She sensed now that Kelmir had been with her and that he had struggled to stay linked to her semiconscious mind as Milos brought her back to the hold. He had watched as the holder lifted her, draping her across Trad’s back, followed them back to the edge of the forest, and waited since without food or rest. Now, raw-edged hunger gnawed at him. Go, my friend, she told him. Hunt. Eat. I will live.
He hesitated. Go, she repeated. I do not wish to lose you, too. There was doubt in his mind, and something niggled at her brain.
Vaith?
No, it was wishful thinking and delirium. She had seen him attack the basilisk. She had heard his cries. The sensation pushed at her again and her wish became a certainty. Oh, Vaith, it is you! I thought I had lost you. His senses were weak and sluggish, but he was alive. New tears scalded her eyes.
Images flooded her mind in quick succession. The holder’s horse rearing back. Her body thrown to the ground. The basilisk poised to strike. Vaith screeching and diving. The basilisk rising to the attack.
She recalled the scorching pain of venom burning into her flesh. Wherever her leather jerkin didn’t cover, the venom had burned through her shirt, blistering the skin beneath. She remembered screaming as the poison blazed across arms and neck. Then darkness.
Kira thought the venom had exploded over Vaith, too. But Kelmir had finished off the basilisk, springing from behind to snap its neck. As Kelmir launched himself through the air, Vaith was knocked aside and tumbled into the brush. Hurt, not killed.
Kira closed her eyes. Yes, my dear Kel. You did well to kill the beast swiftly. Now go. Hunt.
The images drained away as he turned his thoughts to the hunt, instinct driving him. She stayed in his mind as he headed deep into the woods to sate his hunger. She allowed herself to sink into his senses, to feel his stride lengthen into a lope, to smell the moist odors of plants and soil as she drifted back to sleep.
* * *
It was night when she woke again. Stars glittered in the sky outside her window, and she saw the round hump of the waning moon as it rose over the eastern hills. A fire glowed in the hearth on the far side of the room and she wondered that she had slept through the tending of it. She sent out her thoughts, searching for Kelmir in the night, and sensed him in the distance, sated and sleepy. She left him and sought Vaith. He was half-asleep, but nearby. She didn’t try to rouse him.
He is alive. He is hurt, but he lives.
She moved her arms in tentative motions, expecting the searing pain. But the sting had lessened. Her burns were healing. She exhaled in relief and coughed. Her throat was a scorched desert. Her mouth held a sour metallic taste. She must have breathed in some of the basilisk’s poison. She picked up the drinking cup from the bedside table, sniffed at the contents and smelled chamomile and other soothing herbs. Ah, Milvari, you have learned well, she thought, taking small sips from the cup before placing it back onto the table. She tried to talk, rasping out a few whispery syllables. She would be hoarse for days.
She smiled. Heresta would have told her to take advantage of this opportunity to learn to think before she spoke. When she’d been a child, Heresta had cautioned her time and time again about her temper and flare for sharp words. Words can be a knife. Capable of skinning the truth when need be, but liable to cut through the heart. And some wounds never heal, she’d said.
Kira recalled the verbal wounds Toril had inflicted on her. They had gone deeper than the flesh he’d marred. Toril. His name caused a bitterness to rise in the back of her throat and her stomach tightened with sickness. Toril the Bold. The man she had met had been that. Bold as well as brave. The man she had fallen in love with, she reminded herself with another surge of bitterness. She had other names for him now. Toril the Brute. Toril the Beast!
Yes, he had been brave, but he had also been hungry. Hungry for power. Why did she still think of him? Why couldn’t she make herself forget? But she knew the answer. He had been the first man, the only man she had ever been with. And she still remembered the time they had together before he had grown cruel and cold. She hadn’t fallen in love with a warlord; she had fallen in love with a man. A man who could be tender and strong at the same time, a man she had believed had loved her in return.
Kira clenched her jaw, gritting her teeth as the bitterness in her throat turned to bile. Nausea washed over her. She leaned over the side of the bed, wincing at the pain, her hand seeking the chamber pot as the sickness burst from her. She wiped her face on a piece of linen, then lay back on the bed. Perhaps she should avoid thinking of Toril while the basilisk poison was still in her blood. The two things clearly didn’t mix well. She closed her eyes and willed herself to drift back into healing sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Milvari balanced the tray in her hands as she hurried toward the sickroom. As she passed her uncle’s library, the sound of angry voices carried through the door. She paused just outside, setting her tray down onto a nearby table, pretending to adjust the items on it as she listened to her mother and uncle argue.
“I will not give her over to a bounty hunter simply on his word that she is an escaped indentured. She is wounded and in the care of Tem Hold. I will not hand over a wounded person to a man we know nothing of.”
“But Milos, I gave him my word. She cannot be worth more than that.”
“Have a care, Mayet. You forget your place. I am holder here, not you. Your word does not stand against mine.”
“But he represents a powerful man. What do you expect me to tell him?”
“I expect you to have no further dealings with him, whoever he represents.”
“If Kamar were alive, he would think of his people first.”
