Page 118 of Untempered
That decided it. I went back to the hearth and banked it high. When I got her back—and I would—she’d need the heat.
Damn it. We hadn’t needed her interference! I flew from the hearth to the side room, opened my bag, and stripped off my wet shirt, tossing it aside. I’d need an oiled cloak—not for myself, but for her. I refused to even look at the modest first-aid kit I carried with me. If she needed it desperately, then it wouldn’t be enough anyway.
At least it would be easy to sneak out of the keep, I thought grimly, ignoring my tabard as I tightened my belt over a fresh shirt. No one was watching us, anyway.
CHAPTERFORTY-SEVEN
CHAY
“A slow and relaxed breath will help your horse be calm.”
~ How to Tame Your Brumby: A Collection of Raider’s Ban Wisdom.
Frustration gnawed at me as my mind skipped ahead over the numerous paths she could take just to the tower, much less through the city. The chances of missing her were high. I didn’t care. If I could find my oiled cloak, I was out. But it was still eluding my searching hands when I heard the door shut gently.
My heart leaped into my throat as I looked toward the noise in time to see a hunched, cloaked figure pass by, a basket in their hand.
The disguise didn’t fool me. Not when those footfalls made no noise. The worry receded, and fury rushed into the void it left behind, filling my chest. I breathed deeply, drew it down into my toes, grabbed my discarded first-aid kit, and went out to drop the bar over the door behind her.
She pulled off a dark, sodden cap as I walked in, glancing up at me. Exhaustion made her look old. Her eyes were almost entirely black.
“Don’t tell me you didn’t need me,” she said, the words reedy. “There were at least two dozen, and they were mostly archers. You would’ve all been dead, and then I’d be dead, too.”
I tossed the kit onto the divan. Her lips were blue. Blue was better than black, though. She made an attempt to strip the gloves from her hands, fumbling with the leather.
Drawing on patience I didn’t know I had, I offered my palm, wishing I could just snatch her damned hands and do it for her, but forcing myself to ask first and wait for her to put her hand in mine.
She didn’t move.
I stuffed down the hurt and remembered her heartbreak. I’d had my own. Neither of us had dealt with it. Wariness wasn’t unreasonable from her, and patience wasn’t too much to ask of me.
So I kept my hand steady. She didn’t need to know my pulse was racing. “There isn’t a single archer in the La’Angi guard,” I told her, still waiting for her hands. “You need to fix that.”
“Before my father and Raider’s Ban had a falling out, we traded,” she said, looking disoriented. “’Ban withdrew their support decades ago. We never filled the void.”
“Sounds like bad leadership.”
“Sounds like ego and oversight,” she said. “Specifically. Sorry. Was that—did that come across as disagreement?”
She was okay. Rattled and sicker than I thought, but okay. That was enough. And she was talking to me, too.
I was about to close my hand when I saw her eyes flicker down to it. Time stretched out, and I remembered tearing through the tower, searching for her. After the wait this afternoon for her to return, I could linger here all day.
I didn’t need to, though. She set her icy claw-like hand in my palm awkwardly.
My mouth went dry.
Her gloves were sodden and the leather didn’t want to move, but I eventually peeled one back to show skin as translucent as moonlight, woven with black veins. “I was as fast as I could be getting back,” she told me, as if still braced for a reprimand. “And I’m cold.”
I remembered the arrow that had only narrowly missed me. That one archer could’ve done some damage to us, clustered like we were. If there really had been two dozen bowmen, we were all very lucky my bluff and the genuine threat of her archery had been enough.
“I’ll admit I’d have been less concerned if you hadn’t been alone,” I said, and was proud of how the anger in my gut was nowhere near my voice as I pried the second glove off her ice-cold hand. “I’ll get you fresh clothes. Stay in front of the fire.”
I received no objections, which turned some of the anger back into worry. I went upstairs and rummaged through neatly hung dresses of all persuasions. I missed Kadan’s room, which smelled of sea and horse and was filled with laughter and sand. I found shirts in a bureau and some plain skirts. I don’t know where she hid her men’s garb—that would’ve been better, surely, for warmth? The skirts I’d grabbed didn’t match. I didn’t care. She could wear dry clothes and not die.
By the time I returned, all she’d done was unhook her cloak. I tossed aside what I’d brought. “I’m going to help get you undressed,” I told her, tossing her wet cloak further away. “You’re too cold. It’s dangerous.”
I half expected that she’d protest, or rally to do it herself. “Th—thanking you,” she said, shuddering.
