Fantasy - Wildfire - [CLOSED]

[peritwinkle]

The two dark silhouettes that entered her tent later in the evening took Kaira by surprise. She had fallen asleep rather quickly, but the sound of Kyel’s voice had stirred her awake. She pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and propped herself up on one elbow, watching his dog wander about the narrow tent before finding his place at her feet under Kyel’s command. “He is well behaved,” she murmured quietly, admiring the way a few rays of moonlight caressed the animal’s fur. She wondered if it was a wolf; it had to be at least a mix of it. It was far too tall and imposing to be a simple guard dog, or perhaps all dogs were such beasts up North.

As Kyel came to claim the spot beside her, Kaira fell back into her own and pulled closer to him. He had brought the cold air in on his clothes, but his skin was unusually warm. She placed her palms against chest and pressed her forehead to his shoulder, letting out a stifled yawn. “I remember sleeping like this with my mother once,” she murmured. “I had had a nightmare… I was so little, I can only remember the feeling of it.” This was entirely different, in many ways, but his presence brought the same comfort.

“Tell me about the North,” she demanded eventually. “Your home… The people there.” She wanted to know if they were the same as him - hard shell with a mellow heart. She was still unsure if what he was depicting then was entirely genuine, but she could not be bothered with searching for a fault in his actions right then. “Do they treat you as a Lord, or as their servant?” she thought to add then, but deep in her heart she knew the answer. Good rulers did not have to remind their people of their power over them; that respect came as a follow-up on their actions, and even after so many years on the throne, King Alastair was yet to earn it instead of demanding it.

Her lids were heavy, but she urged herself to stay awake to listen. It was early still, she thought, and they had plenty of time to rest until dawn. The tent was growing warmer and cozier by the moment, which did not make it easy for her to refuse the comfort. She focused her gaze on the gentle rippling of Felix’s fur in the breeze and the soft heaving of his chest as he huffed. A big beast, that only craved affection, but could be deadly when provoked. To her, it sounded exactly like his owner.

 

[pointmango]

She moved into him closer, her hands resting on his chest and she nestled her head into his shoulder. He opened his mouth as she compared this to sleeping with her mother. His mouth closed slightly, perhaps it meant she was comfortable. Did she feel the same comfort the other night after her nightmare with him? His arms only found her in his sleep that night. He had woken before her as well and he wondered if she had even known he held her that night.

His brows lifted when she asked of the North, he was glad then she couldn’t see his face. A mix of nostalgia, joy and hurt crossed over his features, he missed his home deeply. “I am treated as a Lord,” his voice quiet. He was, his fathers own rule was harsh, but fair and Kyel ruled in a similar fashion. That was all he could do to ensure the success of the North, listen to all, but do not bend unless it is right to bend. “The people are good. Hardworking.” He decided was the best word for his people. “The North is… it is run well. I keep my Lords on a tight rope I suppose.” he said speaking of other houses, “Still the land is feral and unpredictable at times. I need to be harsh.” He decided.

He let out a warm huff of a breath, “I’d like to call the entire North my home. I’ve spent enough time all over to say so.” His lips turned up just slightly, “Ironstone is my home. I think it is the best in all of the North,” he boasted quietly, “It is nestled into the side of a mountain, the walls and floors of my castle are cold,” he said then pressing his mouth down into her hair. “There is a tower in the West wing of the structure. Usually it is too foggy to see anything, even when the day is clear all you can see is more mountains in the distance. It is still beautiful. When I was a boy I used to watch on those clear days. I used to pretend I could see Yllevad from there,” he decided to omit the part of the story how he would practice with a wooden sword in the tower pretending to slay the royal Volur.

He could feel her breathing, it felt like it wanted to slow and she was willing herself awake. “May I ask for your home?” He whispered into her hair, “Or do we need to save such a reveal for tomorrow night?” He asked her carefully. His hand grazed over her ribs very lightly, he knew the area was still very tender. “Some extra rest will do you good,” he spoke as he was beginning to make the decision for her.

 

[peritwinkle]

Kyel’s voice was as gentle as a lullaby, yet despite being truly interested in the description of his home, Kaira could barely keep her eyes open. She listened to him reminisce about his people and about his childhood, the latter being almost impossible for her to picture. She could not see him as anything but strong and fearsome, tall as a mountain and nothing short of intimidating. Elisif must have seen it when they met for the first time; perhaps that was the version of him she had briefly thought herself in love with before her husband.

She wondered how much colder the North was compared to Yllevad. Her home was brisk and damp, and in the winters, it felt as though one was breathing in shards of ice rather than plain air. The storms were devastating and happened quite often, but the sound of the havoc outside, heard from the safety of chamber, were quite comforting. When closing her eyes, she could picture the rain falling down her window and the sound the waves made when crashing against the tall, rocky cliffs that overlooked the sea. The best of nights were those when she lost herself in books, catching up on studies with Leon, to the sound of thunder and a wrathful sea, often with a warm cup of ginger tea to warm up their cold toes.

With every moment, Kyel’s voice became more and more quiet, and his touches pulled her closer to him. Her feet were warm, pressed into Felix’s dense fur, while the heat of her own breath against his shoulder burdened her lids. She wanted to tell him about her room and about House Dareon’s magnificent library, but as she parted her lips, nothing but a stifled murmur came out. Was she already asleep? Was she dreaming already? She could still feel his hand on her ribs, but the caress did not hurt her in the least. She wished to tell him that she had not yet seen much of Valera outside of Windhold, that perhaps, if he did not grow tired of her after the war, they could explore it together.

Yet slumber took over her too quickly, too deeply, and no such words ever came out of her mouth. Kaira dreamt of sleeping in a warm, tall bed close to a crackling fireplace, in Kyel’s arms, as he told her stories about his childhood and his first time wielding a sword. Even in sleep she was heavy, but the feeling was soothing and pleasant, nothing close to the exhaustion she had felt during the day. And this time around, he did not have to leave at the crack of dawn. She dreamt that he promised her they would linger in bed well into the morning, for as long as she wanted him to stay.

 

[pointmango]

Kyel let out a small smile as she murmured softly as his question. Instead he let himself watch down at her silently, just taking in her scent for a few moments. He still did not understand the feeling within his chest, he recognized it, but he hadn’t felt such since he was a boy. And now it felt so much stronger. His jaw tensed just slightly as he thought of what it meant to be a Lord of the North. He was meant to marry a northern woman, and in some strange twist of fate he became unaccountable for his straying eyes and now heart. She had taught him a warmth in his gut he had never known, and there was comfort in bed with her.

He tried to busy his mind in the construction of possibilities with her as a lover. None turned out in a positive manner. It became quite plain to him that these possibilities were things he knew nothing of. Now he tried thinking of her as only an ally, a friend even. It was more feasible, but could he overcome a desire he had already indulged himself so deeply in? It was only a few nights. he reminded himself. The war was messing with his mind, his thoughts were dire thinking of death and outcomes. By the gods, he had to get out of his own head. When had he become so brooding? When did the young joy of life and hope leave his being? When did the spirit of adventure no longer raise his soul?

He buried his face into her hair, shifting his arms around her tighter as the silent consciousness of grief and fear rocked himself to sleep. When he awoke it was the morning, Felix had stirred, but the dog had not moved yet. Kyel felt a small chill as he shifted his arms and was still wrapped tight around her and she was still sleeping so peacefully. Certain of her slumber he leaned down and pressed a small kiss to the base of her neck. He stood slowly from the bed, and stilled himself above her, wondering if his absence of warmth would wake her. He tucked the blanket further under her side where he had just been. “Wake up, Kaira,” he whispered softly, leaning over the bed slightly. His hand moved to her cheek, and his thumb traced just below her cheekbone. He still had the fear of leaving her alone, even though he would have eyes on her tent at all times until Islea was settled and would call for her.

He leaned up when he had her attention, no matter how tired her eyes appeared he was glad to see the shining deep blue orbs staring at him. Finally he let the smallest formation of a grin creep onto the edge of his lips, “I look forward to learning about Yllevad tonight,” he said in a low tone. He thought about leaning back down to kiss her lips, even just her forehead, but he recalled her reminder and he decided perhaps he would push his luck tonight rather than this morning. He turned then, and snapped his fingers slightly, “Felix, follow,” he spoke in a quiet but stern tone as he left her tent.

 

[peritwinkle]

Kaira had slept soundly that night; she woke up to a dim morning light and the feeling of Kyel’s hand caressing her cheek. When she parted her eyes, he was looking down at her with a warmth in his gaze which she recognized from the other times they had slept together. His mention of Yllevad brought the memories from last evening back into her mind; had he lain awake well after she had fallen asleep? Had he watched her doze off, hoping from an answer to his question? It did not matter. The answer would not be half as nostalgic or sentimental as his. Yllevad had never truly been her home.

He did not linger much more in her tent before he called on his canine and disappeared through the flaps. The day was still young, but at the very least the guards would rise earlier to pack up and prepare the horses for that day’s travels. Eventually, Kaira willed herself to slip out of the warm covers and began to dress back up as soon as the brisk air hit her skin. Even after one day’s ride, she already wished to be out of those dirty clothes, but she rested with the thought that in two more days they would be in a comfortable bed again and, perhaps, the lifted spirits would allow for her to ask Elisif for another outfit or two.

The first ones to stir awake were the elders, followed swiftly by Lady Vannbrek, who had buried herself in two thick coats, keeping her arms wrapped around her belly beneath the furs. She was likely sick, she thought; she had heard that women suffered from such ailments early in pregnancy, and judging by the size of her belly, she was not too far into the act yet. She wondered briefly if any of them had seen Kyel walk in and out of her tent, but given the silence dawning over the camp that morning, she doubted the word would not have traveled to Jon’s ears so he could disturb it with some clever joke at their expense.

