Page 20 of The Crown of Moonlight
“Yet another reason to be grateful that you found me.”I smile, wishing I could make her more comfortable.“I’m aware that I haven’t thanked you adequately—or apologised enough for my behaviour earlier.”
She pauses a moment, then gives a stiff nod.“I thought ‘thank you’ was one of the things Everfolk never said.”
“You shouldn’t believe all the stories.”
Her eyes widen.“How do I know which ones to believe?”
“I don’t know.I suppose you could ask.”
“You could lie.”She lifts one eyebrow in challenge.
I find myself smiling back.Any other time, I’d give an easy answer, but given what she’s doing for me, I owe her more.
“Avoiding a lie isn’t the same as telling the truth,” I say.“Sioraiare masters at walking a blade’s edge.We always have been.”
The oathbands around my bicep give a twinge, more of a warning nudge than outright pain.I feel the runes slithering as they search the various oaths for the words to catch me out.
I’ve been faithful to every promise I’ve made for centuries.Before learning what I recently uncovered about Chulainn and Fionn, I never tried to work around any of them.Even now, I’m still testing the limits, seeing how hard I can push my deeds and thoughts.
Flora tips her head slightly, studying me and uncertain how to respond.Then her manner turns brisk.
“Take your boots and breeches off,” she says.“Can you manage that, or would you rather I cut them off?”
“I can undress myself, and I’ve no particular desire to walk around barefoot and naked when you’re done.”
“I won’t risk having any of your old clothing found if someone searches.I’ve brought other things for you.Unless you can use magic to disguise yourself?”
“Even if I could summon the power to create an illusion, I couldn’t hold it long.And there are some Greys with magic-sense.I wouldn’t be strong enough to keep the magic from being felt.Though that would be a problem anyway.”
She studies me, then bites her lip and looks away.“All right, so no magic then.But we can work around that.”
Something in the determined thrust of her chin makes me hesitant to ask what she means, and I don’t have the strength to argue.
I bend to remove my boot, and grit my teeth through a wave of pain.It’s not as bad as earlier—whatever Flora has done to the wound, even thus far, has helped.Pain itself isn’t unwelcome.A hard-fought battle, sparring with the Riders, the hardships of a Hunt—they’re all proof I’m still alive.After centuries of mostly feeling numb, the more pain the better.It’s something I can throw myself against, something I can fight.
This is different.This is the sort of pain akin to the first sharp slice of a celestial blade that takes too long to fade.Rethinking the wisdom of contorting myself to remove the boot, I snatch up the knife Flora left lying on the table.
She catches my hand and pries the knife from my fingers with surprising strength.“Don’t be stubborn.Twisting and straining will only make the bleeding worse.”
There’s something maddeningly vulnerable about not being able to undress myself.I bite back my frustration and remind myself that she doesn’t have to help me at all.
And she is helping.I’m still feverish, but I don’t feel as depleted of magic.That may have less to do with whatever Flora has done to my chest than to the additional power I’m able to pull through Tuirse and Oran’s Veilstones.Indirectly, I have to give Flora credit for that as well.If she hadn’t taken the rings for safekeeping, I would never have thought to try and use them.That’s another debt I owe her.
After she finishes slicing my boot from calf to heel, she removes it with one deft pull, then moves to cut the other boot.Her head is bent, leaving the nape of her neck exposed, and though I’ve never considered a nape particularly interesting, hers is as strong and graceful as the rest of her.
Throwing the remnants of the second boot on the floor, she straightens.“There, and the breeches next.”
She grows more interesting by the moment, but I’m wearing nothing under the breeches, so I protest.“I can do this part.”
“Don’t worry.I grew up with three brothers.You don’t have anything I haven’t seen before.”She leans closer, and her fingers graze my skin as she reaches for the buckle of my belt.
My breath stutters, and I still her hands.I’m injured, but I’m not dead, and the evidence of my body’s natural response is too close to Flora’s fingers to hope that she won’t notice.I doubtthat’ssomething her brothers ever showed her, and I feel a sting of shame as colour floods her cheeks.
She pushes back her chair and crosses to a chest across the room to remove one of those endlessly long plaids the Highlanders wear like a skirt wrapped around their waists.Unfolding the woollen cloth partway, she drapes it across my lap.Only then does she reach underneath to undo the remaining buttons.
Whether that’s kindness or self-preservation, it feels like mercy.A low pop from the fire in the hearth breaks the silence—sap spitting as the log settles.Flora’s enormous deerhound raises his head and growls.
“Raise your hips,” Flora says, her voice husky.
