Age of Valor: Blood Purge Page 7

  Luella nodded. “Then that is what you shall receive.”

  “We will reconvene in the morning,” said Tasarin, his soft voice more lofty than usual, as though he was already trying to work out what he was going to say to address the people from the grandstand. “Perhaps it would be best to make the statements at the joust. That event draws the largest crowd and, while not every person will be in attendance, a far greater number would be than if we simply tried to gather everyone in the morning.”

  Ashlynn nodded, a flicker of excitement in her eyes as an idea was born. “That would give us time to campaign as well. We could find nobles that we know are sympathetic to the plight of the dragons and the Gaels who will publicly stand with us...warriors, families of importance.”

  “If I may,” Killian interrupted. “I agree that the high kingdoms should have both visual and vocal support from lesser kingdoms within their realms, but it should go no farther down than that. Warriors and families of importance are well and good in their support of a local issue, but this announcement, this decree you will be making tomorrow is meant to stand among all six nations. Having anyone of rank below the lesser royals will make it look as though you are grasping at anyone who will support you just to show you have numbers. That is usually a good thing, but in this case, I believe it should be quality over quantity.”

  Jaryn nodded. “Killian's right. We want to show a strong front.”

  “Prince Connor would no doubt stand with you,” the older man suggested.

  “There are many that will,” Luella said with confidence.

  Ashlynn frowned. “But many that will not.”

  “Then we have our work cut out for us.” Tasarin rested his hand at the small of Luella's back, guiding her toward the door. “Rest well, my friends. We will need clear heads for tomorrow.”

  As the door closed behind them, Killian turned to Jaryn and Ashlynn and held their gazes with assurance. “I will seek out the Sinessian royals I know are loyal to this cause and beseech those who have made no stand either way. It would be best not to even approach those who are against it for fear of causing an early stir. If I am quick enough, I will be able to do the same with the Ibayish royals, though my knowledge on where they stand is far less accurate than it would have been six or seven years ago. Perhaps, with the prince's help...”

  Jaryn rested a hand on Killian's shoulder, friendly and casual as if he was as close to him as he was Elas or Cavalon. “We are ever grateful for your loyalty, Killian, and your willingness to be of aid wherever we might need, but sometimes you go too far.”

  Confused, Killian met Jaryn's tired gaze. “Your Majesty?”

  Ashlynn sat back down in her chair, a small weary smile on her lips. “What my husband is saying is that you do too much sometimes. You need sleep just as much as we do, perhaps even more most days, yet you would sacrifice it if we asked.”

  “Of course.”

  “We are not asking,” Jaryn assured, a quiet laugh in his voice. “Go and find your bed. Rest. Rise early if you feel you must, but do nothing more tonight. I know you do a great deal more than I can even guess at during the day while we are here, always on the alert to keep us safe, and I cannot tell you how confident I am in knowing you are watching over us. I know how seriously you take the security of my family and for that, my words could never be enough to thank you. But it cannot be a twenty-four-hour job. You have to take time when it is given to you. The last thing we need is to have you collapsing on your feet.”

  “Really, Your Majesty, I-”

  “Rest,” Jaryn repeated. “I am saying this as your friend, Killian. Do not make me say it as your king.”

  Beneath his beard, Killian's jaw worked. He looked down as though he had been scolded and was disappointed in himself. When Jaryn's casual grip on his shoulder turned into a squeeze, he looked up and nodded. “I will do as you ask.”

  “Good.” Jaryn released his hold on the man and straightened. “Pass my message along to Cailin as well. I know that she works too hard, especially on that leg of hers, and has returned to her patrol as we speak. We have men reserved specifically for the night hours. Take advantage of them and relax.”

  “I will find her before retiring to my room.” Killian gave a slight bow of his head. When he looked up, he appeared relived. It was as though the permission he had been given to take care of this basic need of sleep was the very thing he needed to stop himself from compulsive duty. “Thank you.”

