“No, Milvari,” the hunter told her in a tired voice. “I can see to it, if you will bandage Jolon’s wound. Put the poultice you prepared between two layers of linen, then wrap it in place. Master Jarrett, will you help?”
“Yes, yes. Of course, I will. Are you sure you’ll be all right?”
“I will be fine.” She picked up some linen bandages, the bottle of wine, and a pot of herbs. “I will be in the room at the end of the hall if you need me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
The room was dark except for the red glow of embers on the hearth and the faint light from stars that twinkled in the night sky outside the window. Kira set the wine and bandages down onto the table and lit a taper. A yellow flame fluttered from the wick as she placed the candle in its holder.
A metal pot hung from a hook on one side of the fireplace. She stirred the embers and tossed on a small piece of wood. The urn on the bedside table was almost empty, but there was enough water for her purpose. She poured the water into the pot and added a handful of herbs, then sank into a chair. She poured a small amount of the wine into a cup and drank it down while she waited for the water to boil.
She pulled her arms out of her vest and tossed it onto the table. It was too bad about the damage. The leather was thick and supple. She let out a small laugh. Why was she so worried about a garment?
Steam rose from the kettle and she inhaled the aroma of healing herbs. The familiar scent calmed her. The escape had been difficult, but Tratine was safe, Kelmir was well and her wound was minimal. It remained to be seen if Jolon would heal as well, and whether or not what he had told them of himself and of Toril’s army was true.
She dipped out some of the herbal brew and dropped a piece of clean linen into it. Her hand shook with weariness as she untied the end of the linen shirtsleeve and began to unwrap her wound.
There was a gentle knock at the door. Could they need her so soon? Perhaps there was some complication with Jolon. She paused at her task. “Yes?” she called.
The door opened and Milos stepped inside. “I thought you could use some help,” he said as he crossed the room. “And I brought you this.” He held up a clean shirt.
Kira nodded toward the shirt. “That’s very kind. I’m afraid I have been a bit rough with my new clothes.” She gave him a wry smile. “How is Jolon?”
“Milvari is caring for him. I seemed to be in her way.”
“She learns quickly.” Kira continued to remove the linen from her shoulder. She winced as the last of the cloth peeled stiffly away and a small trickle of blood ran down her arm.
“She is much like her father. He seemed to know things almost before he was shown.” Milos draped the clean shirt over the back of a chair. “Let me help you.”
There was concern in his eyes.
“I can tend a minor wound,” he said, gently moving her hand away from her arm to examine the cut. He drew the candle closer and Kira heard his sharp intake of breath.
She jerked her head around to see. The cut extended from her upper arm, across her shoulder and ended at the back of her neck. The bounty hunter had tried for her throat. If Troka hadn’t called him, if his life force had not already faded when she’d leaned over him, Kira would now be dead.
“It’s really not so bad,” she said. “It still bleeds because it hasn’t been properly cleaned and bound.” She removed the cloth from the bowl and squeezed most of the liquid from it before handing it to him.
She tensed, trying not to jerk away from him as he dabbed at the wound with the cloth. He stopped. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“It needs to be done,” she said. “It will help if you wring some of the liquid onto the wound before wiping it. I have added something to help diminish the pain.”
He was gentle, but the wine stung like nettles inside her shoulder. It was difficult not to pull away from his ministrations, but she held still. He dropped the bloody rag on the table and Kira handed him a freshly soaked cloth. At last the numbing herb began to work. The pain faded into a faint tingle, spreading from the wound into the surrounding tissue. She closed her eyes and relaxed.
“Kira.” Milos spoke her name quietly as he continued to wipe at the blood on her arm and shoulder.
“Yes?”
“Will you tell me now?
She opened her eyes. “Tell you what?”
“About your past. About him. What he did—to you.” There was cold anger in his voice.
“There is little worth telling, little more worth hearing.” Kira sighed. She had put this man and everything he had, everyone he cared for, in danger. He deserved to know the truth. “He was a man whose strength and power made him attractive to a young girl who wanted to feel safe in an uncertain and dangerous world. It was an illusion. The danger he swore to fight against is the danger he became. And the safety that he offered came at a brutal price.”
“Did you love him?”
The question caused her to recoil. Milos’ fingers slipped and the linen dug into her wound. She gasped and he jerked the cloth away from her back. “I am sorry,” he said.
“No. I am the one who is sorry. Part of me knows that Toril would have come here, either soon or late. He would not pass by such a rich region once he was aware of it. But it is because of me that he is coming now, and this hold and its people will become a target for his ire. I need to leave and soon.”
Milos put down the cloth and reached for another length of linen. “Most of the bleeding has stopped, but I know the cut must be wrapped. You will have to slip the shirt off this shoulder.”
Kira reached across with her right hand and untied the lacing. Her left shoulder burned and a trickle of blood ran down her arm as she slipped the shirt down. “It has opened again, hasn’t it?”
“Yes.”
She handed him her knife. “It will be better to cut the fabric.”
