Tower of Dawn
Page 85
“I know what to eat.”
Of course he did. He’d been honing that magnificent body for years now. But she only brushed out the skirts of her dress. “Yes, but I’ve actually studied the subject.”
Chaol bristled but said nothing. Returned to staring at the swirls and flora woven into the carpet.
Yrene gave him another honey-sweet smile. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, Lord—”
“Don’t call me that.”
She shrugged. “I think I’ll call you whatever I want.”
His head snapped up, his face livid. She braced herself for the verbal attack, but he seemed to check himself, shoulders stiffening as he only said once more, “Get out.”
He pointed to the door with a long arm as he said so.
“I should kick that gods-damned finger you’re pointing,” Yrene snapped, striding to the door. “But a broken hand would only keep you here longer.”
Chaol again bared his teeth, ire pouring off him in waves now, that scar down his cheek stark against his flushed skin. “Get out.”
Yrene just flashed another sickly sweet smile at him and shut the door behind her.
She strode through the palace at a clip, fingers curling at her sides, reining in her roar.
Patients had bad days. They were entitled to them. It was natural, and a part of the process.
But … they had worked through so much of that. He had started to tell her things, and she’d told him things so few knew, and she’d enjoyed herself yesterday—
She mulled over every word exchanged the night before. Perhaps he’d been angry at something Eretia had said on their ride here. The woman wasn’t known for her bedside manner. Yrene was honestly surprised the woman tolerated anyone, let alone felt inclined to help human beings. She could have upset him. Insulted him.
Or maybe he’d come to depend on Yrene’s constant presence, and the interruption of that routine had been disorienting. She’d heard of patients and their healers in such situations.
But he’d shown no traits of dependency. No, the opposite went through him, a streak of independence and pride that hurt as much as it helped him.
Breathing uneven, his behavior dragging claws down her temper, Yrene sought out Hasar.
The princess was just coming from swordplay lessons of her own. Renia was out shopping in the city, Hasar said as she looped her sweat-damp arm through Yrene’s and led her toward her chambers.
“Everyone is busy-busy-busy today,” Hasar groused, flicking her sweaty braid over a shoulder. “Even Kashin is off with my father at some meeting about his troops.”
“Is there any reason why?” A careful question.
Hasar shrugged. “He didn’t tell me. Though he probably felt inclined to do it, since Sartaq showed us all up by flying off to his nest in the mountains for a few weeks.”
“He left?”
“And he took Captain Faliq with him.” A wry smile. “I’m surprised you aren’t consoling Lord Westfall.”
Oh. Oh. “When did they leave?”
“Yesterday afternoon. Apparently, she said no word about it. Didn’t take her things. Just left a note and vanished into the sunset with him. I didn’t think Sartaq had it in him to be such a charmer.”
Yrene didn’t return the smile. She’d bet good money that Chaol had returned this morning to find that note. To find Nesryn gone.
“How did you learn she’d left a note?”
“Oh, the messenger told everyone. Didn’t know what was inside it, but a note with Lord Westfall’s name on it, left at the aerie. Along with one to her family in the city. The only trace of her.”
Yrene made a mental mark to never send correspondence to the palace again. At least not letters that mattered.
No wonder Chaol had been restless and angry, if Nesryn had vanished like that.
“Do you suspect foul play?”
“From Sartaq?” Hasar cackled. The question was answer enough.
They reached the princess’s doors, servants silently opening them and stepping aside. Little more than shadows made flesh.
But Yrene paused in the doorway, digging in her heels as Hasar tried to lead her in. “I forgot to get him his tea,” she lied, disentangling her arm from Hasar’s.
The princess only gave her a knowing smile. “If you hear any interesting tidbits, you know where to find me.”
Yrene managed a nod and turned on her heel.
She didn’t go to his rooms. She doubted Chaol’s mood had improved in the ten minutes she’d been storming through the palace halls. And if she saw him, she knew she wouldn’t be able to refrain from asking about Nesryn. From pushing him until that control shattered. And she couldn’t guess where that would leave them. Perhaps a place neither of them was ready for.
But she had a gift. And a relentless, driving thrum now roared in her blood thanks to him.
She could not sit still. Did not want to go back to the Torre to read or help any of the others with their work.
Yrene left the palace and headed down the dusty streets of Antica.
She knew the way. The slums never moved. Only grew or shrank, depending on the ruler.
In the bright sun, there was little to fear. They were not bad people. Only poor—some desperate. Many forgotten and disheartened.
So she did as she had always done, even in Innish.
Yrene followed the sound of coughing.
27
Yrene healed six people by the time the sun set, and only then did she leave the slums.
One woman had a dangerous growth on her lungs that would have killed her. She’d been too busy with work to see a healer or physician. Three children had been burning up with fever in a too-cramped house, their mother weeping with panic. And then with gratitude as Yrene’s magic soothed and settled and purified. One man had broken his leg the week before and visited a piss-poor physician in the slums because he could not afford a carriage to carry him up to the Torre. And the sixth one …
The girl was no more than sixteen. Yrene had noticed her first because of the black eye. Then the cut lip.
Her magic had been wobbling, her knees with it, but Yrene had led the girl into a doorway and healed her eye. The lip. The cracked ribs. Healed the enormous handprint-shaped bruises on her forearm.
Yrene asked no questions. She read every answer in the girl’s fearful eyes anyway. Saw the girl consider whether it would land her with worse injuries to return home healed.
