[This post is from Phelan’s point of view.]
Marin took him by the hand, shrugging his arm from her shoulders. Phelan took a deep breath, glancing toward the wall. “When she was attacking you—did it feel like she was attacking the wardings on the wall, too?”
“That and more,” Marin admitted, following his gaze. “You’re going to say we need to check it.”
“Smart girl,” Phelan murmured, already starting to walk. Marin trailed behind, not letting go of his hand. Leinth’s brow arched, but she followed, crossing her arms beneath the cloak she wore over her jeans and tee.
“What precisely happened?” Leinth asked.
“An attack,” Marin said, glancing back over her shoulder. “An old enemy deciding that her opportunity had finally come.”
“I’m worried, Marin,” Phelan said as they came to the wall. He shifted his staff to the crook of his arm, reaching for the rain-slick concrete and stone. “I’m worried that she’s working with Menhit or worse, Menhit’s working with her. I’m worried that they camazotzi were answering her beckon call, not Menhit’s.”
“There’s nothing we can do about that right now,” Marin said as she drew up alongside him. She squeezed his hand. “We’ll figure it out later, just like everything else.” She pressed her hand against the wall and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. Phelan watched her for a few seconds, then touched the wall himself.
A faint tremor of power worked its way up his arm, sent a shiver skittering down his spine. He breathed a sigh of relief. They were weakened, but they were still undeniably there.
“She damaged them,” Marin murmured, “but not as badly as she could have, I think.”
“Then we repair them as soon as we can,” Leinth said from behind them. “But you let another set of hands help with that, Marin Ambrose. You’ve given more than enough in defense of this place, especially so soon after you had that baby.”
“I’m fine, Leinth,” Marin said, pulling her hand away from the wall and turning toward the other woman. “Really.”
“I know bullshit when I hear it,” Leinth said, though she smiled. “I’ve spouted it often enough myself. You’re not fine, but you do a good job of faking it—for now, at least.