He took the blade in his hand. It glinted in the firelight as he slid it up under the gusset of her shirt. Cold steel grazed her shoulder as he sliced up through the collar, careful not to knick her with the sharp edge of the blade.
Kira held the front of the shirt to her chest. His eyes fell on the skin beneath her throat still dark and discolored from the basilisk’s poison. “You’re still burned.”
“It is not as bad as it looks,” she said. “The salve Milvari made has helped. The marks will fade with time.”
Milos wiped away the blood that had run down her back.
“You will need to make a poultice from the herbs in the bowl,” Kira told him.
“Placed between sheets of linen,” he finished.
“It seems that you also learn quickly.” She gave him a weak smile.
He placed the prepared bandages against her skin and she held them in place as he bandaged her arm and shoulder. Afterward, he helped her to slip her right arm out of the remaining sleeve and pull the fresh shirt over her head.
He turned his attention to cleaning up the bloodied rags as she finished dressing. The garment was too large for her and billowed out when she dropped the last of the old torn fabric and cautiously put her arms into the sleeves.
“Thank you for helping to rescue Tratine,” he said.
Kira pulled the front lacings of the shirt tight and tied them. Tratine’s rescue had been foolhardy and they were lucky to be alive. “It would have been safer to turn me over to them. I should not have let you talk me into such a risky plan.”
“They might have killed him anyway,” he said. “Without your help and that of your companions we might all have been lost. I told you before that I never wished to be a holder, but it is my responsibility to protect those in my charge. I count you among them.”
“I should have kept moving.” Kira stared into the fire. “I should not have tarried here.”
Milos tossed the last of the herb mixture onto the fire. It sizzled and steamed, filling the room with an aromatic scent. “I am glad you had to stop for aid. And I am glad you chose Tem Hold.”
&nb
sp; Kira ran her fingers through her hair. “I am both glad and saddened that I came to Tem Hold.”
Milos took her hand between both of his. “You have given much to the hold. To Milvari. To me. And we will need your help to prepare for the Warlord’s coming.”
“You are right. I know enough of his tactics to be of aid to you. I will stay long enough to help you prepare. But then it will be best if I leave.” With reluctance, Kira pulled her hand away. “Better for everyone.”
“No,” his voice was gruff. “It will be better for me if you stay.”
Kira studied his face, unsure of what she read there. Did he feel as she did? Did his breath tremble inside his chest as hers did? Like a moth fluttering near a lantern?
He touched her cheek, tracing the curve of her chin with his fingers. Lightning raced along her skin.
“When you first came to Tem Hold, I felt afresh the anger and guilt of my brother’s death. I was jealous of your freedom, frustrated that you could go where you willed, ride and hunt when I could not. But there were other emotions, as well.”
What was he saying? Kira gazed at him. His eyes shone bright, the way they had when they’d supped in the woods and he’d told her of his views and his wishes for his people. Was this who he truly was? A man of passion, hiding beneath the grim visage of the stern and reliable holder?
“Like you, I no longer wish to be shackled.” He searched her face, as if he would find some deep secret hidden there.
His hand fell away from her face and a crushing need rose in her at the loss of his touch. She shuddered. This feeling. It was too akin to what she’d felt when she realized Toril would leave her once his wounds were healed. She closed her eyes, struggled away from the memory. Would she be misled again? Was this yet another mistake?
“But you have taken action, where I have remained my own jailer,” Milos said.
Kira opened her eyes. There was sadness in his face and a longing to match her own. No, Milos was different. He did not lust after power as Toril had. As Toril still did.
“We have both been imprisoned because of the choices we made. Choices made for the wrong reasons.” She took his hand, closed her eyes, and brushed the back of his fingers against her cheek. “But no more.”
“Yes,” he said. “No more.” He leaned forward and kissed her gently, his warm lips pressing against hers.
The tingle rose in her scalp, flashed along her skin, and washed inside her, like the coursing of hot wine through her blood. Kira pulled back unsteadily, searching his face. His eyes were filled with a soft light. A desire unlike anything she’d ever felt before spread through her, making her limbs tremble. Not the excitement of lust, but something quiet that filled her with warmth. A feeling of homecoming.
He held his ground and extended his hands, offering her the intimacy of his embrace.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Mayet watched with a mix of anger and terror while the hold prepared for battle. Milos had sent messengers to the outlying farms and cots throughout the region, and droves of able-bodied men arrived daily to prepare for the defense of the hold. All her plans had come to naught. The hold she longed to possess, the only place where she had held any position, the only place where she had any future, was now threatened.
Had she known it was the warlord who sought the red-haired harlot, Mayet would never have dealt with Lagos. Why bargain with an underling, when you know where the real power lies? She paced before the blazing fire, twisting and grasping her hands together.
Amidst the chaos that seemed to fill the hold from dawn to dusk and deep into the night, Mayet found herself accorded fewer considerations than ever before. Even Tratine was caught up in the unrest and spent little time with her. Her frustration and horror at this new turn of events was increased by the knowledge that Milos had gone to the hunter’s bed.