As soon as they left off, Kaira positioned herself between Kyel and Elisif. She needed the woman by her side to keep her mind occupied with the casual chatter, but something within her urged to be next to the man she had spent the night with, as if even the thought of distance ached then. Still, she did not look at him unless she was sure the others were distracted, and that only to admire the stern look painted on his face and the way the fur of his cape danced against the breeze as he rode. He looked handsome, noble and strong, as well as intentionally uninterested in her existence, although she had gotten used to that whenever they were surrounded by other eyes and ears.

Beor deemed it smart to ride by the edge of the forest in order to avoid the main roads, which they complied to without any remarks. They had no intention to draw unnecessary glares and looks; their travel to Riftmere had to go unnoticed to the people outside of Whitevale, although the mere fact that some had still seen where they were headed made Kaira slightly uneasy. Whitevale was now an ally, it was true, but Lord Bailin had not made himself particularly trustworthy with his antics.

The valley was quiet and frozen. She could hear a faint rustling of leaves accompanying the sound of hooves hitting the hoary grass. Kaira’s eyes kept returning to the rumbling woods every now and then, and the more silent their group grew, the more tense she became. She recalled Leon’s words, for a Volur to always trust his gut. The same gut that had warned her she would get brutally backstabbed, twice, which was likely the reason she had instinctively propped herself next to Kyel, although she could not tell if she was protecting him or if he was protecting her.

Another rustle, another movement that sent cold tendrils down her spine. The woods were oddly dark that day and she could not see much past the shrubbery. She heard a piece of wood crackle and yet another shift through the thicket, which determined her to urge her steed farther into a light gallop. She had now positioned her body right in front of Kyel’s and she stood as straight and wide as she could, with her fingers wrapped so tightly around the reins they were likely pale as ash under the leather gloves. A part of her wished to stop and check, but she knew that in doing so, she would leave Kyel completely uncovered. Kaira tensed her jaw and began counting the periodicity of the rustling.

One. Two… Three. One with every ten meters they rode ahead.

Someone was following them.

She did not have time to think. Three black figures emerged from the woods ahead of them, and five more enclosed them from behind. Kaira recognized the horses; they were the donning silky black of House Dareon, and albeit there was no sigil in sight, she knew all too well what those serving King Alastair wore, for those were the robes that she had once worn herself. They leapt of their horses at the same time Kaira did, and she watched Beor and Bastian do the same. Elisif stayed riding, but kept one hand on the bow strapped to the saddle. ‘Do not pull it out,’ Kaira thought, but it seemed like the woman knew what was best for her and played the helpless damsel.

None of the men came to attack her. Without thinking, Kaira jumped to defend Kyel and clashed with one of the swords aimed for his neck. The man was staggered and pulled slightly back, but attempted to disarm her with a blow that was not meant to kill. She understood then that they were there to take her back, not to take any revenge, yet the thought worried her even more. Another kicked her from behind and she lost her balance, heading forward, but was able to use the momentum to twirl and cut the one in front of her right behind the knees. The man fell forward, and Kaira stuck her sword in his back.

They wanted her, and the only way they would get her was if they weakened their strongest guard. In that moment, Kaira looked to Kyel, and she knew that fight would not be in the least about herself.

 

[pointmango]

Kyel stood before Elisif prepared to help her onto her horse. His eyes glanced over her looking at her thick garment. The double fur coat was a clumsy thing, long, loose and shapeless that had to be wound around her just perfectly over her shoulders or it would fall off. Kyel pressed his hand against the pregnant woman's waist as he helped push her onto the horse. Elisif could likely get on the steed herself, but weary from morning sickness, Kyel helped.

Kyel mounted his own steed and began with the others. Kaira was beside him and on her other side was Elisif. He kept his gaze forward and he twisted in his saddle a moment trying to ease a kink in his back. Each step his horse took across the moss and leaf covered floor, he felt the sheath of his sword at his side bump against his hip. He kept his gaze forward, the conversation mostly silent in the early morning ride. Everyone seemed to be conserving their energy for the long ride ahead.

There was a faint noise of rustling, Kyel immediately sensed Kaira’s tenseness and he watched her reaction, positioning herself slightly before him. Before any announcement of suspicion could be made eight figures from all sides approached them. Kyel’s immediate attention moved to Kaira, detecting her position in relation to the cloaked figures. Who was the closest? Who had the longest range weapon if any, and if there was any potential for a shot? A horse screamed ahead at the jerk and Kyel couldn’t pinpoint whose horse it was.

As the others dismounted their horses so did Kyel. Kyel slapped the rear of Elisif’s horse to speed it up as it continued forward. His eyes for a moment trying to locate Jon or Islea. He found the young Lord and nodded to him, his eyes were clear, ‘Protect Elisif’. In Kyel’s distraction for the woman, a sword came to his throat only for it to be knocked away. His own sword was pulled, but he watched as the bandit tried to strike Kaira. She was kicked from behind and Kyel felt a gush of small wind by his head. An arrow had flown by him.

He swung his own blade at the bandit behind him, but his gaze was distracted as Kaira was on the ground and a flash of red swarmed near her. He moved forward and another blade threatened Kyel. Two men circled on him and Kyel had to act quick, to move left or right, behind the back man, or in front of them both. Moving in front of them would have exposed him greatly to both of their weapons, but he could come into play moving more offensively. Moving behind them would only sway them to turn and his own back could become bait to one of the men’s swords.

One sword came hurtling down at him and Kyel darted to the left. As Kyel moved his hand came up, and his blade slashed at the base of the man’s helm and his neck. Metal rang, no weak armor there. The second man swung his own sword and Kyel felt it whirl right past his nose as he stepped back. His angle against the two men were bad, his greatsword not meant for stabbing or jabbing in such close range. As one of the men stumbled when Kyel swung his own sword the other stepped forward thinking he had a clear shot. Kyle grabbed for the shoulder of the man’s coat, and with a fistful of cloth he shoved the man into the ground. Kyel’s arms lifted high and struck downward in one long blow with both his hands, his sword pressing deep into the bandits gut.

Fire exploded across his back, the other man had made a swipe and caught him harshly while his attention was killing his comrade. The strike had split his leathers and broken skin, and Kyel could feel the warm blood on his own back. Kyel turned aggressively and snarling like a wounded beast he drove his right knee right into the man’s groin sending him back. Kyel's back muscles shrieked in agony as he tried to wrestle the other man's sword from his hand.

Kyel separated from the man for a moment, more pain krept up his back and he felt a pain at the base of his skull. He glanced to see two more men approaching him, which could only mean their guards, even more of their party had been struck down. One came at him quickly and aggressively, sweeping their sword against the shaft of Kyel’s sword. He turned his wrist to let the momentum follow backwards at the pressure and pulled his own sword up and over himself trying to strike down the man before him. Instead from the side while his attention was forward he felt a heavy club strike his side and another blow right to his throat. He’d taken worse, but the blow made his throat close and the force from the side caused him to fall. Gagging on the ground Kyel felt his jaw in the dirt, and he watched as the men continued past him. He propped his hands and turned to see where they were headed.

His eyes darted to Kaira as she was fending off another. The men saw his look toward the Volur, was he imagining it? It seemed as though they had changed direction to her. He shoved himself off of the ground, and he watched as one of the bandits noted his opening. Her hands. She was covered with thick clothing and a decent amount of leather armor, but her hands were free for magic. If others were distracting her… it was exposed skin and he could see one of the bandits moving forward while she was occupied with another to strike right for her hand, it would not be fatal, but it could falter her ability to use magic for the time being.

Kyel ran forward and he let out a loud yell as he looped his arm around the bandits right; he didn’t care if this man swung at him then, all he needed was for him to swing at anything other than Kaira. He tried to pin the man while he swung his sword, but all he caught in the moment was an intense flash of white.

 

[peritwinkle]

Swords clashed together in a blur of silver, black and hair. Kaira was sweating underneath her clothes and she could taste blood and dirt on her lips. One glance around the field and she saw one of Alastair’s men on the ground. A shout came from the back, and she turned at the right moment, parrying a strong blow that would have cut her tendons without question. She kicked the man back and he lost his balance, falling on the ground, before turning to the other two in front of her.

They were fast. Too fast. Kaira moved as quickly as she could on her feet, twirling at the right moments to escape simultaneous blows. It was almost impossible to keep them from getting her legs, which they seemed to be vehement about aiming for. One managed to get behind her back and wrap his arm around her neck, but in a moment of luck, she struck the hilt of her sword against his groin, then used the movement to charge into the other one coming at her. Her sword broke through his guard and struck right below his breastplate.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Jon and Beor fend off two others, but despite Beor’s dedication to the fight, it was mostly Jon doing the work of parrying the quicker blows. She wanted to tell Kyel to get to them, but as she turned, she saw him on the ground, blood dripping down his nape as he coughed against the ground. She felt a gust of fire blow through her veins and her heart pump so quickly, it threatened to break out of her chest, yet before she could run to him, the wounded ones behind her reclaimed their strength enough to kick her in the back and send her bellowing into the dirt.

One of them was bleeding. The other was fine. Kaira turned as they bent towards her and slashed her blade against the weaker one’s throat. The other jolted back, giving her just the right amount of time to get back on her feet. Three were dead. Five were still well and fighting. She saw their dark figures move towards her right as the one in front of her came to disarm her, hurling her sword somewhere to the left. Her fingers, now empty and cold, trembled as she fought to gather herself, and right before another blade could reach the surface of her skin, she let a gust of wind sling them back in a flash of white, dirt and blood.

