“We needed some fresh country air to clear our lungs from the soot-filled skies of Kenatos. What clearer air is there to breathe than here?” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “Does that ring hurt if I tell a lie? My mother was a fat Boeotian newt Finder and my father was a hob-nosed Preachán axle smith. Did it sting? A little?”
One of the Preachán started to shove his chair back, but Kiranrao raised just the tips of his fingers and the man stopped, his teeth clenched in rage.
“You are the world’s biggest fool,” Kiranrao said, almost in awe at the audacity.
“Perhaps,” Paedrin replied with a shrug. “But I am also the best Bhikhu in the temple, save Shivu himself.” He glanced down at the man’s ring, cocking his head slightly as if listening for it to make a sound. He let his words hang in the air a moment, turned on his heel, and left without being dismissed.
“Do not turn your back on me,” Kiranrao said.
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Paedrin paused, but did not turn around. “You think a fancy sword will humble me? Use it then.” He waited.
“The Bhikhu temple needs to learn a lesson in humility,” the other man said softly.
“Really? And you teach courses in humility? I’m rather surprised. You don’t wish to fight me? I will be on my way then.”
He heard the chair legs squeal.
Paedrin was expecting a blade attack from behind. Perhaps a man pretending to be drunk who would stagger into him and let go with a poisoned needle or even just a fist. He was not expecting Hettie.
