Angulus cleared his throat. “Before you go, a question?”
“Of course, Sire.”
“My motivations for asking you to be the healer in residence are not selfless.”
“One of your people has a problem?” Sardelle had a lot to do but could work in an appointment with someone in the castle if necessary.
“Ah.” Angulus stood, glanced toward the walls where the guards stood silently, then turned his back toward them. He faced the fountain and leaned close. “I have a problem. A question, rather.” Were his cheeks flushed red?
Maybe Bhrava Saruth has been sharing images of his adoring worshippers with him too, Jaxi suggested.
Let’s hope not.
A king would be a very high-ranking worshipper.
“What’s your question, Sire?” Sardelle asked when he did not continue. “I assure you, I’ll keep anything you tell me confidential.”
Jaxi sniggered. Since Sardelle did not think she had said anything amusing, she assumed Jaxi was surfing in the top layer of Angulus’s thoughts. She did not want to intrude upon her king’s privacy, so she did not ask what Jaxi had found.
You’re so noble.
“I know you will.” Angulus nodded, took a deep breath, and went on. “It’s about having children.”
She sublimated the thoughts of Ridge and the conversation they had shared on the topic. “Something you’re interested in?”
“No. I mean, yes, but not right now. Not, uhm, illegitimately. I’m not sure if that’s a problem or not based on my history. Or lack of history, as it were.” He wiped his hand down his face. “Neither my first wife nor my second conceived, and we weren’t taking any measures to ensure that wouldn’t happen. After a while, I assumed the, ah, issue might be me. Of course, my second wife and I weren’t that frequent of, uhm.” He eyed her uncertainly. “I’m just wondering if as a healer, you can tell if I’m safe insofar as causing women to become pregnant. I don’t mind using contraceptives, but I didn’t once recently due to, er, irresponsibility, I suppose. And I’ve been concerned.”
Well, this isn’t at all an awkward conversation, Jaxi observed.
I’ve had it numerous times. Not with royalty, necessarily. “I would have to examine Captain Kaika to know if anything happened, but—”
Angulus grimaced. “Zirkander said he couldn’t keep any secrets from you.”
“Oh. I’m not sure he knew that was a secret. As to the rest, I suggest using the lambskins. I can’t tell just by looking at you—” she touched her temple to imply she could look with more than her eyes, “—or your swimmers.”
He snorted and glanced at the goldfish.
“If at some point in the future, you decide you do want children, I know someone who claims to have healing powers even greater than mine who might be able to help.”
Someone? Jaxi asked. Are you talking about Phelistoth or Bhrava Saruth?
It’s true that I’ve witnessed Phelistoth’s healing powers firsthand, but I would find it easier to ask Bhrava Saruth for assistance with the king’s fertility.
Even if it meant signing the king up as a new worshipper?
He might consider it a fair tradeoff if he wants children.
Children with whom? Jaxi asked. I can’t imagine Kaika as a queen.
We don’t know if that will last or what their understanding with each other is. He’s young enough to find another wife if he chooses.
“I see,” Angulus said, his brow crinkling faintly. “Well, good. I’ll keep that in mind. If you want to follow me to my office, I’ll write up orders for Therrik.”
“Yes, Sire.”
As they headed out of the atrium, Jaxi made a diffident throat-clearing noise. Just so you know, you’re young enough too. To find someone else. When you’re ready.
I don’t want to find anyone else. She wanted Ridge.
• • • • •
Ridge Zirkander woke up with a headache so intense that it felt like he had a bullet lodged in his brain. He squinted up at the brown and gray rocks of a cave ceiling, trying to remember where he was and how he had come to be here. He also tried to remember whether it was possible that a bullet was lodged in his brain. Despite concentrating so hard that it made his head throb even more, he couldn’t recall either detail. Panic burgeoned in his chest as nothing came from swatting at the cobwebs in his mind.
