waited for you at the Old Place, but when you didn't return ..." She frowned.
"Selena?"
"She needs a nap," Liam said.
"Yes, I can see that." Gwynith hurried over to slip Selena's arm across her
shoulders. "I'll help you-" She looked at Liam.
"She's using my mother's room. Upstairs."
Gwynith sighed. "Stairs. All right then. Up we go."
Selena balked at the foot of the stairs. "I won't take a nap unless you
promise to do something.""Whatever I can," Gwynith replied."Tell the Sleep Sister I don't want to dream tonight.""I'll tell her, Selena.""Do you know where she is?""No, but I'll tell her anyway."
Hoping that wasn't supposed to make sense, Liam half carried Breanna up the stairs, paused long enough to point out his mother's room to Gwynith, then led his tipsy witch to Brooke's room.
He dumped her on the bed and knelt down to remove her boots.
"It hurts, Liam," Breanna said quietly.
He looked up, wondering how undoing her boot laces could hurt. Then he
looked into her eyes and realized she wasn't quite as tipsy as he'd thought.
"It hurts," she said again. She pressed a fist over her heart. "In here. What Selena did, she did knowingly, but that doesn't mean it didn't hurt her to break our creed. We're all going to dance on a knife's edge until this war is
over, and some of us will be cut to the bone. We needed to forget that for a little while. Selena most of all."
"I understand." He got her settled, tucked a quilt around her, and kissed her
the same way he would have kissed Brooke- comfort and love. "Get some
sleep."
When he stepped back into the hallway, he saw Donovan leaning against the wall, waiting for him.
"At least they're cheerful when they're tipsy," Donovan said.
Liam rubbed his hands over his face. "I wish we'd joined them."
"Are you going to tell them what Varden said?" Tell the Huntress. That's
what Donovan really meant. 'Tomorrow," Liam said. "We've all dealt with enough today."
He walked to the stairs, feeling much older than he'd felt that morning.
Chapter 28.
waxing moon "Stop, Minstrel." The horse has more brains than I do today, Aiden thought as Minstrel moved out of the line of horses to avoid bringing all the huntsmen behind him to a stop.
"Aiden?"
It was worry that made Lyrra's voice sound sharp as she maneuvered her horse out of the line to join him. Or, perhaps, it was his own fretfulness and embarrassment that made him hear sharpness where there was none. It wasn't easy for a man to be dependent on someone else to feed him and help him take care of natural functions.
He couldn't use his hands. The Clan healer had lightly wrapped them in
gauze that morning to protect them, but now the bandages felt too tight.
"Aiden?" Lyrra said as she brought her mare alongside Minstrel. "What's wrong?"
"The bandages are too tight. I have to get them off. Please, Lyrra."
Sheridan and Morphia rode back to join them.
"What's wrong?" Sheridan demanded.
"Aiden says the bandages are too tight," Lyrra replied. "I think he needs to
rest."I'm not a child. I can speak for myself. But he felt like a child for whom the adults had to slow their pace. Wasn't that why Ashk had left with some of the huntsmen early that morning? She planned to pass through two Clan territories before going down a shining road and riding on to deliver Padrick's letter to one of the midland barons whose county bordered the southern part of Sylvalan. The rest of them, led by Sheridan, were to travel at an easier pace, go down the same shining road, and find a place to camp in the Old Place that anchored that road.
He knew she was riding extra miles so that he wouldn't have to, doubling
back to join them after delivering Padrick's letter instead of going on to reach the next Old Place. She hadn't suggested that he remain at a Clan house until he healed, and he was grateful for that. But if he slowed her down too much, she would never reach Willowsbrook by the full moon.
Sheridan studied Aiden's hands and frowned. "The bandages do look tighter than they did this morning. Can you ride on a bit further, Aiden? Some of the men have scouted up ahead. There's a good stream and pasture for the horses. We can set up camp there."
"I can ride awhile longer," Aiden said.
Sheridan and Morphia rode back to the head of the line. Huntsmen reined in to let Lyrra and Aiden slip into the line.
Aiden slumped in the saddle, his hands crossed over his chest. He couldn't
even rest them lightly on the saddle for balance as he'd done that morning.
He wasn't sure how long they continued to ride. He'd begun worrying about his harp, carefully secured to one of the pack-horses. He craved the feel of it as a thirsty man craved water. Would his fingers ever dance over the strings again? That morning, his hands hadn't looked that bad. The skin was red and more blisters had formed, but they hadn't looked bad. Lyrra had been so relieved by the healer's brisk assurance that he would be fine in a few days that he hadn't told her the look of his hands was a lie. He knew Lucian's fire had damaged him under the skin. He could feel it. And now his hands seemed to be straining against the confinement of the gauze bandages.
Finally they reached the place where Sheridan had decided to set up camp. After praising Minstrel for keeping him safe in the saddle, Aiden stood out of the way, pushing aside impatience while the others took care of the necessary chores.
He was ready to use his teeth on the bandages' knots when Ashk and her escorts rode into camp. Seeing her so grim and exhausted shamed him into patience. Her brusque "Later" when Sheridan asked if there was news warned everyone that whatever Ashk had to tell them wasn't good.
"Now, then," Lyrra said with a brisk cheerfulness that struck Aiden as being off-key, "let's unwrap the bandages and let your hands breathe for a bit." He tried not to flinch as she tugged at the knots. He tried not to see the worry in her eyes as she realized how large his hands looked. And he tried to deny the stab of fear when she got the bandages off his left hand-and she screamed.
"What is it? What's wrong?" Ashk demanded, rushing up to them. She stared at Aiden's left hand before quickly unwrapping the bandages on his right. "Mother's mercy."
They were so swollen, they didn't look like hands anymore. The skin was stretched so tight, he thought it would split open if he tried to move a finger.
I'm going to lose my hands. What kind of Bard can I be without my hands?
"Sit down, Aiden," Ashk said, leading him to hollowed log. "Sit down."
Blind to everything but his hands, he paid no attention to the crows cawing a warning until Ashk's snarl startled him.
"Riders coming," Sheridan said, reaching for his bow and arrows.
"Our men," Ashk replied, moving forward. "And someone with them."
The huntsmen rode up casually, reining in a few feet from Ashk. The dark-
haired woman with them placed a soothing hand on the neck of her dark horse, who pawed the ground and laid his ears back. The gold pentagram
around the woman's neck flashed in the sun.
"Blessings of the day to you," Ashk said.
"Blessings of the day," the woman replied.
"The lady has been traveling," one of the huntsmen said. "Alone." He
packed all of his disapproval into that word.
The dark horse snorted.
The woman's lips twitched. "Not quite alone."
"We suggested that she camp with us tonight," the huntsmen said.
Ashk studied the woman. "You're most welcome to share our camp. You
really shouldn't be traveling alone. Not anymore. And not any farther
south."
The woman closed her eyes. "I know. Blood stains the land. The Mother drinks it and weeps bitter tears." She shook her head and opened her eyes. "I would be pleased to share your camp tonight."
"Come and be welcome," Ashk said.