“You mean he would defer to you. My brother was a good man, but in at least one thing he did not make the wisest choice.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“You know well what I mean, Mayet. You have no concern for the people of this hold. Your motives are selfish, as they have ever been.”
“How dare you? If it weren’t for you, Kamar would be alive and I would still be lady of this poor excuse for a hold!”
There was a long pause. Milvari’s hands stopped moving and she held her breath.
When her uncle spoke, his voice was a low growl, but his words pierced through the door like sharpened knives. “I am well aware of my role in my brother’s death. Do you not think that I suffer every day with this knowledge? That he would be alive if I had not convinced him to go on the hunt with me that day.”
“Then why do you dishonor his memory by running this hold into ruin?”
“I am tired of trying to keep the peace with you Mayet. If you dislike the way this hold is run, then I suggest you seek elsewhere for a place to dwell.”
“You would drive us out? Over a disloyal peasant?”
“No. But neither will I keep you here against your will. As for the Hunter, she is under the protection of this hold, and by the laws of our land no one may remove her or send her away without my bidding. She is here at my sufferance and will so remain.”
“You use the law as you would a herd beast, Milos Tem. You would give the people a say in hold business, but only when it is to your liking. You’re no better than the holders you scorn. Worse. You say one thing and do another! Perhaps there is something more to your motives in protecting her.”
There was no response from Uncle Milos. Angry footsteps moved toward the door.
Milvari gripped the tray in her hands and rushed down the hall, turning the corner at the same moment that the library door flew open. She hurried to the room at the end of the adjacent hallway and slipped inside. She shut the door quietly behind her and waited to catch her breath.
A wedge of late morning sunlight cut through the dark room and fell across the floor. Setting the tray on a table near the fireplace, Milvari went to the window and pulled at the heavy curtains to close the gap.
“Leave them,” a voice croaked from the bed. “This is not a death room. A li
ttle light is welcome.”
Milvari let go of the drapes and hurried across the room. “You’re awake. How do you feel?” She stared expectantly at the young woman lying on the bed.
“Like a log that’s been thrown onto the fire and dragged halfway out again.” The hunter laughed with a whispery rasp. “Although, I am already healing, thanks to you.”
Milvari’s mind clouded with doubt. The voices inside chided her, listing her shortcomings. She frowned. “The herbs weren’t ground fine enough and the salve was too thick. I’m afraid I might have torn the skin when I applied it—“
“Milvari, stop. The salve is fine. It’s doing the work it was meant to do.”
“I was so worried that I did everything all wrong.”
“You’ve done well.”
“Truly?”
“Truly.”
A flush of pride warmed Milvari. “Brilissa helped with the tea,” she said, wrinkling up her face as she recalled her first effort at concocting the healing draught. “It tasted horrible at first. She made it much better.”
“There, you see? You took care to consider the taste of the medicine, and asked for help where you saw the need.”
The last of the hunter’s words were breathy and almost beyond hearing. “You should eat and rest,” Milvari told her. “Brilissa made hot broth and fresh tea. Let me help you sit up.” She arranged the cushions to allow the hunter to sit up, then retrieved the tray from the table. She waited as the hunter spooned some of the broth into her mouth and swallowed.
“You’ve added willow bark and valerian root to the broth?”
Milvari grimaced. “A small amount. I didn’t think it was enough to be noticed.”
“It probably wouldn’t be to an untrained palate. But it will often help a patient rest.” The hunter smiled, ate several mouthfuls of broth, then set the spoon down. She took a few sips of the fresh tea and leaned back into the cushions with a sigh. “How is your uncle?” she asked, her voice less raspy.
Milvari remembered the argument she’d overheard between her mother and uncle. Torn between loyalty to her mother and her desire to protect this woman she had grown to love, she decided to remain silent. The last thing she wanted was to upset the hunter while she was ill and needed to rest. “He wasn’t hurt by the basilisk. He said you stepped between him and the creature when it attacked.”
“That wasn’t quite my intention. I was trying to get us both out of the way.”
“Vaith is in the stable. Uncle Milos brought him back to the hold, as well,” Milvari said. “I wasn’t certain how to care for him, so Master Jarret and Harl have been tending him. He is hurt, but he is alive and his wounds are mending.”
“Yes, I know,” the hunter said sleepily.
How could she know? Milvari shook her head. The sleeping herbs must be making the hunter groggy and confused. She cleared away the tray and dishes, then set the mug of tea on the table near the bed and waited until the hunter fell asleep.
When she opened the door to leave, she found her uncle standing in the hallway outside. Milvari pulled the door shut behind her.
“How does she fare?” he asked.
“She has eaten a small amount of broth and she appears to be healing.”
His face was grim. “Can she speak?”
Milvari did not move away from the door. She glanced at the floor, and then raised her eyes to his. “She’s sleeping. And she should rest. I think the herbs have made her delirious,” she mumbled. Being responsible was no easy charge.
He squinted at her, peering into her face, his forehead wrinkling. “It will keep, then. But not for too long.” He stepped back to give her room to pass, and stood staring at the closed door behind her.
