“Hold that branch,” she Commanded. Again, Breath left her. More of it this time. Her trousers drained of color, and the rope end twisted, wrapping around the branch. The rest of it remained still.

She smiled in satisfaction. So the more complicated the Command, the more Breath it requires.

She took back her Breath. As Vasher had explained, doing so didn’t shock her senses, for it was a mere restoration to a normal state for her. If she’d gone several days without that Breath, she’d have been overwhelmed by recovering its power. It was a little like taking a first bite of something very flavorful.

She eyed her clothes, which were now completely grey. Out of curiosity, she tried Awakening the rope again. Nothing happened. She picked up a stick, then Awakened the rope. It worked this time, the stick losing its color, though it took a lot more breath. Perhaps this was because the stick wasn’t very colorful. The tree trunk didn’t work for color, though. Presumably, one couldn’t draw color from something that was itself alive.

She discarded the branch and fetched a few of Vasher’s colored handkerchiefs from the room. She walked back to the tree. Now what? she thought. Could she put the Breath into the rope now, then command it to hold something later? How would she even phrase that?

“Hold things that I tell you to hold,” she Commanded.

Nothing happened.

“Hold that branch when I tell you.”

Again, nothing.

“Hold whatever I say.”

Nothing.

A voice came from behind. “Tell it to ‘Hold when thrown.’”

Vivenna jumped, spinning. Vasher stood behind her, Nightblood held before him, point down. He had his pack over his shoulder.

Vivenna flushed, glancing back at the rope. “Hold when thrown,” she said, using a handkerchief for color. Her Breath left her, but the rope remained limp. So she tossed it to the side, hitting one of the hanging tree branches.

The rope immediately twisted about, locking the branches together and holding them tightly.

“That’s useful,” Vivenna said.

Vasher raised an eyebrow. “Perhaps. Dangerous though.”

“Why?”

“Get the rope back.”

Vivenna paused, realizing that the rope had twisted around branches that were too high for her to reach. She hopped up, trying to grab it.

“I prefer to use a longer rope,” Vasher said, raising Nightblood by the blade and using its hooked crossguard to pull the branches down. “If you always keep hold of one end, then you don’t have to worry about it getting taken from you. Plus, you can Awaken when you need to, rather than leaving a bunch of Breath locked into a rope that you may or may not need.”

Vivenna nodded, recovering her Breath from the rope.

“Come on,” he said, walking back toward the room. “You’ve made enough of a spectacle for one day.”

Vivenna followed, noticing that several people on the street had stopped to watch her. “How did they notice?” she asked. “I wasn’t that obvious about what I was doing.”

Vasher snorted. “And how many people in T’Telir walk around in grey clothing?”

Vivenna blushed as she followed Vasher into the cramped room. He set down his pack and then leaned Nightblood against one wall. Vivenna eyed the sword. She still wasn’t certain what to make of the weapon. She felt a little nauseated every time she looked at it, and the memory of how violently sick she’d felt when touching it was still fresh.

Plus there had been that voice in her head. Had she really heard it? Vasher had been characteristically tight-lipped when she’d asked about it, rebuffing her questions.

“Aren’t you an Idrian?” Vasher asked, drawing her attention as he settled down.

“Last I checked,” she replied.

“You seem oddly fascinated with Awakening for a follower of Austre.” He spoke with eyes closed as he rested his head against the door.

“I’m not a very good Idrian,” she said, sitting down. “Not anymore. I might as well learn to use what I have.”

Vasher nodded. “Good enough. I’ve never really understood why Austrism suddenly turned its back on Awakening.”

“Suddenly?”

He nodded, eyes still closed. “Wasn’t like that before the Manywar.”

“Really?”

“Of course,” he said.

He often spoke that way, mentioning things that seemed farfetched to her, yet saying them as if he knew exactly what he was talking about. No conjecture. No wavering. As if he knew everything. She could see why it was sometimes hard for him to get along with people.

“Anyway,” Vasher said, opening his eyes. “Did you eat all of that squid?”

She nodded. “Is that what that was?”

“Yes,” he said, opening his pack, getting out another dried chunk of meat. He held it up. “Want more?”

She felt sick. “No, thank you.”

He paused, noticing the look in her eyes. “What? Did I give you a bad piece?”

She shook her head.

“What?” he asked.

“It’s nothing.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I said it’s nothing.” She glanced away. “I just don’t care for fish very much.”

“You don’t?” he asked. “I’ve been feeding it to you for five days now.”

She nodded silently.

“You ate it every time.”

“I’m dependent upon you for food,” she said. “I don’t intend to complain about what you give me.”

He frowned, then took a bite of squid and began chewing. He still wore his torn, almost-ragged clothing, but Vivenna had now been around him enough to know that he kept it clean. He obviously had the resources to get new clothing, yet he chose to wear the worn and tattered things instead. He also wore the same half-scrub, half-beard on his face. It never seemed to get longer, yet she never saw him trim it or shave it. How did he manage to keep it just the right length? Was that intentional, or was she reading too much into it?

“You aren’t what I expected,” he said.

“I would have been,” she said. “A few weeks ago.”

“I doubt it,” he said, gnawing on his chunk of squid. “That tenacious spirit you’ve got doesn’t come from a few weeks on the streets. Neither does that sense of martyrdom.”

She met his eyes. “I want you to teach me more about Awakening.”

He shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

“I don’t even know how to answer that,” she said. “Denth taught me a few Commands, but that was the same day that you took me captive.”

Vasher nodded. They sat silent for a few minutes.

“Well?” she finally asked. “Are you going to say anything?”

“I’m thinking,” he said.

She raised an eyebrow.

He scowled. “Awakening is something I’ve done for a very, very long time. I always have trouble trying to explain it. Don’t rush me.”

“It’s okay,” she said. “Take your time.”

He shot her a glance. “Don’t patronize me either.”

“I’m not patronizing; I’m being polite.”

“Well next time, be polite with less condescension in your voice,” he said.

Condescension? she thought. I wasn’t condescending! She eyed him as he sat, chewing on his dried squid. The more time she spent with him, the less frightening she found him, but the more frustrating. He is a dangerous man, she reminded herself. He has left corpses strewn all over the city, using that sword of his to make people slaughter each other.

She’d considered running from him on several occasions, but had eventually decided that she’d be a fool to do so. She could find no fault in his efforts to stop the war, and his solemn promise in the basement that first day still stuck with her. She believed him. Hesitantly.

She just intended to keep her eyes open a little wider from now on.

“All right,” he said. “I guess this is for the best. I’m getting tired of you walking around with that bright aura of yours that you can’t even use.”

“Well?”

“Well, I think we should start with theory,” he said. “There are four kinds of BioChromatic entities. The first, and most spectacular, are the Returned. They’re called gods here in Hallandren, but I’d rather call them Spontaneous Sentient BioChromatic Manifestations in a Deceased Host. What is odd about them is that they’re the only naturally occurring BioChromatic entity, which is theoretically the explanation for why they can’t use or bestow their BioChromatic Investiture. Of course, the fact is that every living being is born with a certain BioChromatic Investiture. This could also explain why Type Ones retain sentience.”