Shadow Hand (Tales of Goldstone Wood Book #6)(87)

“They’re ready for a long siege, then, aren’t they?” Felix said.

But the baroness’s eyes brimmed with tears yet again. “I just knew I’d forgotten something. I was thinking it even as the coronation began, even as I marched down the Great Hall. I couldn’t think what it was, though, until this evening, when I asked my goodwoman to bring me a snack.” She bit her lip and squeezed Felix’s hand ruefully.

“Dragon’s teeth,” Felix whispered. “You forgot to give them any food, didn’t you?”

The baroness nodded and sniffed loudly, pressing a hand to her quivering chin. But she composed herself with an effort and smiled again. “Now you see, my dear boy, that is where you come in!”





4


THE HAVEN WAS LARGE, with many lovely, comfortable chambers meant for hospitable refuge in the treacherous Wood. Into one of these—both a sylvan glade of green and a bedchamber with a large, sumptuous bed, depending on how one looked at it—Eanrin half carried the stranger, Imraldera hastening behind.

“Careful. Careful!” she pleaded.

Eanrin dumped the stranger on the bed, where he sank deeply into the blankets and cushions, his blood spilling over all. Eanrin stepped back quickly as Imraldera pushed past to bend over the wounded man. Her brow was stern as she inspected the wound in his leg and the scratches beneath his animal-hide shirt. Eanrin thought he glimpsed a bright gleam from the pouch at the stranger’s side, but his attention was diverted when the young man, his face gray and his eyes wide, suddenly clutched Imraldera’s hand.

“Starflower! You are alive!”

“Yes, yes, but you won’t be for long if I don’t see to this,” she said sharply. She shook her hand free, but Eanrin saw that it trembled as she returned to her examination of the wounds.

“Your voice,” said the stranger. “I always wondered . . . it is so . . .”

“Hush!” said Imraldera. She turned to Eanrin and barked, “Make yourself useful. Fetch me water and bandages.”

The cat-man did not think to argue but dashed from the room with all speed, casting only one last glance over his shoulder. He glimpsed her kneeling down beside the bed, her hands pressed into the gaping leg wound, and heard her sing in her low, throaty voice:

“Beyond the Final Water falling,

The Songs of Spheres recalling.

Won’t you return to me?”

This was all he observed. But he muttered under his breath as he rushed to do her bidding.

As the song flowed over him, Sun Eagle relaxed, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. He then gazed at the young woman beside him, wondering if he beheld a dream brought on by the pain. He had never before heard her sing; could he truly dream that?

“I thought you were dead,” he said when the song ended. She remained kneeling, her hands pressed against his leg to stop the bleeding, though blood oozed between her fingers. He reached out and touched her face, but she drew back quickly and stood, her head bowed, her hands still holding the wound. “I never thought I’d see you again. Not after the cord broke.”

“Nor I you,” she replied, her voice near a whisper. “I believed you lost forever.”

“I was,” he replied. Then he laughed a mirthless sort of laugh. “I have slain a Faerie beast. More than one!”

“Hush, please,” she begged.

“That was the rite, was it not? A boy enters the Gray Wood, kills a beast, and returns a man? A man fit to take his bride.”

She shook her head, refusing to look at him, but remained where she stood. “Where is that cat?” she growled.

Sun Eagle turned his face away, grimacing at the pain. Then both of them startled and stopped breathing as a horrible roar erupted in the Wood beyond the walls of the Haven. Lioness had followed the trail of blood this far and found she could go no farther, but there was no sign of her prey. Furious, she roared again and again.

Joining that sound came the high, childish, merciless voice of Nidawi.

“Knights! Knights of Farthestshore! Give back what you took from me!”


Eanrin appeared in the doorway, bringing bandages, a large bowl, and a carafe of water. Imraldera took them and set to work cleaning the wound, even as the lion and the child continued shouting and circling the whole of the Haven, their voices fading and returning with each round. Eanrin stood back and maintained an aloof silence, his head tilted to catch the threats and roars without. But as soon as Imraldera tied the last bandage and stepped back to drop blood-soaked rags into the bowl, Eanrin leaned over their guest and said:

“All right, my friend, time to own up. How came you to irk the lion so?”

“Eanrin!” Imraldera protested and grabbed his shoulder. Sun Eagle looked away, his warrior’s face a stoic mask.

“Don’t try to be coy,” Eanrin persisted, shaking the young man none too gently. “Those are both Faeries out there, if I’m not mistaken, and I smell mortality on you, however long gone it might be. My first instinct is to trust them and not you. Don’t take it personally; it’s just my way. But if you want me on your side, best to tell all now, or I’m half inclined to give them what they want.”

“Eanrin!” Imraldera pulled her comrade back, dragging him across the room, where she glared up at him furiously. Her hair escaped from under her scarf, falling in black coils over each cheek, but she pushed them back with hands that still trembled. “How dare you? Is this not a house of succor? Of sanctuary?”