They tried to hide it, but Mayet recognized the signs, the overt looks, the soft words, the way they brushed against each other at odd moments. When he was younger, Milos had been less than circumspect about the women he wooed. Many of them had been completely unsuitable, but this! It grated against her the way a rasp ground into rotten wood.
She spent most of her time in her rooms, trying to think of some way to stop this madness. Milos would not even grant her a short audience, and Tratine no longer brought her information as he had. She was closed off and alone.
She stopped pacing and stared into the fire. Perchance there was still a way to keep Milos from destroying Tem Hold, a way to save her son’s inheritance, and secure her own position for good.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Outside the library Harl and Milvari sat on a low wooden bench, watching as people went in and out of the room. A murmur of voices floated out into the hallway each time the door swung open.
“Do you think we should bother them?” Harl whispered to her. “They seem very busy.”
“Not too busy for this,” Milvari assured him. “It’s a brilliant plan.”
“But it was only a joke. You know.” Harl made a face.
Milvari laughed. “Yes, but it’s still a brilliant idea. I wish I had thought of it.” She patted his arm and he blushed.
“Well, you did. I mean you took my joke and saw how to make it useful.”
“It was still your idea.”
The door opened and a group of men and women left. Brilissa gave Milvari and Harl a wave and a nod as she walked by, deep in conversation with a tall thin man Milvari recognized as the miller who ground much of the hold’s grain and supplied them with flour.
Kira stuck her head out into the hallway. “The meeting has adjourned,” she said with a tired smile. “Your uncle will see you now.”
Milvari and Harl leaped up and glanced at one another, then followed the hunter into the library.
Her uncle sat at the end of several wide wooden planks that had been set up on blocks as a meeting table, staring at a large map. A collection of chairs lined each side of the plank. Uncle Milos’ blue eyes were pale and his clothes were rumpled, as if he had slept in them, but he sat up tall as they approached.
Kira ushered them forward and took a seat beside him. The hunter’s hands rested on the table. Milvari watched wide-eyed as her uncle slid a hand across the table to cover one of Kira’s.
“I understand you have something important to tell us.” He gave them a questioning look.
Milvari jerked her head up and froze. It had seemed like the perfect plan, but now she worried that her uncle and the hunter would think the idea childish. They had probably already thought of it and discarded it as impractical. She swallowed hard. “I—that is—we were thinking—” she turned to Harl for help, but he nervously drummed his fingers against the sides of his legs.
Uncle Milos pushed the map aside and leaned across the table, folding his hands before him. “Milvari, if there is something you feel we must know, please tell us what it is.”
“Demon’s Claw,” she blurted.
Uncle Milos seemed confused, but Kira jumped up, a smile spreading across her face. “That’s a splendid idea, Milvari. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.”
“I didn’t think of it either,” Milvari said. “It was Harl. He reminded me that of the patch we found and asked what I thought would happen if Warlord Toril’s horses ate it—”
Harl blushed. “It was supposed to be a joke,” he mumbled.
Uncle Milos looked from one to the other of them. “What are you talking about? This is no time for jokes.”
“It is no joke, Milos, but an excellent tactic.” Kira rose from her chair, eyes gleaming. “And exactly what we need to reduce Toril’s numbers and turn the wheel in our favor. But not by afflicting the horses.” She glanced at Milvari and Harl, and then pointed to a place on the map. “Three leagues north, near the place the bounty hunters held Tratine, there is a large patch of Demon’s Claw. According to Brilissa, it’s a hardy plant and most of it will probably have survived the snowfall we’ve seen this winter.”<
br />
“That’s why Master Jarrett wanted to have it burned,” Milvari added.
Kira nodded. “If we harvest it and find a way to add it into the army’s food or water, it will be enough to make a large number of men too ill to fight.”
Uncle Milos stared at the map. “Getting to the army’s food supplies will be no easy task,” he said as if speaking to himself. He raised his eyes to Kira. “How much of this plant would it take to make them ill?”
Kira shrugged. “It would take a great deal to make the entire army too sick to bear arms. And they would probably taste it in their water. We have to get it into their food.”
Milvari remembered the miller. “But if we harvest and dry it, it could be ground into powder and mixed with their grain or flour,” she suggested.
Kira nodded in agreement. “By all accounts, a few small sacks might contain enough at least to cut their numbers.”
Milos rested his chin on his hand. “Then it only remains to find a way to smuggle three or four sacks of Demon’s Claw powder into the Warlord’s camp and mix it into the food without getting caught.”
“Oh,” Milvari said, feeling the excitement drain out of her. “I didn’t think about that.”
“I did not say it could not be accomplished,” Milos said. “Your idea is a sound tactic. We only need to figure out how and if it can be put into service.”
“Jolon!” Kira said.
“What?”
“Jolon. His wound is healing well, is it not?”
Milvari thought about the progress her patient was making. “Yes. He has been walking in his room and he grows restless to do more.”
”He should be well enough to ride in a few days and the Demon’s Claw should fit into his saddlebags. Toril already believes Jolon to be his man.”
“What if he still is?” Milos asked.
“The reports we’ve received in the past few days have confirmed what he told us about Toril’s troops.”
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