Milvari started to move toward the kitchen, then turned back. She drew in her breath. “Uncle. I heard what mother told you.” He wrenched his gaze from the door, turning irate eyes on her, and she stopped. Gripping the tray to steady her shaking hands, she continued. “I know I should not have listened, but . . .” She forced herself to stand tall before him. “Mother said the hunter is a runaway bondservant. Is it true?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “But I intend to find out.”
“If it is,” Milvari said. “I know there must be a reason. She—the hunter—she has a good heart.”
His fists clenched. “You have the innocence of youth, Milvari. You’re too young to read the hearts of others.”
She gave him a sad smile. “You may be right, Uncle. But I am learning.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Mayet tried to focus on what the messenger was saying, but the words ran together in a daze of sound. Tratine should be here. Her boy should be by her side, but the man before her claimed he was being held until an exchange could be arranged. A cry escaped her and she covered her face with her hands.
Milos! It was all his fault. If only he had sent that harlot to the bounty hunter, Tratine would be here now. But he had refused. Refused! Mayet had had no option but to send Tratine to tell Lagos of her failure to convince the holder to hand over the woman. There was no one else she could trust. No one else to send.
The man cleared his throat and Mayet looked up.
“Lagos requires an answer,” he said. His beady eyes, sunk deep in a bloated face, darted nervously about the room.
“I am only a holder’s widow. I have no power here.”
“Lagos gave you the opportunity to turn over the woman, as you agreed. Yet, now you say that you have no power.” The man sneered.
“What you are doing goes against the land law. These actions will condemn you,” Mayet blurted.
“Lagos made the effort to abide by your petty local customs, but you have refused to fulfill your side of the bargain.” He spat upon the floor and wiped his bulgy lips on his sleeve.
Mayet cringed. “What does he expect of me?”
“He expects you to arrange a simple trade. He’ll even give you the better value. An heir for a lowly peasant.” He scowled. “You wouldn’t want anything to happen to your precious boy, would you?”
Mayet’s throat constricted and she shuddered. “No.”
The messenger smirked at her, obviously enjoying her fear. The bastard! A writhing anger rose up and she pulled it close, shielding herself from the terror that scrabbled inside. But anger would not serve her now, nor would fear. “Very well,” she said, donning a mask of haughty annoyance. Her mind whirled. She needed a new plan, but nothing came to her. “I will need some time to make the arrangements.”
“You have one day. There is a copse of trees three leagues northwest of here bordering a large meadow. Bring the woman there at dusk tomorrow. If you are late, we’ll leave the boy for you.” He let out a gruff chuckle. “But not all in one place.” He bowed mockingly and left the room.
Mayet sank into a chair, her knees too weak to hold her. Milos would be furious, but he couldn’t possibly refuse her now. Not when the life of Tem Hold’s heir, his own nephew, was at stake.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Breathless, Milvari ran beside her uncle, attempting to keep pace with his long strides. “At least let me prepare her—”
“Just make certain she is awake.” He glared at the heavy wooden door that barred the way into the room.
Milvari’s hand shook as she turned the handle. She slipped inside the room and quickly shut the door behind her. The bed lay empty. The heavy curtains were pulled back and the hunter stood at the window, staring out at the dull morning where dark clouds lowered in an overcast sky. Wintry light cast the room in muted grays, and in the wrinkled sleeping gown her pale figure was nearly invisible against the soft whiteness outside.
“You should be resting,” Milvari said.
“I have rested enough,” the hunter responded in a hoarse voice. “I need to move and to stretch.”
“My uncle wishes to speak with you.”
The tall woman looked down at herself and held up the folds of white cotton that draped her body. “I cannot
see him like this.”
Milvari nodded. “He will not wait. You could get back into bed.”
The hunter hesitated. “No. I need clothes, a fresh shirt.”
“In the wardrobe.” Milvari pointed to a heavy oak cupboard on the far side of the room. “Please, hurry. His mood is dark. He will not be patient for long.” She spoke quietly, but tried to convey a sense of urgency with her tone.
The hunter threw open the cupboard doors and took out a stack of fresh clothes. “These aren’t mine,” she said, holding up a new shirt, leather jerkin and breeches.
“Your clothes were ruined. Brilissa sent those for you.”
Wincing, the hunter shrugged off the gown and pulled on the fresh shirt and new breeches. Before she had time to slip on the vest, there was a loud pounding the door.
Milvari rushed to open it. Her uncle brushed past her. He stood by the table and stared at the hunter, his fists clenching and unclenching.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
The hunter’s eyes grew wide, then her face went blank. Milvari quietly swung the door shut and stood with her back to it, apparently forgotten. She waited in silence, hoping to learn what angered him so.
The hunter tensed. She seemed poised to flee. “My name is Kira.”
“And who is Ardea?” His voice was gruff.
“Ardea is—was—my mother’s name.”
Kira? Ardea? Why was Uncle Milos asking these questions? Milvari watched the two intently, her uncle glaring at the woman before him, the hunter with her eyes on his face. Milvari held her breath.
“Why did you lie about your name?” he asked finally.
“I was afraid.” Green eyes flashed in the pale light.
He raised his hands in a questioning gesture. “Afraid of what? What about your service frightens you? Fulfilling your contract or keeping your bargain?”
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