Of course he did. He’d been honing that magnificent body for years now. But she only brushed out the skirts of her dress. “Yes, but I’ve actually studied the subject.”
Chaol bristled but said nothing. Returned to staring at the swirls and flora woven into the carpet.
Yrene gave him another honey-sweet smile. “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, Lord—”
“Don’t call me that.”
She shrugged. “I think I’ll call you whatever I want.”
His head snapped up, his face livid. She braced herself for the verbal attack, but he seemed to check himself, shoulders stiffening as he only said once more, “Get out.”
He pointed to the door with a long arm as he said so.
“I should kick that gods-damned finger you’re pointing,” Yrene snapped, striding to the door. “But a broken hand would only keep you here longer.”
Chaol again bared his teeth, ire pouring off him in waves now, that scar down his cheek stark against his flushed skin. “Get out.”
Yrene just flashed another sickly sweet smile at him and shut the door behind her.
She strode through the palace at a clip, fingers curling at her sides, reining in her roar.
Patients had bad days. They were entitled to them. It was natural, and a part of the process.
But … they had worked through so much of that. He had started to tell her things, and she’d told him things so few knew, and she’d enjoyed herself yesterday—
She mulled over every word exchanged the night before. Perhaps he’d been angry at something Eretia had said on their ride here. The woman wasn’t known for her bedside manner. Yrene was honestly surprised the woman tolerated anyone, let alone felt inclined to help human beings. She could have upset him. Insulted him.
Or maybe he’d come to depend on Yrene’s constant presence, and the interruption of that routine had been disorienting. She’d heard of patients and their healers in such situations.
But he’d shown no traits of dependency. No, the opposite went through him, a streak of independence and pride that hurt as much as it helped him.
Breathing uneven, his behavior dragging claws down her temper, Yrene sought out Hasar.
The princess was just coming from swordplay lessons of her own. Renia was out shopping in the city, Hasar said as she looped her sweat-damp arm through Yrene’s and led her toward her chambers.
“Everyone is busy-busy-busy today,” Hasar groused, flicking her sweaty braid over a shoulder. “Even Kashin is off with my father at some meeting about his troops.”
“Is there any reason why?” A careful question.
Hasar shrugged. “He didn’t tell me. Though he probably felt inclined to do it, since Sartaq showed us all up by flying off to his nest in the mountains for a few weeks.”
“He left?”
“And he took Captain Faliq with him.” A wry smile. “I’m surprised you aren’t consoling Lord Westfall.”
Oh. Oh. “When did they leave?”
“Yesterday afternoon. Apparently, she said no word about it. Didn’t take her things. Just left a note and vanished into the sunset with him. I didn’t think Sartaq had it in him to be such a charmer.”
Yrene didn’t return the smile. She’d bet good money that Chaol had returned this morning to find that note. To find Nesryn gone.
“How did you learn she’d left a note?”
“Oh, the messenger told everyone. Didn’t know what was inside it, but a note with Lord Westfall’s name on it, left at the aerie. Along with one to her family in the city. The only trace of her.”
Yrene made a mental mark to never send correspondence to the palace again. At least not letters that mattered.
No wonder Chaol had been restless and angry, if Nesryn had vanished like that.
“Do you suspect foul play?”
“From Sartaq?” Hasar cackled. The question was answer enough.
They reached the princess’s doors, servants silently opening them and stepping aside. Little more than shadows made flesh.
But Yrene paused in the doorway, digging in her heels as Hasar tried to lead her in. “I forgot to get him his tea,” she lied, disentangling her arm from Hasar’s.
The princess only gave her a knowing smile. “If you hear any interesting tidbits, you know where to find me.”
Yrene managed a nod and turned on her heel.
She didn’t go to his rooms. She doubted Chaol’s mood had improved in the ten minutes she’d been storming through the palace halls. And if she saw him, she knew she wouldn’t be able to refrain from asking about Nesryn. From pushing him until that control shattered. And she couldn’t guess where that would leave them. Perhaps a place neither of them was ready for.
But she had a gift. And a relentless, driving thrum now roared in her blood thanks to him.
She could not sit still. Did not want to go back to the Torre to read or help any of the others with their work.
Yrene left the palace and headed down the dusty streets of Antica.
She knew the way. The slums never moved. Only grew or shrank, depending on the ruler.
In the bright sun, there was little to fear. They were not bad people. Only poor—some desperate. Many forgotten and disheartened.
So she did as she had always done, even in Innish.
Yrene followed the sound of coughing.
27
Yrene healed six people by the time the sun set, and only then did she leave the slums.
One woman had a dangerous growth on her lungs that would have killed her. She’d been too busy with work to see a healer or physician. Three children had been burning up with fever in a too-cramped house, their mother weeping with panic. And then with gratitude as Yrene’s magic soothed and settled and purified. One man had broken his leg the week before and visited a piss-poor physician in the slums because he could not afford a carriage to carry him up to the Torre. And the sixth one …
The girl was no more than sixteen. Yrene had noticed her first because of the black eye. Then the cut lip.
Her magic had been wobbling, her knees with it, but Yrene had led the girl into a doorway and healed her eye. The lip. The cracked ribs. Healed the enormous handprint-shaped bruises on her forearm.
Yrene asked no questions. She read every answer in the girl’s fearful eyes anyway. Saw the girl consider whether it would land her with worse injuries to return home healed.