One of them landed with their back fatally arched against a rock. Two others groaned, likely with a broken bone or two. To her right, she saw Kyel as well, laying on the ground at an arm’s reach away from a shrouded figure that was beginning to rise. Her chest fell. Without thought, she bolted towards him, yanked the sword out of his hand and planted it into his back, pinning him against the ground. She saw Jon and Bastian rush to cut the others down, one of them welcoming the two with a pathetic attempt at swinging his sword at the younger Lord’s neck, which was quickly cut short by Bastian jabbing his sword into his pelvis.

“Kyel,” Kaira roared as she fell to her knees and shook him. The scene was oddly similar to her dream - he was dripping in blood, his muscles rippling in pain and his back turned to her. She pushed him hastily to one side so she could see his face, and at the sight of him, she could finally let out a breath of relief. “What was in your head?” she shouted, but quickly rose back to her feet and rushed to help Bastian and Jon finish off the others.

He could get up himself. At the very least, she hoped he could. He was alive, and that was all that mattered, but the mere thought that he could have ended up as the one broken against the stone kept her from looking him in the eye right then. They had lost two of their guards, but everyone that mattered was still alive. Beor was weakened, but he was breathing, and none had even thought of touching Elisif. They had come for her, no doubt, and Alastair had been stupid enough to imagine she would not oppose the rescue attempt. Perhaps Leon had made sure of that. All she knew was that they needed to get to Rifmere as soon as possible, before any reinforcements surprised them again.

 

[pointmango]

The gust of wind sent his own wind knocked from him again. He was on the ground gasping slightly, cold wet snow pressed to the hot side of his face. He felt a hand shove him slightly, his eyes were groggy and weary but they widened with relief seeing her. She yelled at him, and dropped his shoulder, Kyel let out another slow sigh of relief, she was alright. He pushed himself back up weakly, his back boiling with pain as he pushed his legs forward to gain some leverage. He felt Felix’s nose nudging at his rear end, if the dog’s fur had been white, it would have shown redness around his snout.

As Kyel stood he reached for stability that was not there and he stumbled again, his adrenaline was waning with the men gone. He felt an arm grab his and shove it over his shoulder. Bastain. He recalled a faint buzz of Islea’s voice asking if he could ride. Kyel nodded, “Yes,” he said simply, he was not sure of the fact however. Both Bastain and Jon helped him onto his horse and his posture was already falling.

“He cannot ride,” He heard Jon mutter to Bastain.

Kyel sat up straighter at the accusation, pain screamed within him, but he set his jaw and made sure his voice was deep and strong. “I will ride,” he spoke on his horse. With every gallop his back seared with pain, he held the reins tight until his knuckles hurt. He prayed to the gods the sun would flee and they could set up camp. He only needed to rest, he reminded himself. He held tighter trying to remind himself that they were close to wherever they would be stopping.

When they did stop Kyel nearly fell as he dismounted his horse, Bastain and Jon were quick to move forward and help. Jon’s hand came to the Lord’s back and his eyes widened at the wetness. “Set up his tent now,” Jon spoke in a serious tone. Islea and Bastain set up with good timing, and from one of the carriages they brought forth the bed with the help of their last remaining guard.

Kyel was brought forth into the tent and pressed into the hard mattresses for travel. His face pressed against a feather pillow Lord Pyke had provided them with. Islea leaned forward touching the Lord’s head as Jon and Bastain undressed him. “Fool,” Islea muttered once she saw his back. When they helped him onto his horse with his leathers on his back, the gash had not looked so ghastly. “Fever is setting in, I believe he will be fine. His body is just trying to figure out how to combat the pain.” she said. “Jon, there is a bag within one of the carriages, leather bound about this size,” Islea motioned with her hands. “Retrieve it for me, I will sew him.”
Islea leaned forward pressing her fingers near the gash on Kyel’s back. He groaned at the pressure, Islea shook her head slightly. “Your Northern pride has harmed you Lord Skovgaard,” Islea spoke quietly. When Jon returned with the smaller leather bound bag Islea nodded a thank you and requested the others leave. Islea took Elisif’s hand, “A friend will help,” she asked the blond woman, she didn’t want her to hold Kyel’s hand, he might hurt her in his pain. But someone there to distract and ease the pain might have helped. She leaned forward putting a leather strap between Kyel’s teeth. She pressed a damp cloth over the large gash, “This will hurt Lord Skovgaard,” she said and began with the needle and the silk string.

Kyle's body tensed at the contact, his eyes squeezed shut and his teeth bit the leather hard as noise escaped hardly between his teeth. It felt like hours she worked, in reality it had only been a couple minutes. Islea left to gather some snow and press the cool surface against the man’s hot back. “I must go wash,” Islea spoke to Elisif then. “Someone else will watch him once I return so we may sleep,” she said. They’d have to assess damages to figure who was strong enough to watch the injured Lord.

Once Islea was gone Kyel reached for Elisif’s hand, his head turned to look at her, his face was still pale. “I want to see her. Please,” he said his voice no longer pushing a booming strength from it. “Bring her to me?” He asked Elisif softly.

 

[peritwinkle]

Kaira was silent and numb for the rest of the trip. Dark thoughts raced in the back of her mind, yet her head still felt empty, unresponsive, only aware of her surroundings enough to not fall off her horse. Every now and then, her eyes flickered to Kyel, who was barely holding up on his own saddle, but every single time she averted her gaze just as quickly. Blood had trickled from his back down to the base of his trousers and the saddle itself, now glistening in the faint light of dusk. The intrepid Lord of Ironstone was no longer there; instead, she could only see a empty, broken shell, hanging on to his pride more than his consciousness.

And despite his mistake, she could not help but wonder how it could have gone. What scared her more than his death was the thought of her having caused it, and it was not too late still. The fever would take over him soon, and unless he was tended to properly, he could die just as easily from an infected wound. She was still not safe. The entirety of Wendlyn and the North would despise her, almost as much as she would despise herself.

They reached camp as soon as the sun disappeared below the horizon. They were quick to move this time, the three guards left quickly installing a tent for them to mend Lord Skovgaard’s wounds. It was one of the larger ones, fit for two people and tall enough to allow for some movement. Kaira watched everything from a safe distance, like a mute ghost, her right hand trembling against the hilt of her sheathed sword. A cold wild blew through her dampened hair and snow was beginning to coat the grass surrounding the tents. She would not know of him until they allowed her to. She would have to listen out for whispers and muffled voices, hoping to catch something of Islea or Elisif inside.

Taking a seat on a log by the newly sparked fire, she unclasped the sheath from her hip and hurled it to the side, turning her attention to the pain across her thigh. Blood glistened in the flames from a clean cut through her trousers, but the light from the flames was not bright enough to allow her to assess the depth. Her lower back hurt more than the wound; it would have been throbbing by then, had it been grave enough to equire sewing. The enemy’s sword had likely only broken through her skin.

“You’re wounded,” a deep voice broke the silence, and Bastian towered over her with a bowl steaming in his hands. “Soup?” he offered as he took a seat next to her. Kaira shook her head and he sighed, deciding to dig into the bowl himself for a small sip, before setting it at his feet. “I don’t blame you, I can’t eat either. Ser Beor keeps asking me of him, and it took some good convincing to get him to tend to his own wounds.”

Kaira did not reply. She kept her eyes locked on the dancing flames, thinking of what she would say to him once he was well enough to speak. She could hear no grunting, no shouts or protests coming from his tent, which made her wonder if he had flaked out once Islea had started sewing.

“You should care after that,” Bastian added as he gestured with his head towards her thigh.

Kaira tried to pull the flaps of fabric over it slightly. “It’s just a cut. They got me better with that kick in the back than this.” She would only be able to sleep on her left, if she could fall asleep at all. She ached from every part of her body, and her chest ached too.

*​

With each pull of the needle that broke through Kyel’s skin, Elisif mustered every droplet of her strength to stay strong for his sake. She wondered what it was that burned within him then, keeping him awake and aware in spite of the pain. She wished she could tell him it was close, that it would be over soon, but she knew better than to be yet another unnecessary noise in his ears. Gently, she held his hand and whispered a prayer to herself. He would not die tonight, but she did not wish for him to suffer either. He would recover, they needed him well, and soon. If she could, she would trade her health for his pain, without question.

Once Islea was done sewing, Elisif was left alone with Kyel and her eyes immediately traced over the freshly patched wound. It would need to be washed and wrapped up, perhaps with a few medicinal herbs to help it heal quicker and painlessly. “This will leave a nasty scar,” she murmured softly as she ran her thumb over his knuckles. “Though I believe you will be just as handsome with it.”

The words he spoke to her then twisted her gut. Did he want to see Kaira to scold her? To blame her? To let her know he forgave her? Elisif felt a strong wish to tell him that it had been his fault for jumping in, but the cut across his back could not have been helped whether Kaira had hurled him across the field or not. Elisif bit her lip and nodded, before slowly releasing his hand from between hers and stepping outside of the tent. She spotted the girl sitting next to Bastian by the fire, her fingers trembling over what seemed to be a wound on her thigh.

“He wants to see you,” the Lady said quietly, and the girl quickly shot up on her feet, leaning on her healthy leg. She stepped to the side and began walking towards Islea in the hopes of distracting her while the two had their moment to talk.

*​

A warm, metallic scent hit Kaira’s nose as soon as she stepped into the tent. Her fists were clenched and she made her best attempt to not limp as she fell on her knees, then leaned to sit on the furs lain around Kyel’s bedding. The first thing she saw was the gruesome gash down his back, which Islea had done a good job of stitching back together, but it still needed some cleaning and bandaging up. Then, she dared to look at his face, pale as a ghost, with his lips bitten and his eyes cloudy.