  “Sleep well, Killian,” said Ashlynn. “I have a feeling you will need a clear head for tomorrow just as much as we will.”

  A flicker of a smile ran across his features as he nodded. “I am sure you are right. Good night, Your Majesties. If you need anything...”

  “We have other people to handle it,” laughed Jaryn. “Go. Get out.” This time, a genuine smile lit Killian's face, making him look years younger. “We will see you in the morning.” There was no room for him to say anything in response as Jaryn practically shoved him out the door. “There,” he sighed when he was alone with his wife. “Now we can rest as well.”

  Ashlynn nodded and rose to take the hand Jaryn extended to her. “I just pray Cailin listens as easily as Killian did.”

  No one needed to tell Cailin anything, as it happened. Once she knew Jaryn and Ashlynn were in their rooms for the night and that reliable men were stationed outside their doors, she sought the solace of her own room and shut herself in. It was here where she felt she could breathe again, and let all the bravado of the day disappear. With a great deal of pain, she limped her way over to her bed and sat at the edge. For a moment, all she could do was concentrate on the way the air felt as it went in and out of her lungs. She forced herself to pay attention to only that while her body relaxed and the pain ebbed just a touch. When she was a little calmer, she undid her belt and set her sword on the bed beside her, then removed her brown and black leather overcoat. Her shoulders were red from her arms being exposed to the sun all day, the numerous freckles all over her fair Ibayish skin seeming to have doubled. In just a sleeveless undershirt and her breeches, she began the tedious task of unlacing her knee-high boots and pulling them off. By the time she was done, she was nearly in tears.

  Despite the quick work done by the elves who had tended to her after the battle of Mirasean, her leg had never healed quite right. The running theory was that the blade Misuzu threw at her to stop her had gone so deep into her calf that it hit her bone. The elves were able to stop the bleeding that would have killed her and close up the wound, but the muscle didn't knit back together properly. On days when the weather was foul or when she was on her feet for too long, the pain was almost too great to bear. It was sheer stubborn will that kept Cailin even tempered during the day, but at night when she was alone, it was another story entirely.

  Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as her boots fell to the floor. She winced as she repositioned herself on the end of the bed so as not to be at the edge, taking great care not to make a sound. She was always cautious of that. Though there were no men stationed outside her door, she never wanted anyone to hear her in her own room. It would be too embarrassing. As she often did, she lifted a hand to cover her mouth as she wept, trying not to cry out to the Giver in anger as she had so often done in the early days of her recovery.

  A knock to her door made her suck in a gulp of air in surprise. Before coming to her room, she'd sent a request to the kitchen for some tea for herself, and tried to calm her racing heart as she remembered as much. “Please leave it there. I will get it myself in a moment.” The thought of getting up again was exhausting, but it was better than some stranger seeing her as she was.

  “Cailin,” came a familiar male voice, just loud enough for her to hear. “May I come in?”

  She sniffled and swiped quickly at her cheeks. Once more, she changed position on the bed so that she was facing the wall, angled toward the window while her back was to the door. Her fingers worked quickly to push the tangles of hair that had
come loose from her customary braid from her eyes. With one more sniffle, she worked herself into sitting up as straight as she could, then said, “Of course. Come in.”

  The door swung inward, revealing at first only a shoulder and a leg dressed in a light green doublet and brown trousers. As the man backed his way into the room, he turned to reveal the tray in his hands that held a steaming pot of water, a mug, and two other small ceramic containers. Careful to close the door as quietly as he could with his shoulder blade, Wessely gripped the tray with two hands so as not to drop it. “I was on my way to bring you something when I happened upon the servant with your tea so I offered to bring it myself.” He seemed to need no invitation to move farther into the room, intent upon the little circular table in the corner by the wall Cailin faced. As he drew closer, she turned her head enough so that he could not see her expression.

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. “You didn't have to do that.”

  “I wanted to.” He set the tray down and straightened, looking at what little he could see of her profile with a furrowed brow. “Are you all right?”

