Page 137 of Sweetling
It’s helping him heal,Bellarand said.
Molly didn’t care to parse out the difference. What mattered was that her fae would live.
Of course he’ll live,snorted Bellarand.The both of us are far harder to kill than with a few measly stabbings.
She couldn’t help wincing at his brusque attempt at reassurance. Molly never wanted to experience anything like today ever again.
“Just heal him,” she begged the trees and the animals and the earth. “Bring him back to me.”
33
Before the dark of night could fully take hold, Molly raided her bedchamber and Allarion’s and even Ravenna’s for the coverlets. The vast linen cupboards were stocked with some extras, and those she left for their guests, but for tonight…Molly wanted them to have their blankets.
The heavy fabric thrown over her shoulder weighed her down, and after nearly falling on her face twice, she heeded the house’s unhappy creaks and watched her step.
When she reentered the kitchen, trailing coverlets behind her, she felt the weight of many eyes fall upon her.
It was such an odd feeling, having others in the house. They milled about the atrium, dining room, and conservatory. Several had found their way down into the kitchen, her biggest pots steaming with boiling water to cleanse wounds. They’d thankfully lost no one, but the fae attackers had certainly done damage before succumbing to superior numbers.
Hearing feet tread the floorboards and the muffled voices of over a dozen other people grated against her ears. It was nothing to the din of a full tavern, of course, but the house, the forest, were usually so quiet. Their peace had been uprooted, and although she was infinitely grateful for their help, having so many here at once, crowded in her spaces, itched under her skin.
All the more reason to hurry back to Allarion and Bellarand in the meadow.
Pulling the wet cloth from his bruised face, Balar stood when he spotted her from his unswollen eye.
“Here, kitten, let me carry those for you.”
“No,” she said, too quickly.
The manticore looked on her with sympathy, but it didn’t soften her. Logically, she knew they were there to help. They already had. They meant Allarion no harm.
Yet, the idea of allowing them anywhere near him, to see him at his most vulnerable, made acidic bile burn the back of her throat.
Whatever he saw in her eyes, the manticore seemed to understand some of her feelings. Paws up, he approached slowly before dipping down to grab the trailing ends of the coverlets.
“Here, at least don’t let them get wet.”
Gently, he wound the coverlets over her other shoulder, making something of a bulky, unwieldy scarf.
“Thank you,” she managed to say. She wasn’t being a very good hostess, but then, she couldn’t care less if they were comfortable. They weren’t Allarion.
Stepping closer, Lord Hakon asked softly, “How is he, Miss Molly?”
Glowing. Covered in roots. Still asleep.
She blinked at him, throat bobbing as she swallowed the words—he probably didn’t need to know all that.
“He’s resting,” she finally said, “and Bellarand thinks he will recover.”
Of course, Bellarand was known to lie to her, but she didn’t think he was this time.
Lord Hakon sighed in relief. “That’s good to hear. We came here to aid him, only for him to take the worst blows.” His green face drew tight with stark lines. “He saved me.”
The need to get back to her fae pulsed through her veins, but Molly managed to nod at the lord consort. “He’s insufferably noble. I love him for it, but he’ll be getting an earful about it.”
Lord Hakon offered a sad smile. “In his place, I would be too from my Aislinn. Please give him our best. We’ll stay as long as you need. I’ve sent out scouts to ensure that no other threats remain on your land.”
“Thank you,” she said, truly meaning it and not just wanting to finish the conversation. That Lord Hakon and the others had so willingly and quickly rallied for Allarion, that they were still here now, just waiting to help more in some way, filled her with a gratitude sharp enough to pierce her numb panic.