“You should not have done that,” was all she could muster out of her throat. “I could handle myself. You had no armour on you.” Her heart thudded loudly in her chest as she spoke. With slow movements, she pulled slightly closer and placed her hand on his arm. “I am sorry.”

 

[pointmango]

As Elisif left, Kyel noted her words had been kind. She was a good friend and she cared deeply for him. Kyel would have been torn as well had she been injured. But he could not muster anything witty enough to tease back to Elisif about his looks while he had not seen her. She had seemed alright upon her horse, but his focus had been on keeping himself upright rather than trying to assess her well being.

Kyel’s head turned as he heard the tent open. His jaw clenched tight, just the pain from that movement was enough to shake his body. He could not see too well, but one of her steps seemed off, was she limping? She knelt beside him and her hand came to his arm. “Never apologize for protecting yourself,” he said in an attempt to strengthen his voice. Despite his state on the table, appearing weak before Kaira was something he did not wish to expose.

He leaned slightly to get a better look at her, turning on his side just a bit, and the pain roared over his shoulders. His jaw trembled as he breathed a bit too deeply from his nose. Despite the movement shooting pain over his body, he reached out for her cheek, his thumb brushed beneath her split lip and his brow furrowed. “You were limping,” he said, his hand dropped from her face and he removed it back to the bed, trying to stop the burning sensation in his shoulders. “There were three of them on you, one had a clear shot of your hand,” he muttered reaching for it, he clasped her fingers weakly and closed his eyes for a moment, “Your swordsmanship is too weak to lose the ability of magic in battle,” he said with a small smile then as his eyes opened to meet hers. He was unsure if such an injury would render her magic useless, but still, she’d never be able to protect herself with a sword alone.

 

[peritwinkle]

Kyel’s touch was both soothing and electrifying. Kaira looked down at him with pity; she knew the mere act of reaching out to touch her was likely causing him pain as he tensed the muscles on his back. As his hand returned to the ground, she let her fingers braid with his and drew slightly closer to prevent any uncomfortable position. She could tell he was holding back a grimace in an attempt to seem just as strong and lordly as before, sight which only made her feel more at fault for his suffering.

“I do not regret protecting myself,” she murmured softly. “I am sorry you were caught in the crossfire. I merely wished to make sure you knew it was not intentional.” Judging by the way Bastian had approached her, she had hope that the others had not judged her too harshly, but she was yet to hear their reproaches the next morning.

Kaira let out a soft sigh at his observation. She was hurt, but her back ached far more than the open wound across her thigh. Thinking back on it, she could not recall the moment the enemy’s blade had broken through her skin. She had only seen the blood, and the pain had slowly come to her after the adrenaline wore off. “He would not have gotten to me,” she shrugged, but truly, she was grateful. She could never be entirely sure; had it not been for him, perhaps she would have lost her hand. “Thank you for protecting me,” she thought to add still. “I… I suppose I do need some better training.”

A soft rustling made Kaira whip her hand out of his hold and press it between her legs instinctively, followed by Elisif’s small frame slipping through the flaps of the tent with a bowl in her hands. The woman slowly fell to her knees and pulled a large white piece of fabric out of the bowl, stained green, and gave it a good squeeze before placing it across the cut down Kyel’s back.

“Medicinal herbs,” she explained softly. “It should not hurt. I deemed it better if Islea had some rest after all that fighting earlier.” She offered Kaira a soft smile, then gestured back towards the bowl. “There is an extra one for your thigh. Do take care of that. I have seen the smallest of wounds get the strongest of warriors down. We cannot have that.”

Kaira nodded in compliance and, pulling the bowl next to her, she took in a small whiff. Yarrow. The scent brought back a long lost memory of playing in her mother’s small garden behind their house. She took the cloth out of the water, drained the excess and, tugging at the open flaps of her trousers, she pressed the cloth against her cut. A sharp shock of pain followed, albeit brief, followed by a cold sweat down her back. As she patted down, she watched Elisif’s slender hands press the other into Kyel’s gash with dexterity. “You’ve done this before,” she observed with admiration.

“Oh I have, many times,” Elisif smiled. “Kaelan would not let anyone touch his wounds from sparring but me. Although I have never seen one quite as… extensive.” Once she was done, she got back on her feet and wiped her palms on her hips. “You should sleep with your back up tonight,” she advised him. “You might not need them anymore tomorrow, but at the very least the herbs should take some time to settle into the wound before you put on your clothes.”

With that, she gave them a gentle nod and disappeared into the night, leaving the tent as quiet as she had found it. A gust of cold air slipped in as she left, but did not bear against the heat of their bodies. Kaira placed her hand on Kyel’s forehead and let out a sigh; he was not yet feverish, although judging by the way Elisif had left them, she had been unspokenly assigned to watch over him in the night. “Why did you ask to see me?” she murmured then, as she returned to tending to her own wound. Perhaps she should have removed her trousers to properly clean it, but she thought twice about stripping half bare in front of him.

 

[pointmango]

His eyes met hers for a brief moment, his jaw tensed as he could recognize the way she looked at him. Pity. Part of him wanted to request her to leave just for the look. But she then thanked him and his expression softened. Before he could think of any clever retorts the tent rustling caused Kaira to drop his hand and lean back slightly. Kyel didn’t care, his eyes remained over her.

He heard Elisif’s voice and his head turned as she carried a bowl and immediately drained the cloth and pressed it to his back. Whatever the herb, it did not hurt in itself, for a moment it did, strong, but in fact it lessened the burn of the pain directly over the wound. But still even the delicate pressure from Elisif hurt some. Kyel let out another sharp breath, but he was glad as Kaira took the cloth for her thigh.

“Well Kaelan is a smart man,” Kyel spoke through gritted teeth to his old friend, “Your touch is far more forgiving than Islea’s,” he commented. He nodded when she told him how he should sleep. “Do not worry Elisif,” he said offering a faint smile then, “Northern blood heals quicker than any other,” he said with a weak grin. When she disappeared again Kyel’s attention was back to Kaira. Her hand came to his forehead and she sighed. He wanted her closer to him, perhaps that would heal him faster, her comfort made him feel better than he ever had before, this should be no different.

When she asked why he wanted to see her perplexity crossed his features. He watched her try to tend to her wounds rather poorly. If he was able he would have traded their places, he wanted to lay her on the bed, one leg around his torso as he leaned over the other so he could tend properly to the wound on her thigh without her trousers on. “You should remove those,” He said to her calmly then. His brows came together again, “It will only raise the risk of infection,” he spoke more sternly.

“I needed to see you,” he confessed then. “I could not focus as I rode my horse. I could not assess who was well and who was injured. I needed to see you were alright.” He informed her. “And perhaps I was hoping you would hold my hand the way you had been earlier,” he added quietly. Kaira would never be the woman to weep beside an injured man, especially when his injury was partly against his own doing. But it was still nice to feel her touch in such a state.

“Come here,” he said to her, motioning with his hand. As she sat before him Kyel’s hand came to her waist and willed her forward slightly, he felt her body tense at the touch. His eyes met hers, dark and dangerous as he reached around her back and his hand pressed under her layers. Tender. “You might be as proud as I am,” he muttered. His hand reached for the cloth then, and he pressed down at the wound on her thigh, dirt was on the edge of the towl from her garments and Kyel’s eyes met hers again, their faces close as she knelt before him. “Take your trousers off,” he spoke this time; it was not a suggestion.

 

[peritwinkle]

Interpreting Kyel’s words felt like trying to decipher a foreign language to her. Had he come to see her as a friend? Was there anything more behind that blue gaze? Kaira looked at him as if he were an open book which she did not comprehend. The thought of losing him, of the possibility that her vision might come into reality, was more terrifying than the prospect of her own death. He was too familiar now, she needed to have him next to her just as much as she missed Leon’s presence. She recalled the first vision, and how it had changed to show him bleeding next to her, as well, which now felt like a consequence of their closeness. Perhaps, had they not slept together, had they not kissed, he would not have jumped to her aid that day.

“Oh, you’re a big guy,” she sighed ironically as she looked at him, although a part of her did want to hold his hand. She knew he was in pain, and she knew he was not weak for showing it; instead, she was weak for suffering when she saw him in that state. She had painted a version of him in her head that was divinely strong, untouchable, which had now been crushed to pieces, forcing her in the shoes of a child whose innocent dreams had been burst.

At his touch, Kaira did allow herself to draw closer, and she flinched when he pressed his hand to her back. “That was a solid kick,” she informed him, brows furrowed in pain. “It might even be worse than the ones you gave me.” Definitely was. She could already feel the pain radiate up her spine and ribs whenever she moved, but she refused to give him the pleasure of seeing her in distress. Briefly, she recalled what some strangers in a pub in Yllevad had called her - ‘the Black Storm’ - and the mere thought of it made her feel pathetic for complaining about a bruise, as if she only had the right to suffer after a broken bone or severed limb.

But Kyel was right - she could not properly clean her wound through the dirty fabric of her trousers. Pursing her lips, she undid her belt and slowly pulled them down, slipping her feet through the holes and throwing them to the side, before carefully rolling up her shorter undergarments. They were stained, as well, but loose enough to not require removal. “I can do it,” she said to him as she took the cloth out of his hand and, leaning against the side of the low bed, she began to wipe the dried blood and dirt away from the wound, dipping back into the yarrow water every now and then.

“I am not a girl, Kyel,” she spoke as she tended to her cut. “I don’t suppose I would need to grow a beard for you to no longer treat me like a distressed damsel. I’ve taken worse. And I’ve been prepared for worse. This is nothing.” She wanted him to understand she had no intention of garnering his sympathy by showing some vulnerability. She was too tired to hide her pain completely, and too cold to turn a blind eye to it. Eventually, she stopped for a moment to look at him, sinking the cloth to the bottom of the bowl. “I am a warrior. Just as much as Islea or Jon are. I do not need you to look after me like a child.”