He sat up, a heavy fur falling about his waist. Cold air that smelled of rain and lichen chilled his bare torso. His headache intensified, making him want to collapse back onto the packed earth he had lain upon, but he refused to succumb. He touched bandages that circled his chest. He could breathe without pain from his ribs, but his muscles ached almost as much as his head, reminding him of the time he had crashed his flier in Cofah territory and been captured.
Why could he remember that and not how he had come to be lying in a cave? Lying naked in a cave? Coarse fur pricked at the bare skin of his legs.
He found a few more bandages—one wrapped around his upper thigh and another around the crown of his head—but he only grew more confused as he continued his examination of himself. Had he crashed again? It had been some time since the Cofah incident, but given his occupation and the occasionally reckless way he pursued it, that was all that made sense to him.
Another cold breeze teased the bare skin of his back, and he turned toward the draft. About ten feet away, the jagged entrance of the cave lay open to the elements. He glimpsed boulders and scree poised on a steep slope in the distance. Was he in some mountain valley? Whose mountain valley? Had he crashed in the empire? Or at home in Iskandia? He couldn’t imagine why he would have been flying over the mountains of his homeland—his squadron always met threats out along the coast, intercepting enemy airships and naval vessels before troops could make it inland.
“You’re awake,” came a woman’s voice from the shadows in the back of the cave.
Ridge jerked his head around to locate her, wincing at the pain that came with the abrupt movement. He didn’t recognize the voice, but he hoped whoever this was had answers.
“Apparently,” he croaked, his voice rusty from disuse. How long had he been unconscious? “Who are you?” He could barely see the figure in the cave’s depths.
“A friend. Do you know who you are?”
Ridge licked his lips and considered whether he should answer. How had she known? Why would she guess that his memories eluded him? He still didn’t recognize the voice, and she had a faint accent. A faint Cofah accent.
“I’m not sure,” he said.
You have nothing to fear from her, came a soothing voice from the back of his mind.
Ridge touched his temple, his puzzlement growing. Was that his own inner voice talking to him? What else could it be? But how would his inner voice know more than he knew?
What about from the stiff, crusty bear fur poking my cannonballs?
Your what?
Never mind. If that was his inner voice, it seemed a little dull.
“Maybe this is what going mad feels like,” he mumbled, pulling the fur over his waist as the figure moved out of the shadows and into the sunlight slanting through the cave entrance.
Blonde hair tumbled about her shoulders in rich waves, and deep brown eyes regarded him from a beautiful face with arched cheekbones and full lips. She wore riding leathers with a wool button-down shirt and a fur cloak that seemed appropriate to a mountain climate. She appeared young, maybe twenty-five, but something about the way she knelt confidently beside him and touched her hand to his chest gave him the sense that she was older than she appeared.
“Does General Ridgewalker Zirkander sound familiar?” she asked, her hand drifting from the bandages on his chest up his throat to his jaw. She ran her fingers along his jaw as she gazed into his eyes, scrutinizing him. Her touch wasn’t unpleasant, but he wasn’t about to let himself enjoy some strange woman’s ministrations when he didn’t know if he was in enemy hands or not.
“Uh, general? No.”
“No?”
“It’s colonel,” he said, then wondered if he should have even said that much. “Where are we?”
He drew his legs up under the fur, tempted to stand up and walk to the cave entrance so he could see if he recognized the peaks. He was, however, reluctant to leave the covering and stride around naked in front of the woman. Logically, it shouldn’t matter, since she had probably been the one to strip off his clothes, wash him, and tend his wounds, but logic wasn’t always easy to heed when women were concerned.
“Hm.” She rose and walked back into the shadows.
Ridge took the moment to stagger to his feet, his body protesting the movement. He wrapped the fur around his waist like an oversized towel and shuffled to the entrance, rocks prodding his bare feet. He squinted into the sun. Rocky mountains fenced him in, the peaks covered with glaciers. Judging by the stunted foliage, he was at a high elevation. Was it spring? Summer? He had grown up by the coast, and he doubted his ability to identify the seasons based on rocks and lichens. He couldn’t see anything blooming from his perch. A stream meandered through the middle of the valley, winding past the cave, with low green plants carpeting the ground to either side.