  She felt her nose running and sniffled as quietly as she could. With a nod, she kept her gaze on the wall behind her bed. “Perfectly fine. Just tired.” She could hear the emotion in her own voice and silently cursed. Gathering her resolution, she added, “Thank you for my tea. I will see you in the morning.”

  Wessely's feet moved across the floor, but not in the direction of the doorway as her dismissal allowed. Instead, he came to stand before her, making her look down to try to avoid his scrutiny. This did little to dissuade him as he slid a tender hand under her chin and raised her face to him. No doubt he saw the tracks of tears stained into her cheeks and her red eyes. Immediately, his confusion turned to concern and he withdrew his hand to crouch before her. “Cailin,” he said quietly, taking one of her hands and pressing it between his own. “What is it?”

  His quiet question made her eyes fill again, and he blurred before her. She didn't trust her voice to speak and shook her head. Wessely needed no other prompting and rose to sit beside her, pulling her against him. This moment, held securely in his arms as she wept, was so reminiscent of the days when she'd awoken at Altaine after Mirasean was destroyed. Wessely's face was the first one she saw when she opened her eyes. Though it took her awhile to fight through her groggy state, she was hungry for information, needing to know what had become of the dragons and the Gaels, and whether or not they had won the battle against Hideo, Misuzu's father and Merrik's subordinate. Wessely was gentle as he told her first of what had happened to her. She was shocked that Misuzu, someone who had become such a good friend, would intentionally harm her. The tears didn't come until he told her how the island, the homeland of an entire race, had been destroyed. Her heart was broken and she wept as Wessely held her, just as he did now. It was the beginning of both a dream come true for her, as well as a nightmare.

  “Has something happened?” he asked after a few moments, a thread of protectiveness in his quiet voice, but she shook her head. “What is it, then?”

  “I'm so frustrated.” Cailin pulled away and swiped at her tears. “I'm frustrated, and I'm angry, and I hurt, and I hate the fact that I can no longer do my job properly, and that I still blame Misuzu for it. I hate that, even after almost five years, I have these moments of wanting to hurt her as much as she's hurt me. I hate that I'm glad that she didn't come to the summit or the games because I know that if she did, I would have to restrain myself from trying to physically injure her right now.” Letting go of a shaky breath, she added, “And I hate that I'm crying! I hate that this is how I show my frustration. I never used to be like this, but I guess this is me, this is who I am now. It's such a female thing to do.”

  Wessely's lips twitched as he tried to suppress a smile. “Cailin...you are a female.”

  “I know, but I didn't want to be one of those females.” He reached up to cup her face and instead of pulling away, she leaned into his touch. They sat like that for a moment, his thumb running over her cheek in a motion of comfort. When she was calmer, she lifted brown eyes to his face with a sheepish frown. “I'm sorry.”

  “What are you apologizing for?”

  “Being weak. That's never how I wanted you to see me.”

  He leaned forward and pressed his forehead to hers, a small smile on his face. “I could never see you as weak, Cailin. For as long as I have known you, even in your times of distress, you have remained one of the strongest people I have known. It is one of the qualities I have always admired about you.” Lifting his chin, he placed a kiss on her forehead. “Let me get you your tea before it cools too much.”

  As he rose, Cailin shifted herself on the bed and once more pushed her hair from her face. She watched Wessely as he spooned some of the dried leaves and herbs from one of the ceramic pots into her mug, then poured the hot water over it. Noticing the other small pot, she tilted her head. “What's that?”

  Wessely looked at her in question until he realized what she was asking about. “This?” He picked up the container and pulled the top off. “This is what I was coming to bring you.” The pot was passed for her to inspect as he finished preparing her tea.

  The contents within were a butter yellow, and smelled of peppermint and rosemary. “What is this?”