 

[pointmango]

He watched her remove her trousers. How different it had been to when he recalled undressing her their first night together. She wore an elegant and dark gown and he tugged mercilessly at the strings of her corset, his lips ravished her neck then. Now he could only touch her side and pray she would let him continue. His brows came together seeing the gash for itself, he should have been there to protect her for that. She took the cloth and began to lecture him.

He huffed slightly. She was blind, he was as well. Unfortunately he didn’t even think a beard could deter him now. He had to remind himself she was nothing more than an ally and someone who kept his bed warm some nights. That is all it was and all it could ever be. Still it made sense to want to protect a casual lover, right? His eyes watched hers as she looked to him, she compared herself to Islea and Jon. It was different, in fact he knew she was stronger than Jon and Islea, even combined, and still he would jump to her aid before either of theirs.

Kyel frowned then, he shook his head, “It is not like a child.” he informed her harshly, but he did not explain further. Nor did he wish for her to inquire further. Could he simply say to her she was a friend who needed his help at that moment? Beor needed just as much help in the battle. Kyel needed the most help of anyone and still he raced to her aid. “I will do my best not to treat you in such a way. I will treat you as a warrior Kaira, as the warrior you are,” he told her then.

His hand reached for hers then and he nodded to his own bag in the corner, where clean clothes would be. “You need your rest as well.” He whispered. “Come to bed,” she had told him not to treat her as a girl, but a warrior. Still, she was a beautiful woman as well as a warrior, and he would have preferred to share his bed with that over a distressed damsel. He squeezed her hand, “If I am to treat you as a warrior, you may not look at me with pity,” he decided then. “I am strong too. This wound on my back will heal and I will be able to beat you in a fight before you can even recall I was injured.” He taunted slightly as his hand tugged at hers, he wanted her in bed.

 

[peritwinkle]

Kaira watched Kyel with narrowed eyes as he made his promise following her reproach. Only a few days before, she would have seen it as dishonest, but he had not given her any true reason to doubt his promises. If they were to be allies and fight together, she could not have him preoccupied with protecting her like a child; she was just as capable of killing as him, and even more dangerous when using magic. The thought that, when a real battle came, his eyes would be on her instead of his own back made her tense; with or without magic, they needed the North if they had any hopes of overthrowing Alastair, and without House Skovgaard, without Kyel, they might as well drop their weapons.

She did not protest at the offer of clean clothes; leaning behind, she grabbed the large leather bag from the corner of the tent and pulled out one of the clean pairs of trousers, which merely judging by the looks of them were considerably larger than anything she could comfortably wear. Still, she could feel the cold creeping in with each moment she spent undressed, so she quickly slipped into them and tied her own belt around her middle to make sure they would not fall off in her sleep.

“Happy?” she canted her head, then pushed herself up and lied down on the edge of the bed. There was no hope for both of them to sleep comfortably, so she was willing to compromise if it meant he would keep his bandages on for the rest of the night. Pulling closer, she rested her head against his shoulder and wrapped one arm around his. His skin was much warmer than her own, increasingly heating up, and judging by the scent the yarrow let off, the concoction was not concentrated enough to ensure a feverless night.

She would have to heal him. She would wait for him to fall asleep, keep her eyes open to force herself lucid for as long as it took, for she knew that if she even mentioned the suggestion of a spell on his own being, she would be met with his usual protests. And truly, she could not deny he was strong, and he might heal rather quickly from the wound if his Northern blood allowed, but certainly not enough for them to arrive to Riftmere as urgently as they needed to before they were faced with yet another unpleasant surprise.

*​

Bastian looked down at Beor with his brows furrowed and his hands fidgeting behind his back. The older man had a large cloth wrapped around his forehead and kept his palm pressed to his chest, where a large bruise was taking form, but the way he presented himself before them made it seem as though the wounds were but tricks of the sight. He admired his strength; even old as he was - although not much older than himself - he valued pride more than his own health at times, and for a man with as much weight on the wellbeing of the land, such evil was necessary.

“There was no doubt an intermediary,” Bastian said with confidence. “But given we left Whitevale at noon, it could have been anyone from the city. We cannot take each and every civilian and question them.”

“There is no need for that,” Beor said in a husky voice. He propped himself higher up on his pillows and let out a long breath. “All we need to know is whether the middleman is part of Bailin’s court. Spies are inevitable, but a swayed Lord or advisor weigh much heavier in the balance of things. We cannot have them in council, or anywhere near classified information.”

Bastian agreed, but he knew there was no way they could pose this assumption to Lord Bailin. Still, the thought ate him up from the inside. They could not involve House Pyke in any of their discussions before they were sure there were no uninvited eyes and ears chiming into the conversation. “House Pyke has no need to know what we discuss with Lord Pelletier further,” he suggested. “All they know is that they will have sent us men, and we will meet with them at Riftmere.”

Beor shook his head. “They do know, thanks to you, that we will be travelling North, precisely to Skellig,” the man raised his brows at Bastian. “I do not blame you, though. Had I doubted his reliance, I would have tried to hide our Volur from his eyes. But whatever the middleman knows, he knows wrong. The men Alastair sent were too little in number, which meant they expected a warm welcome from their target.”

“They thought Kaira would comply with the rescue,” Bastian nodded.

“Mm. And had she complied, we might all have been dead. Out of us all, we are old men, Lady Vannbrek is with child, and the only ones who could truly fight were Kyel, Jon, the guards and the girl. I do not doubt your swordsmanship, Osmund, but I would rather have you healthy and sane of mind than lose you in exchange for some of the King’s men.”

 

[pointmango]

He wished to twist his head to catch her before she pulled on any trousers, but turning that much would have required his back to twist too much. He laid still just listening, and when she came back to the bed he was able to look then, smirking just slightly and nodded at her rhetorical question. She laid close and his eyes looked down at the top of her head, wishing he could lean down and kiss the flesh of her forehead.

He could feel his fever setting in, while his body was hot and sweating, part of him still felt chilled. His eyes stayed on her as his own grew tired. She was injured too, had the roles been reversed he would have stayed awake all night to make sure she was healthy throughout the night, but now his own injuries were stealing his will from him. He let out a long huff, slightly frustrated with himself as sleep was overtaking him. Soon his body relaxed and his head fell more comfortably, signaling sleep had come.

*

When the morning came Kaira was gone from his bed, instead he woke up to the pressure of Islea poking at his back with a furrowed brow Kyel lifted his head slightly, still groggy and he winced when Islea pressed harder.

“Remarkable,” Islea commented quietly. “Well Lord Skovgaard, perhaps the yarrow was blessed by the gods, or you Northerners do have special blood.” She said to him. The wound was still apparent and rough, but Islea had prepared for it to appear worse in the morning, instead it looked like it was on it’s first legs of healing soundly. “Or maybe you are just lucky,” she added to him shaking her head. Islea rewrapped his wound so he could wear his leathers on their ride. After redressing him, Islea called in Bastain to help her lift Kyel to stand, once on his feet he could manage himself.

Outside he tried to gauge where Kaira was as they finished packing their carriages. He saw her already on her horse beside Lord Pelletier. He moved to his own steed riding up ahead with Beor as the journey began, he knew under the circumstances they’d try to push the limits to arrive in Riftmere sooner.

*

Jon threw his saddle over his horse and looked curiously over Kaira who was preparing her own horse beside him. A look of amusement crossed his features, “Well you look awful,” he said matter of factly. He took a small step towards her and poked her arm with a bit of pressure in his finger, he felt if he shoved even a bit harder he could knock her over, “You feeling alright Grimward?” He asked more seriously.

Jon turned hearing the commotion of Lord Skovgaard exiting his tent and their guard beginning to clear out the tent and pack it up. Jon stepped to Kaira again, offering his hand to help her lift onto her horse if she needed it. A gentleman’s notion, but Jon had a feeling without his help she risked a struggle. Her leg wound must’ve been more serious than anyone thought.

As they began their journey Jon kept his steed close to hers. He eyed her cautiously and even debated leaving her to silence, some people liked that. “So your friends seemed like they were expecting a warm welcome from you yesterday,” Jon commented with a small grin. “King Alastair’s threats might become more serious now… knowing your loyalties have swayed.” Jon added. “Suppose it doesn’t matter, we have you now, right? And Skovgaard’s injury will have wounded his pride more than his back, he’ll fight harder I’m sure.” Jon rolled his eyes. The Northern Lord already fought harder than everyone except maybe Kaira, Jon was still undecided.

Jon looked over her a bit more, he reached down into one of his horses pouches and pulled some dried fruit, “Seriously, are you feeling alright Grimward?” he offered the sustenance, “Surely my banter cannot be that boring?” Jon teased.

 

[peritwinkle]

The next morning, Kaira woke up more exhausted than she had gone to sleep. She opened her eyes to the same position she had propped herself in the night before, with her hand on his shoulder as she had spoken the words of her spell, and with each sound that had come out of her mouth, it seemed as though she grew heavier and the pain in her bruises and wound reverberated with greater vigor through her body.

Despite the muffled agony, she was quick to rise and substitute the empty spot she left in Kyel’s bed with a fur blanket which she carefully placed over his back, in a way that did not disturb his bandages. She induldged in watching him for a moment, wondering how he felt. There was no fever radiating from his skin, no show of infection, which assured her that her spell had worked to a degree. The sounds of steps and rustling from outside forced her to leave the tent eventually, pulling her coat over her shoulders and preparing herself to face the brisk morning air, yet as she stepped out, she saw the familiar figure of Lady Vannbrek, pacing about the tent with one hand dancing over her belly, and another wrapped around a steaming cup of tea.