“We’re in the Ice Blades,” the woman said, coming to stand beside him. “About a hundred miles east of Hedgewood.”
She lifted her brows at the way he clutched the fur about his waist, but he barely noticed. His gaze was riveted to the dirty, rumpled clothing in her hand. She held up a dark blue army officer’s jacket with gold bars and braids on the collars, a general’s rank. Several rips and stains rendered it unacceptable for duty wear, but did not keep him from reading his name sewn onto the breast pocket tag.
“I don’t remember...” Ridge touched his temple, the bandages snug above his eyebrows as they wrapped his head. “The last thing I remember...” It had been summer, General Ort’s birthday celebration. He’d invited everyone in Wolf and Tiger Squadrons to his house, where they had grilled sausages and played brisk-ball while trying to get Ort drunk enough to ask the neighbor’s grandmother for a date. Had there been a mission assigned after that? He couldn’t remember. He definitely couldn’t remember getting promoted. He had been offered that promotion before, but he had always weaseled his way out of it, not wanting to give up commanding Wolf Squadron or flying. If he was a general now, what had he been doing out where he could crash? He should have been chained to a desk somewhere, pushing papers around. He grimaced, almost as disturbed by that notion as by his faulty memory.
Aware of the woman watching him, he shook his head. Just because she said they were in the Ice Blades did not mean that was true. The tall peaks could belong to the rugged range. He would have known for certain if he had been flying above them, but one mountain looked much like another from halfway up the side of it. Besides, the Cofah had a couple of rugged, glacier-capped ranges too. And this woman had an accent.
“You must be wondering who I am,” she said, lowering the jacket. His jacket. “I’m Mara Trembuckle. I grew up around here. My mother is—was—a mercenary before she fled trouble back home and settled out here.”
“Your mother.”
“She was from Cofahre.” The woman’s—Mara’s—gaze lowered. “I hope you won’t hold that against me. I know you’re a hero and usually fight the Cofah.”
A hero. He didn’t feel like a hero standing there naked and barefoot.
“My mother was an outcast here because of her heritage, but I’ve never known anything except for these mountains. She’s gone now, and I have little left.” She gazed sadly out at the valley, her shoulders slumped.
Ridge wasn’t certain he believed her—would someone who had grown up here have an accent? Even if her mother had possessed one, would it have influenced her language skills?
You can trust her, the voice in the back of his mind said.
Oh? Can I trust you?
Of course.
Why don’t I believe you? Ridge rubbed his temple. Maybe the voice would go away once his head stopped hurting.
She spent much of her youth alone or with only her mother to talk to. She is shy and awkward with people. She doesn’t always say the right things, but it’s not a sign of dishonesty.
How do you—we—know that? If this was his own voice speaking to him, how could it know things he didn’t know?
You don’t seem to know much right now.
He snorted. That was the truth.
Mara lifted her gaze and met his eyes, her own eyes imploring. An urge to comfort her trickled through him, an urge to trust her.
“I’m sorry you lost your mother,” he said. “I hope you’ll forgive me for being self-centered, but I have a duty as an officer—as a general, apparently—to report in as soon as possible. Can you tell me how I came to be here with you? I can’t remember.”
“You hit your head. You should see the crash site.”
Ah, he knew there had been a crash.
“You tumbled down a slope and into a river. I thought you were dead, but I was able to reach you, so I checked on you and pulled you out of the water.”
Ridge looked down at the stream meandering through the valley. It wasn’t large enough for him to have tumbled into without breaking every bone in his body. And how had she hauled him up the slope to this cave? He wasn’t the brawniest man in the army, but he was six feet tall and certainly not scrawny.
“Not that stream. A river at the end of this valley that it merges into.” Mara pointed downstream, toward a bend.
She definitely could not have carried him that far. He opened his mouth to ask, but she continued first.