  “A salve. There is a merchant here from somewhere near the Sandlands selling different ointments and oils.” Wessely traded the tea for the pot so she could drink. “Badru was asking quite a lot of questions when we came upon him in our walk. I believe he was looking for something to help Mairead with her scarring, and one of the salves the merchant mentioned made me think of you.”

  She smiled around her mug. “You were thinking of me?”

  “I am always thinking of you.” Wessely came back to the bed and sat beside her, looking over the jar in his hand. “He said this would help. Depending on the level of pain, it may take it away all together. It is not a permanent solution, but if it helps even only temporarily, I felt it would be worth it.”

  “What's in it?”

  “Other than the lanolin and what you can smell, I cannot remember entirely. He listed off the healing and soothing properties, but I remember very few of them. Finish your tea and we can see if it works.”

  She took another sip before asking, “Do I just rub it on?”

  “Not exactly, according to the merchant.” Wessely secured the lid, a thoughtful expression on his face. “He said to slather the ointment on and to cover it with clean linen, or to keep the area still and in the open air for at least an hour so that the salve has a chance to be absorbed into the skin.”

  Cailin made a face. “Neither of those sound appealing to me. I can't sleep with something slimy on my leg and I certainly can't stay awake another hour if I'm just going to be laying on my stomach.”

  “That is why I said to finish your tea. I have an idea.”

  “Yes, Your Highness.” As she gulped down another sip, he gave her a stern, unamused look, which only made her laugh. Though the liquid was hot, it wasn't unbearable. The taste was what usually slowed her down. It was bitter and reminded her of flowers that had been left to mold in a vase, but it was habitual now. She drank it every night because she knew the effect it had on her body. Wessely was patient as she finished, and even offered to set the mug aside for her when she was done. “What now?”

  “Now you lay on your stomach and I will put the ointment on your leg.”

  It wasn't so very long ago that a suggestion even close to that would have made her cheeks burn, but now she only looked at him like he had said something crazy. “No, I can't. Were you not listening? If I do that, I'll fall asleep and roll over, and that will defeat the open-air tactic, and-”

  “Trust me.”

  She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, but eventually she crawled farther onto the bed and relaxed onto her stomach with her hands under her head. Wessely was slow and gentle as he grasped the hem of the left leg of her beec
hes. He pushed it the rest of the way up her calf and over her knee. “I would wear trousers,” she told him, “but they're too loose. Despite where the breeches sit on my calf, the tightness actually helps as I walk around during the day.”

  “We will have to find you some longer breeches, then.”

  The ointment was cool as it touched her skin and made Cailin give a small gasp. Given the melting temperature of lanolin, she knew the salve most likely had to be kept on ice to keep it from turning to liquid on the hotter days. Still, she had not been expecting the cold. Neither was she expecting to feel Wessely's fingers kneading the mixture into her leg. “What are you doing?” she cried, trying to keep her voice from being too loud.

  “Does it hurt?”

  “Yes!” Of course it hurt, but there was also relief that chased quickly behind it. “Actually...it hurts and feels better at the same time.”

  He smirked. “Lay back down.”

  “Wessely, you don't have to-”

  “There are a great many things that I do not have to do, yet they bring me enjoyment and so I do them.” He returned to massaging her calf. “I enjoy making you feel better. I enjoy doing things for you. If I cannot do that in public, at least let me do them in private.”

  His words were soft, but they were cutting, even if they weren't meant to be. Cailin put her head back down and bit her lip. It had been quite a while since they'd had this familiar conversation and she wasn't keen to return to it now. Things came to mind to be said, all points she'd tried to make before, but for the sake of not having an argument, she kept her mouth shut. Instead, she focused on the feeling in her leg. There was a definite arc of pain as Wessely's thumbs dug into her muscle and pushed up toward her knee, but when he applied the same pressure going back down, it felt as though there was a sort of release. Her back would arch with each shot of pain, but as it lessened, her movement stilled. Before long, there was no pain at all and she simply enjoyed the moment.

  “How do you feel?” Wessely asked after a while.