Page 80 of The Eyes of Tamburah
She groaned. Damn thing would hurt more coming out than going in. Thanksso muchXimen. The arrows had been his idea.
“Here.” The monk handed her a cup of green liquid. “Drink it.” When she hesitated, he added, “Unless you’d rather be awake while I cut this arrow out of you?”
She drained it. Someone took the cup from her numb fingers before she dropped it. All sensations fled her limbs. Wow, that was…
* * *
Fast. The word spun in circles around her mind. But nothing else matched. All her dreams featured slow burns and legs mired in deep sand as she struggled to move forward even though her destination remained a tiny spot in the distance.
Even pulling her consciousness from her dreams required a protracted effort. First she acknowledged the dry gritty taste in her mouth. Then the familiar and comforting scent of herbs. Followed by the throb of various injuries along with an overall bone-deep ache. The weight of a fur pressed down on her now cool skin. Softness cradled her. Sounds turned from melodious murmurs to words, which transformed into a conversation.
“…depends,” said the raspy-voiced monk.
“That’s not an answer,” growled Rendor.
Shyla opened her eyes. The captain leaned on a cane, his left arm in a sling and his glower firmly in place. The sight of him eased the tightness around her heart. A part of her had worried the Invisible Sword had lied to her about Rendor. Now she could replace the horrible image of him dead and desiccated that her imagination had conjured during her imprisonment. She smiled even though the effort cracked her dry lips.
“It’s been two sun jumps.” Rendor loomed over the monk.
Unintimidated, the monk said, “Nice to know the prince teaches his dogs how to count. She’ll wake when she’s ready.” He left the small room.
Rendor’s grip tightened on his cane. He stared at the door with an expression that promised pain. The image of the big man limping after the monk to whack him with the cane rose in her mind. She stifled a giggle. Well, she tried.
He turned to her. Their gazes met. She clutched the fur, bracing for his anger, his demands about her whereabouts, his suspicions.
But his expression softened. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
She laughed. It hurt everywhere, but she didn’t care. It was the first time in so long, she’d lost count. Nice to be unafraid and not worried. At least for a little while. “But this time you didn’t have to carry me here.”
“Who says I didn’t?” He smirked.
“That cane and sling.”
His good humor faded and a scowl creased his face. “They wouldn’t let me go out there and get you. Said you had to cross the threshold on your own.”
A strange hitch caught in her lungs as if she couldn’t draw in enough air. He would have risked his life. For her?
“Took three of them to hold me back.” Rendor sounded disgusted, as if it should have been more. “I argued I wasn’t a monk. But they said if anyone interfered, the Water Prince could claim you were kidnapped and comerescueyou.”
That wouldn’t be good and not according to the plan. She needed to bring— Seven hells. She struggled to get up from the sleeping cushion. Her shoulder blazed with pain.
Rendor limped over. He set his cane down, knelt, and helped her sit up. “What’s wrong?”
“My pack! Where is it?”
“Why?” And there was Captain Rendor in all his suspicious glory.
Confiding in him was part of the ruse so Shyla glanced at the door and lowered her voice. “I found them.”
He leaned closer. “The Eyes?”
“Yes.”
Rendor sat back on his heels. Surprise, disbelief, suspicion, and calculation all rolled through his eyes before he settled on worried. “How?”
“It won’t matter if I lost them.”
He used his cane to help him stand, then went over to the chest. She was in the standard small room that all the monks had. Furnished with a sleeping cushion, chest, and desk, it embraced one of their tenets—simplicity.
