Page 49 of Tristan
I gain enough purchase on the handle to swipe the blade upward, but not enough to do the damage I need to. It is, however, enough. I feel the sword sink into me, but not where he would have liked it to. It pierces my shoulder—the pain explodes and my world narrows to it, my vision turns to shadows and all I can see is an outline as he pulls the sword viciously from me and readies to strike again. I hear the clatter as my dagger drops from my hand after being pierced; all I can do is try to struggle as I prepare for his sword to stab me again. This time it will be lethal. I’m about to die, but I won’t die a coward. I keep my eyes focused on his and dare him to strike me again.
His sword never comes. The Elf falls to his knees, injured, not dead and Corrik is there behind him. I hear the sickening suction of a sword being pulled out of flesh. The Elf falls onto my thighs. I can barely make Corrik out due to my pain-induced, shadowy vision, butI can feel the thunderous rage peeling off him. He shouts orders in Elvish and rushes to my side.
“Tahsen.”
“Diekin—!"
“He will be all right.”
“But I saw him die.”
“He will be fine, D’orhai.”
I make to rise, but he puts a hand to my chest and slides an arm under my legs and shoulders. I decide not to make an issue of him carrying me or report the list of injuries I’ve sustained in my short life that are worse than this one, nor do I demand to walk because my Elf has gone silent. That never means anything good with Corrik.
He carries me to our bed, and I don’t want to get blood all over. He shushes me. “Sleep, D’orhai. Everything is taken care of. I will fix you.” He says nothing about blood on the sheets; it’s all I’m worried about. What a thing to worry about as I bleed to death.
I struggle a bit, trying to fight him. How can I sleep at a time like this? Seeing I’m in no state to obey his will, he forces his hand by gently stroking my hair and laces it with his Elven magic. It washes over me. My eyes get heavy and darkness falls.
“Tristan?” he says, when he notices me waking. I don’t know how long I’ve slept, but it feels like days.
“I’m okay, Corrik.” I’m better than, I discover as I test the shoulder that should in the least feel some discomfort, but there’s nothing to prove it was stabbed at all.
“I was worried.” I’ve not yet seen fear in the great war Elf’s eyes. It’s there now.
“I’m not dead, I really am fine,” I assure him again. “Is Diekin okay?” I saw him fatally stabbed, but Corrik promised me he was going to be fine.
“He is alive and well, but he is Elf, you are human. Both of youwere healed with Elven magic, but you will take longer to recover than he did.”
I want to thank him for reminding me of my weaknesses, but now is not a good time to tease him.
“Diekin waits to kill the man responsible. We are going to question him, but I made him wait a few days. I wanted to make sure you were okay first. I knew I wouldn’t have all my wits about me if not.”
“I’m coming with you,” I say and try to rise.
“I don’t think so.” He pushes me down. “Youare going to rest. This is not a matter for you to deal with.”
“I have dealt with matters like this before.”
“No. You stay here, and I had better not catch you out of bed, Kathir.” His face hardens, but this time I can detect the fear beneath his anger. None of it matters. I’m done being a doll. I felt alive for the first time this journey when that Elf jumped me; it forced my body to remember what it was like on the battlefield.
I push against his hand, knowing he will be gentle with me for the moment. “I’m coming with you, Corrik. Let that be an end to it,” I say using Papa’s words. I’ve heard him say that to my father and in those times, my father would quietly acquiesce anything Papa demanded.Will it work on Corrik?
Maybe in time; not today.
“By Ylor! I don’t know what’s got into you—must have hit your head when you fell—you know better than to talk to me like that.” It’s true. I know what my disobedience does to him. He stands, the room fills with his restraint, and he positions his face inches from mine. “You will not leave this room,” he hisses then makes to leave.
“If you do this without me, I shall never speak to you again—you have my word as a Markaytian on that,” I say. He knows my dragon blood has spoken and if he wants to fight with a dragon, he can and he will lose.
He’s mad—mad enough to light this ship on fire, inches away from violence. “Get dressed, I will return to retrieve you,” he saysbetween grit teeth and storms from the room almost tearing the door off its hinges as he exits.
After what seems like decades later, he returns. He’s still angry with me. He thrusts something out at me; I recognize it immediately.
“Explain this.”
“That’s my dagger.” I reach to take it from him, he yanks it from my reach.
“I can see that,” he says gesturing to the Markaytian Crest on the handle. “What is your dagger doing aboard this ship?”