“Oh,” the woman spoke as soon as her eyes fell on her. “Is he well?”

Kaira’s neck tensed and she nodded quickly. “I stayed with him to make sure-”

“Oh yes, certainly,” she interrupted with a smile. “I would have stayed myself, but this little one,” she sighed as she looked down at the small bump she held with such passion, “I am seldom lucky enough to get a good night’s sleep.” She shook her head and resumed her pacing. “I had to wake up quite early… Could not bear it on my back anymore, needed to move my legs a bit, straighten my joints… Your wound.”

Her last words left Kaira addled for a moment, before she looked down at her leg and saw the large stain of bright red blood that covered almost the entirety of her thigh. She felt her stomach twist as she only now registered the intensity of the pain, but pinpointed the reason rather quickly. “I must have opened it in my sleep,” she explained quickly. “I should go change by bandage, get clean. I suppose we should be leaving soon.”

“Is he awake?”

“Not yet.”

“Hmm…” She tried to peek through the flaps of the tent briefly. “I shall speak to Islea. Get him patched up before we start riding again. I heard we could stop at an inn tonight, and we would reach Riftmere tomorrow noon already.”



It took a lamentable amount of time for Kaira to change her clothes and patch her wound back up. Albeit not bleeding quite as intensely, it showed no signs of having healed over night, to which she decided to keep a cloth dipped in the yarrow concoction tied to it beneath her trousers for the ride, as well. If the plant would not stop the bleeding, at the very least the new cloth would prevent her only clean pair from getting stained as quickly again. She wished they could ride faster, to reach Riftmere before nightfall and not have to spend another sleep in strange territory, but she knew neither Kyel nor Ser Beor were well enough to pull such a stunt so quickly after the previous day’s battle.

By the time she reached her horse, Kyel was up on his feet and dressed for the road, almost as though he were not hurt in the least. The sight of him, in a state considerably improved from the night before, brought a certain ease to her mind; she was still bleeding, but it was a small price to pay to know that the night had not taken him. Jon was quick to distract her from behind as he prepared his own steed, and where otherwise she would have enjoyed the sound of his voice, it now rung so loud in her ears that she could almost feel its vibration in her toes.

“Tired,” she replied softly before mounting her steed. The act of it sent an excruciating pain down her spine and through her thigh and left her out of breath for a few seconds, before she could straighten herself and take a good grip of the reins. Her fingers felt weak, barely strong enough to tighten into a fist, and the feeling in her gut turned more and more sickening by each passing moment.

She could hear him talk as they rode, but her head refused to comprehend, as though what came from her ears was a muffled whisper. As the distanced themselves from the woods and headed into the plains, the trees disappeared behind her like a blur, a shroud of splattered paint that only hinted at the shape of a thicket. By the time they were well out into the open and the sun filtered out of the clouds, Kaira felt her head weighing far too much for what her neck could hold; she heard Jon ask something, but his words and those of the people around him muddled together, and as she parted her lips to answer, it felt like putting words together sent scourging blades of fire down her lungs from the mere effort.

“Can I ride with you?” the question eventually came out, more as a whisper which she could only hope he had heard against the wind. “I… My leg, it’s hard to hold my balance.” A pathetic explanation. She slouched in her saddle and leaned against her steed’s neck to keep herself from falling. She could already feel pairs of eyes on her, wondering, assuming, but all she cared for in that moment was to close her eyes and stifle the sickening feeling inside her.

 

[pointmango]

Jon’s brows lifted at her question, but her next movements were very clear. “Of course,” he spoke almost instantly, his demeanor changing from skepticism to worry. He pulled his quiver from his back and hung it upon a notch on his horse saddle where his bow was hung as well. He called their guard over who helped Jon maneuver her onto his saddle behind him. He set her arms around his waist, holding her wrist for a moment, “I’m going to need some words every so often to make sure you haven’t fallen ill Grimward,” Jon spoke easily to her as he turned back slightly.

He handed the reins of her horse to their guard, and once she was situated he saw the others who had stopped and looked to them. Jon pointed to his own leg making his voice louder, “Leg’s rough, messing with the balance, I got her.” He told them earning a nod from the others.

“Is she ill?” Islea called to the pair.

“No, just tired!” Jon replied back easily. Everyone turned back to continue, he noted Lord Skovgaard turned the slowest, the Northern Lord’s eyes on the woman behind him. One of Jon’s hands reached back and tapped Kaira’s back a bit, “Don’t fall asleep,” he said in a lower tone.

*

Jon noticed the inn in the distance as the sky darkened. The smoke from two chimney pipes on either side twisted artistically into the air. Jon felt and heard his stomach churn. “You think I’d be able to survive two days on soup and jerky after the feast at Whitevale.” He smirked quietly. As they grew closer Jon could see the forming curls of smoke illuminated by the speckle of oil lamps positioned tastefully against the walls of the inn. Along every wall about every three or four feet was a hue of amber in inverted bottles.

As they approached everyone began to dismount. Jon twisted in the saddle, one hand pressing to the front of Kaira’s waist as he dismounted himself, his hands were high above him as he helped lift her off of the horse. Due to his lack of leverage she sort of fell softly down into his arms, Jon winked as their faces were so close. “Well I must say Miss Grimward, this amber hue does accentuate those blue eyes,” his tease was quiet this time.

Kyel was provided extra support from their guard Grey as he dismounted his own steed. The pain in his back had returned as they rode throughout the day, he could not wait for sleep. However he glanced over to spot the Volur's well being and his blood boiled as the young Lord Pelletier’s hand touched her waist. Their closeness left him unsettled, even more so as the young Lord whispered something close to her face with that stupid grin he always wore.

Jon stepped back softly, one hand on her waist slightly, “Are you all set to walk in?” He asked her carefully. Jon stayed close by her side as he moved into the inn with her. The heavy gaze of Kyel Skovgaard looked more menacing than usual as they came to the L-shaped bar inside. Jon was grateful for the warmth, and even more grateful when Islea requested rooms.

There was an older woman at the bar, “What can I get ya?” She asked the group with her raspy voice, “Some rooms, wine, mead?” She offered.

“Rooms, five please.” Islea said looking over their party as she pushed forward the coin. “Wine and food as well,” her gaze thus turning back Kyel, who looked rather pale and to Kaira who looked ready to slump over. Beor and Bastain headed into the first room, and Islea glanced at their party at the second, while Lady Vannbrek was not injured, she deserved comfort and an able body to accompany her.

Jon saw the moment of confusion on Islea’s face. “I will watch Miss Grimward’s wellbeing tonight,” Jon spoke with ease, “She needs someone who will stay awake in the night in her state.” He said, looking her over slightly. “You can accompany Lady Vannbrek, and Grey can handle Lord Skovgaard should he need the assistance.”

 

[peritwinkle]

Kaira was on the verge of falling off her horse when she felt it come to a halt, and as she opened her eyes from behind Jon’s shoulders she saw the dimmed lights of the crossroads inn. A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she removed her arms from around him and allowed him to dismount first before letting him pull her down on her feet, as well. There was a lingering pain that pulsated in her lower back from riding, as well as a dull ache in her thigh that only threatened to get worse. With a drop of luck, no blood had seeped through the bandage, but the wet cloth had gotten disturbingly cold throughout their travel.

As soon as she found herself on the ground, she looked up to Jon with an expression of pure malaise. “I hope you do remember I can fry your brain within a blink,” she whispered calmly, before turning away from him and following the small group towards the entrance.

Walking was an agonizing hassle. She felt as though she was stepping on needles, and each time she closed her eyes and opened them again, they sung as if splattered with sand. Jon was still close to her as they entered the inn, but Kaira thought she could pull herself together at least until she found herself on a bed again. She listened to the conversation between the maid and Islea, of which she only comprehended the last repartition under Jon’s judgement, that stirred her back to reality quicker than a slap to the face. She instinctively looked back to Kyel, whose cold and stern expression was completely unreadable. Did he care? Was he too exhausted to care, or even listen?

It did not matter. Her vision had come to reality already, and the danger was more or less gone. With Jon, she was just as protected, if not more, for out of the entire group, he and Bastian seemed to be the only ones still apt to do some fighting or, at the very least, stay alert. She would have taken Lady Vannbrek into the equation as well, had her head not been completely muddled from the exhausting travels and likely uncomfortable sleep. Pregnant women were not made for war, regardless of how strong Elisif painted herself as. She was fierce, yes, but behind that plastered smile, she was shattered and struggling perhaps more than herself.

“A good judgement,” Beor nodded at Jon. “We should gather our forces until tomorrow, there is no rush to wake up too early.”

Bastian’s neck tensed visibly, but he accompanied the man away without any further comment. Kaira watched as Elisif followed Islea, and as she was left in the dining room with Jon, Kyel and the guard he would share a room with, she could not stifle the feeling of sadness and pity in her stomach. It was not how Kyel was supposed to be. The strength she saw on him was not genuine, but a mask he likely painted for her sake, or his own pride. And a part of her - a selfish, twisted part - wanted to believe it more than to admit that he had the right to suffer. She wanted him powerful, beastly, untouchable, even if he had never really been hers to take.

*​

Elisif’s gaze traced around the room that had been assigned to Lord Skovgaard absentmindedly. She had told Islea she would be late for a few moments, and so she waited for him to go up the stairs at his own pace, preparing her words in advance.