“I found a couple of trappers, and they helped me carry you up here.”
Strange that she’d seemed to guess what he had been wondering. Or maybe it was an obvious question.
“They had their trap routes to attend to, so they left a few days ago.” She rested her hand on his forearm and gazed up into his face, smiling. “I’ve been taking care of you. I never would have thought I’d get to meet the great Ridgewalker Zirkander. It’s been an honor to tend your wounds.”
Her flattery almost distracted him from the rest of what she had said. Trappers. He had doubted his ability to tell the seasons, but he was positive it wasn’t winter—at this altitude, the valley would be smothered with snow if that were true. But didn’t trappers work in the winter? When animal fur was thick? Lieutenant Duck would know.
“Uhm.” He debated questioning her, questioning her story, but maybe he had better keep his mouth shut until he had more of a feel for what had happened. Besides, he was a city boy. What did he truly know about trapping or the ways of mountain folk?
Very little, the voice said agreeably.
Ridge supposed it was reasonable that the voice of his madness would be as sarcastic as he was.
“Mara, thank you for helping me,” he said, aware of her watching him. “I’m sure I would have died without you.”
She nodded solemnly.
“Would you mind showing me the crash site?” His aching head protested the idea of a tramp across the boulder-littered landscape, but he had to see for himself what had happened. Maybe his memory would come back once he saw his flier. Also, maybe it could be salvaged, and he could get back into the air, return home, and report in.
“I wouldn’t mind, but you should rest for another day.” Mara lifted the hand she’d had on his arm up to the bandages on his torso, studying them, or maybe studying his chest. She wouldn’t be the first woman to do so, and he had the sense that more than medical needs were prompting her to stand close and keep touching him.
“Probably so,” he said, stepping back so that her hand dropped, “but I’m not good at following doctors’ suggestions. Or anyone’s suggestions. I don’t suppose my boots came down the river with the rest of me?”
She hesitated, a hint of disappointment in her eyes, then nodded. “I have them back here.”
“Good. I appreciate your help,” he said, hoping to t
ake the sting away from what she might see as a rejection. Besides, he did appreciate her help. Even if he wasn’t positive he believed her story yet, if she truly had saved his life, he owed her something. What he could offer, he didn’t know, but he would figure it out. Maybe the same time he figured out what he was doing out here.
Chapter 3
Ridge squinted at the distant mountainside, little more than rocks covering the steep slope. “Are you sure?”
“Here.” Mara handed him something.
To his surprise, it was an Iskandian military-issue collapsible spyglass. Though she carried only a small pack, she was well outfitted for the mountains. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised if she had grown up in the area. Still, he wondered where she had gotten the spyglass. The majority of Iskandia’s military forts lay along the coast. With the exception of the clansmen up north, internal strife was rare within the country. All those Cofah attacks over the centuries had helped his once fragmented people unite, to fight off their common enemy.
“It’s about a third of the way up the slope, below that point on the ridge,” she added, watching him study the spyglass.
Assuming she had traded something for it along the way, he lifted it and scanned the landscape until he saw what he sought, the wrecked remains of a military flier, one wing torn off and the tail missing. A boulder hid half the fuselage, but he could tell the craft had struck so hard that all form had been smashed out of it.
“I survived that?” he breathed. It did not look like the kind of crash a man walked away from. It didn’t even look like the kind of crash a man could be carried away from.
“I saw you come down. You flew out of the cockpit when it struck, slid down the rocks, and fell into that canyon and into the river.”
From their vantage point, high on a goat trail on the mountain opposite the one he was looking at, he could not see the river, but he had glimpsed it along the way. It meandered through the canyon until the walls widened into a valley farther downstream. It wasn’t that deep. He judged the fall from the lip of the canyon to the bottom to be close to two hundred feet. Water was more yielding than land, but he knew from jumping off cliffs into the sea north of the capital that a fall from even fifty feet could mess up a man if he didn’t land well. To have survived a drop from four times that height after having already crashed... It was hard to believe.
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