down dead."
"A great deal like the ability Vile later exhibited, you may have noticed," Solomon pointed out. He was slipping. He was slipping badly, if that had shocked him.
Who was he kidding? He'd slipped a long time ago, and hadn't yet regained his equilibrium.
"Yes, it was," she agreed, and then said nothing, but she didn't need to. The implication hung in the air, a visible thing. Solomon almost couldn't believe it was there. How could this, a healer, have known? And not said anything? It was impossible.
No, she was bluffing; she had to be. There was no reason to assume anything other than the fact that Vile had killed them. She was just tossing out aspersions, and he'd already tipped his hand too much. It was probably his comment that Vile hadn't spared him. If Vile hadn't, then Solomon had to have fought him off on his own--somehow.
Two weeks ago, Solomon would have lied without a qualm. Now, even though he refused to actually confirm it, he found that the words to deny it outright just wouldn't come. And the silence stretched on.