She held her hands wrapped around her bump now, as if hoping she could feel a kick, a movement, a shift. Nothing. She had not yet felt a thing that day, or perhaps she couldn’t have, due to the permanent movement of the horse beneath her. She made a mental note to check her health as soon as they got to Riftmere; she had heard they had good healers, although she doubted any would surpass those near her home. Their land had always been good for growing herbs and plants of different kinds - a warmer place, and not quite as humid and gloomy as Riftmere was.

Once the door opened, Elisif straightened her back and painted a soft simper on her lips at the sight of him. “Lord Skovgaard,” she said, a formality for the sake of the guard. “I… wanted to check up on your wound. I have been thinking of it all day. You seemed to be much better than last night.”

*​

“I think we should make the rules clear.”

Kaira was now sat on the bed, undoing the buttons of her coat as she kicked off her boots with her feet. Her movements were awfully slow, and she made a great effort of not groaning at the pain that kept striking her each time she shifted her back. She anticipated removing her trousers with horror, but there was no way she was going to sleep with a dirty bandage. She needed to get to Riftmere whole, and had decided she was particularly keen on keeping both of her limbs.

“First,” she began, “you do not get on my side of the bed.” Her voice was weak, despite her efforts of masking the effects of that night’s endeavours. “You touch me in your sleep and I will scourge your hand off. Second,” she finally pulled off her coat and turned to look at him. “No peeking.” She kept her hands around her belt, signaling she was about to tend to her cut. “My eyes may be hypnotizing in the amber hue but yours are too, and I am sure you do not wish to lose them.”

 

[pointmango]

Kyel opened the door at the soft creek of footsteps outside the door. He looked over his old friend, and he wondered why she had come to him. Grey could have checked his wounds, he had better leverage to do so as well. Kyel turned to the guard, “Leave us, we shouldn’t be long,” he spoke to the guard, then he caught the man’s arm on the way out, “Please return with a pitcher of ale, or wine… anything.” Kyel's serious gaze encroached into the guards soul at his request.

Once Grey had left Kyel sighed back to the pregnant woman before him. “You shouldn’t worry of me, you have something much more important to consume your mind,” He glanced down at her belly. He had been so distracted with Kaira the past two days he could not recall if he even caught Elisif eating the proper amount. Kyel was not a pious man, but he had sworn upon Kaelan’s death he would make sure Elisif and this child were well taken care of.

He moved over to the bed and began to undo the wrappings of his leather ties, “My wound is fine. I am just tired.” he lied. Despite the remarkable improvement from the previous evening, his back still blistered with heat at every movement. He pulled his jacket off of himself and took a long hard breath, lifting his shirt off would prove to be difficult and he was trying to figure out how to do so painlessly with Elisif’s presence. He found a stool in the corner of the room and lifted the bowl a top it onto the ground. He brought the stool before her and sat down in front of her, he then took in a long breath and pulled his shirt from his body quickly, his shoulder muscles tense from the burning sensation. “Better, right?” he spoke through gritted teeth.

*

Jon’s brows lifted as he had begun to undress himself. He turned to look at her with an amused grin as she started with rules. His head canted to the side, and he held his hand out, as if to motion for her to continue. This would be rich, he chuckled to himself. He let out a small huff as she began, he could not tell if she was teasing him or not, and her tone was weak which distracted his need for a joke anyway.

Jon turned and sat on the edge of the bed facing away from her as he began to untie his boots. His fingers paused on the laces and he chuckled, “Relax Grimward, no touching, or looking, or anything will come from me.” He informed her with his hands up and he playfully set his hands over his face even with his back turned from her.

He chuckled again, “Now, onto much more important matters than your wound,” he informed her, “Please do tell me more about how you, the Royal Volur to be, finds my eyes ‘oh so hypnotizing in the amber hues’” He spoke in a falsely higher tone as he mimicked her. But he paused another moment, “It will be easier if I redress the wound, you know.” He pointed out to her. “I will only look at the wound, nothing else, not even those eyes,” he teased slightly.

 

[peritwinkle]

Elisif’s lips perked into a smirk as she watched Kyel struggle to pull himself together for her. He needed all the wine and sleep he could get, and truly, she was at ease knowing he was not at peril anymore. At the very least he could walk on his own feet, which was more than could be said for their little Volur. Her expression softened. She took a few small steps towards him and set her hands on his shoulders, looking down at him from where she stood.

“Let us see,” she sighed as she claimed a seat next to him. She was careful to keep her touch gentle as she moved him, just enough so she could take a look at his back. “Hmm. It is closed already.” No sign of bleeding, which at the very least meant he had been careful enough not to trigger it during the ride. Her hands dropped to her lap and she canted her hand at him, the corners of her lips turning up again just slightly. “Northern blood or not, I do believe you owe Miss Grimward a ‘thank you’.”

She was unsure how he would receive the news of her observation. Kyel had been taught to fear magic, but Elisif had a feeling that when it came to one particular Volur, he had learned to stifle some feelings. The matter of their closeness perplexed her, yet as nosy as she knew herself to be, it was not the best time to bring up an indecent question. Perhaps it had been a drunken fling, although she could not set aside the knowledge that Kaira had spent the previous night watching over him, which was more than they would have ever expected from a plucked ex-ally of their greatest enemy. Had she asked Jon or Bastian, they would have gladly given up their sleep for the sake of Lord Skovgaard, but the man had not asked for them. That night, he had asked to see her.

And strangely enough, it did not hurt. When she was little, she had expected to weep at the news of Lord Skovgaard finding a match. That love she had had for him - if it had been romantic love at all - had turned to an unwavering friendship. If there was one good thing that had come out of that rebellion, it was the chance of them reuniting once again, and rekindling their amity.

“You are the strongest man I know, Kyel,” Elisif said eventually as she stood up. “But not even the strongest of men heal quite as quickly from a wound that deep. Perhaps I was wrong in thinking there still was not a woman who could care for you as much as I do.”

*​

Kaira pulled down her trousers as soon as Jon assured her he would not peek. Frankly, she did not care in the least if he saw her in her undergarments, or truly, if he saw her entirely bare. She had not grown a prude, and not in the least ashamed of what other men might think of her looks. His tone changed rather quickly, from mocking her words to offering to dress her wound, to which she huffed and shook her head. “I would be blind to not find you handsome, Jon, but don’t let it get to your head. And I can care for my own wound, see?” She turned towards him and wiggled her fingers in the air. “I have two working hands.”

Then, she turned back and began to slowly remove the bandage soaked in yarrow. It was no longer damp, but the scent it gave off was still potent, and now mixed with the metallic smell of blood from the scab. It looked slightly better than the morning before, but she had not expected it to close completely while she was still weak. A good night’s sleep would do, and she would likely be able to ride alone in the morning. The lightheadedness had already dimmed exponentially, thankfully allowing her to counter his banter rather quickly.

“Do you think I am beautiful, Jon?” she asked eventually as she reached to grab the bowl of water by the end of the bed and started rinsing the bandage of blood. Her tone was serious, and even she was surprised to hear herself ask this, but deep inside, she wished to know. “I mean, like those ladies at court.” No man had ever come to her, even dared to speak to her in a flirtatious way other than Kyel, and she knew by then that his intentions were not serious. But still, she wondered if there was a chance he saw her as pretty as those women a man like him was allowed to be serious about.

 

[pointmango]

He felt her hands on his shoulders and the contact did not hurt him like Islea’s had yesterday. Nor did it even carry the same tenderness of the morning. He was shocked to learn it was closed already. But when she brought up the mention of Kaira and owing her a thank you, his shoulders visibly went tense. He was a fool, of course that is why his wound had felt so much better in the morning. He was upset, magic on him without permission or warning. He had not even thought…. Was that why she was so weak today? She was the fool then, anger flared across his features as he stood up.

His eyes met Elisif’s as she stood and he turned to face the woman. But at her final remarks Kyel’s jaw went tense again, Elisif had caught him twice. “She does not care for me,” He replied quickly. “She cannot,” his eyes broke her gaze and he turned towards the bed shoving the pillows around slightly, trying to find something to busy himself with so he would not have to face the gaze of his good friend. “I cannot either,” his tone was careful.

But she was here, and he would have to face the truth at some point, or deny until he could no longer breathe. Elisif might have an answer for him. He turned to Elisif, but in the moment all he thought of was her. Why had she healed him? Anger and frustration flared again, if she hadn’t healed him she wouldn’t be sharing a room with Lord Pelletier. Did she care though? She could not. He especially could not, even taking her to bed would be seen as such a sin, nevermind any more than that.

Again he turned to face the golden haired woman he had loved so long ago. Before his chest used to hammer at the sight of those emerald eyes, and now he felt the same, if not more, about a certain pair of deep blue ones. “Elisif,” he spoke quietly then, his head shook back and forth, trying to formulate some sort of explanation, but nothing came. To compare her to a weapon was not true, and to suggest he enjoyed the comfort she brought him would only pose more questions. “I cannot care for her.”

*

Jon could not help himself, when she baited him with the word ‘see’, he turned his head just slightly and shook it with a soft chuckle. He leaned back on the bed, laying pin straight on his own side, and although she had turned already, he flamboyantly made a slow show of covering his eyes with his hands. He could smell the yarrow, and the blood, his face grimaced slightly.

He pulled his hands from his eyes at her question. Her question seemed serious, it was odd, he wanted to laugh, and he did slightly before catching himself. “Kaira,” Jon spoke in disbelief, “Of course you are beautiful.” He told her like she was delusional. “Truthfully I think the way you do beautiful is better than the way the ladies of the court do it.” he shrugged. “You are imposing and impressive on the battlefield. I’d say elegant… no, maybe dignified.” He shrugged trying to describe the manner. He would have called her a ‘regal warrior’ had it made more sense.

“Then you are also beautiful the same way a lady of the court is. More actually. That dress you wore at Lord Pyke’s ball, well by the gods, even Lord Skovgaard’s tongue was ready to wag.” Jon chuckled again. “Sexy,” Jon decided with a grin. He glanced at Kaira, “Well now you must be blind to ask such a question. Surely you are aware of your beauty,” he commented. “Or does it get clouded up in that intelligent head of yours?” He wondered. “My father used to say intelligent women were a liability, I think they are fun,” Jon looked at her as his grin widened, but his gaze shortly returned to lean his head back and review the small patterns in the wooden planks that made up the ceiling.

 

[peritwinkle]

Elisif watched Kyel bolt through a range of emotions as he realized what her words had meant, and she could not help but ache for him. She let him speak in silence, resting her hands on her belly and looking at him with an expression of both disbelief and empathy. It was more than clear to her that he was suffering; she recognized that look all too well, for once, he had looked at her the same way, and the same despair had graced his features. Once again, the Lord of Ironstone seemed to pine for someone he could not have, yet another desire sparked by something that, at first, had likely seemed to be a game.

“How have you not learned, after all these years?” the woman shook her head, but she did not reproach him. Her brows were slightly arched up and her lips still clung to the shadow of a simper. “I will not teach you what to do with your life, Kyel,” she continued, “but as a woman, and one who has seen this look in your eyes before, I feel the duty to give you a piece of advice.”

She took a step closer to him then, and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, squeezing lightly so as to not disturb his healing wound. “Women are not selfless creatures. While you would jump to the aid of a suffering man, we always think of ourselves first, weigh if that act of charity could cost us our wellbeing. Miss Grimward is no different; Volur or not, she is a woman as well.” She let him fill in the gaps with his own judgment as she eventually removed her hand from him and walked towards the door. She would not push him to do something irresponsible, that was not her place. The North was a much harsher place, and its people were not quite as flexible when it came to their beliefs. It was a choice he would have to make by himself, if at all.

*​

Kaira listened to Jon speak as she patted the damp cloth against her wound. Perhaps what he said was true. She had never thought of herself as desirable, although she was aware of her looks. Back in Yllevad, she had seen many less fortunate ladies, and she had often found comparing herself to them; thinking of herself as beautiful now did make her feel stronger. Beauty was something Elisif had learned to use to her advantage; it made her look approachable and sweet to the eye, but on the inside, she was one of the strongest and most cunning women she had met.

“I know I am not unsightly,” Kaira shrugged in response to his question. “Forget I asked. Thank you. I think it is the tiredness meddling with my head. No sane man would try to do more than look at someone like me anyway,” she chuckled bitterly. People were afraid of Volur, it was a fear that was often instilled from early childhood, and for a good reason. Not all Volur could control their magic, and not all those who could control it used it to do good. Up until then, she had only done evil. From an objective point of view, Leon was evil as well. It did not matter he had joined Alastair because he had once believed in his redemption.

Once she was done, she squeezed the excess water from the bandage and wrapped it back around her wound before pulling up the trousers. They were comfortably loose around her legs but oddly tight around her hips, visibly not made for her shape at all. She would have to find a way to repay Kyel for letting her borrow them and stain them with yarrow on the inside lining. She lay in bed facing the ceiling and pressed her back firmly against the mattress in the hope of relieving some of the pain.

“Sleep well, Jon,” she murmured, before pulling the cover over herself and falling prey to slumber.

 

[pointmango]

Kyel spent his evening thinking of Elisif’s words rather than letting sleep overtake his form. When sunlight peeked through a small window. He had not learned, why did he even let himself indulge in such things he could not have? He understood Elisif’s advice, it was simple, she did care for him. She would not have harmed herself for his well being if she did not care. His chest burned with frustration and annoyance throughout the night. She had no right. He knew that was why Kaira waited for his sleep then, she knew he would have refused her, which only burned his chest more. She had harmed herself in the process, or drained herself of any hope of healing.

*

They had fled the inn in the late morning. The group had indulged on a hearty breakfast and some ale provided by the innkeepers, and Islea made sure they were paid handsomely. The ride to Riftmere was shorter than expected and Lord Pelletier’s jovial expression of clinking his morning ale against his Knight mentors quickly soured the closer they became. The river widened until they came upon a large lake.

The lake was a deep grey color and as the snow had changed to sleet, the water looked unforgiving in the late autumn weather. How unfortunate anyone should see his home like this. In the summer when the sun graced the land, the water looked lovely even if the buildings of Riftmere did not. Seeing his home only made Jon miss Greenwall.

The Riftmere keep seemed a bleak and forlorn place in the particular season and the pale light of a stormy afternoon. Jon reflected ruefully that it felt more like a ruin than a castle. The dark timber atop the stone walls were not elegant, but highly functional. Jon looked to a small tower on the left, on the other side of that tower was an archery range. One of his prime locations of where he would practice shooting before he felt old enough to sneak out on his own. The group emerged forward towards the keeps large wooden doors.

From the Riftmere keep emerged a familiar face, one very similar to his own. His features were a few years more mature than Jon, and slightly wider as well. “Welcome,” he spoke proudly. Jon looked over his brother in a squirrel-skinned cloak, he remembered it from the last time he visited when it was made, a gift from the council. Eric’s wife, Sava, wore a warm and thick cloak. Jon watched as his brother greeted each of the Knights, Ladies and Lord Skovgaard. Greeting the man closest to him in age as an old friend. Jon felt his neck heat under his own woolen cloak, his sheepskin boots and fur-lined gloves seemed far too heavy. Eric stepped forward and clasped Jon’s hand. “Brother,” Jon felt Eric’s eyes plaguing him, as if trying to assess if he had matured anymore in his time away. “Good to see you Jonathan,” and Eric stepped forward, hugging him.

“Brother,” Jon replied, easily pushing forward a smile. “I cannot wait to tell you all I have learned in my time away.” Jon’s gaze turned to Kaira and Kyel though. “Call for our best healer. Lord Skovgaard and Miss Grimward need it.” Jon informed his brother. As they entered the gloomy walls of the Riftmere keep, a handmaid came to escort Kyel and Kaira to a room where a healer could assess them.

Once inside the healers chambers, an older woman requested Kaira to remove her trousers as she pulled a small curtain around her and the younger woman to look over her wound, she nodded as she poked and prodded. The old woman then moved to Kyel, and requested he remove his top so she could assess him. “I will be back,” she announced to the pair, “I must request more herbs for Miss Grimwards wounds,” she said easily and left the chamber.

As soon as the older woman had left, Kyel stood up and immediately drew back the curtain that had been meant for privacy between the two tables. The first thing he did was look at her wound on the side of her leg, it looked just as bad as it had the first night, something that should have healed more quickly with the concoction of yarrow provided. Kyel was strong, he could handle healing himself. He was aware she sped up his own healing process by days, but her own was likely slowed by the same. He huffed harshly looking down at her, “You healed me.” His gaze met hers and he was trying to gauge the reaction to his own frustration. “You shouldn’t have done that. And you will never do so again,” his chest heaved slightly in his attempt to control his anger with her.

 

[peritwinkle]

By the time they reached Riftmere, Kaira could not think of anything else but bathing and pouring some dark wine down her throat. She had sat in an uncomfortable position atop her horse for the entirety of the ride in the hopes of keeping the pain in her back more or less dormant, and the dry bandage around her thigh had made her wound burn like scourged with a whip each time she stirred her steed. At the very least, she was well enough to not depend on Jon any longer, but she would not have imagined a healing spell would take such a toll on her own wounds. The thought of Kyel putting two and two together kept her tense; there was a part of her that was still careful about magic around him, and she had a feeling he would not take to the news too kindly.

Their welcome interaction played like a dream in front of her eyes; she did her part of greeting Jon’s brother, albeit absentmindedly, with her teeth gritted and occasionally biting her tongue when standing up became too tedious. She heard Jon mention something about a healer, but following that, everything that had happened before entering his home completely muddled in her memory. All she could focus on was the chafing against her thigh and the fervent desire to drink anything alcoholic.

The room she and Kyel were brought into seemed particularly made for tending to the ill, a sight completely new to Kaira from the moment she walked in. Each bed was divided from the next by a white curtain for privacy with the sigil of House Pelletier embroidered on the rims. One of the women accompanying them lead her to one of the beds, and Kaira followed her orders without much protesting. She wondered if the woman knew she was a Volur, but as she stood up to leave to gather what she needed, Kaira made a quick mental note to bring it up as delicately as she could when she returned.

Not long before the sounds of her steps faded into the distance, Kyel pulled the curtain to the side and his voice boomed at her, as if careless of his own state and ignorant of hers. Kaira made no effort to hide herself as she sat on the edge of the bed, and she looked up to him with narrowed eyes and an exhausted glare. “You had a fever, Kyel,” she explained harshly. “There was a chance you would not have made it to Riftmere had I not healed you. You were heating up as quick as a pot.”

She leaned back, propping herself against her elbows and letting out a miserable sigh. No position was comfortable enough. She wished she could lie down, but she did not wish to get the fresh sheets dirty with her clothes and hair. “There are too many people counting on you for you to die because of your pride. If you really want to die a slow, painful death from a wound, do everyone a favor and wait until the war is over.”

Her teeth remained gritted as she spoke; he was acting like a child, a boy all too proud to allow a Volur to heal him. Kaira knew he would not try to harm her in his anger, and his sizzle did not scare her. Truthfully, she doubted anything he could do would ever scare her more than the memory of him on the ground, bleeding into the hoary grass, moments before she was certain he was still breathing. Perhaps he would not have done the same for her. That did not matter. They needed Kyel - Ironstone - and she was willing to take a bit of whining if that was the price she had to pay for choosing him over herself.