by Donna Hatch
“Ariana,” he called weakly. “Where are you?”
Puzzling over the name, Jeniah bathed his face with a wet cloth. Dangerously hot, he mumbled, thrashed, and tried to tear off his cloak.
“It’s all right,” she soothed, running her hands lightly over his hot face.
He quieted at her contact, but a moment later he tossed restlessly again. He moaned, pushing at the blanket. “Forgive me, Your Majesty.”
“Shh. All is well, Captain.”
He pushed at the cloak. Deciding to try and cool him, Jeniah unfastened his tunic and shirt with fumbling fingers. He calmed at her touch. The muscles of his lean body were hard and deeply defined, and a soft patch of light brown hair grew on the center of his chest. She had never seen a man in this state of undress before, and she blushed at her own boldness. She bathed his burning skin but the cloth warmed quickly and she had to constantly rewet it to keep it cool.
In the course of her ministrations, she found a small dagger at each wrist inside his sleeves, a brace of throwing knives in his belt, one long dagger fastened lower against his hip, and a knife in each boot. Jeniah smiled. Even without his sword, the Sauraii was a walking armory.
After bathing his skin repeatedly, she removed the blanket from her pallet and placed it over him. She dozed, leaning against the cave wall, rousing each time the captain cried out in delirium. Much of what he uttered was unintelligible.
“I failed you,” he mumbled and then cursed himself.
When she pressed the water against his lips, he drank, but he showed no sign of recognition. Desperately helpless, she bathed his face and chest and tucked the blanket carefully around him.
“We lost so many . . . so many men . . . no time to mourn . . . must prepare . . .”
“You’re safe, Captain.” She combed her fingers through his hair and caressed his cheek.
The cry of a wyrwolf sounded terrifyingly close, and Jeniah jerked awake, pulse pounding in her ears. Braygo snorted, his eyes wild, his ears thrust forward. In the dim glow of the firestick, she made out the faint outline of something large outside the mouth of the cave beyond the tree branches. She needed a weapon.
The captain’s sword lay in its scabbard near the saddle and bags, but Jeniah feared she’d cut off her own foot before she figured out how to use it to defend herself and her sleeping patient. Her success in killing two Hanorans gave her no hope that she would succeed against a pack of wyrwolves. And if naturalists were correct, the animals used their noses as much as their eyes, so blurring would afford her no protection. It certainly wouldn’t help the captain.
Without much hope of her success, her trembling fingers closed over the sword and she withdrew it. The blade was lighter than she’d guessed, but it still felt enormous. She gripped it with both hands and stood over the captain, her gaze glued to the cave entrance, praying she would not have to attempt to use the weapon.
Several more calls sounded, each progressively closer. Shadowy forms at the mouth of the cave grew larger. Scratching sounds came from the entrance. The wyrwolves were clawing their way in through the branches protecting the cave.
Braygo got up and began prancing nervously. Blood pounded in Jeniah’s ears, and her muscles screamed from the tension.
The branches fell away, revealing a gaping hole. Out of the darkness, two shaggy bodies leaped inside the cave. Snarling, they crouched to spring. Fear nearly strangled Jeniah, but she held the sword in front of her. The ugly, human-like faces grinned at her, tongues lolling out one side of the mouths.
As one wrywolf leaped at her, and Jeniah brought up the sword, but it only sliced through air as the beast leaped back. The two carnivores tried to circle, but Jeniah backed up, keeping the blade between her and them. Braygo lowered his head and brought his long horns down like a weapon. He pawed at the ground.
A terrifying roar broke the night’s stillness, and the wyrwolves turned away from Jeniah toward the new sound outside the cave. Outside the cave, the pale moonlight illuminated several shaggy wyrwolves, forming a loose circle around a large animal. A low warning growl came from the animal. It sounded like the same growl her chayim had made when he was threatened by the captain. That day seemed ages ago.
Outside, the wyrwolves snarled and paced, and the two in the cave suddenly sprang out to join them. With a roar, the large, shadowy shape launched toward them. The wyrwolves charged. They met in a clash of teeth and claws, the sounds of rending flesh and howls of pain filling the air as the combatants tore into each other. With trembling hands, Jeniah gripped the sword and watched wide-eyed as the battle raged outside. After several heart-thumping moments, the wyrwolves slunk away and left their dead bleeding in the snow. All was silent.
The creature that had attacked them returned to the cave entrance and waited noiselessly outside. Something about that form felt familiar. Jeniah picked up the firestick with a wet cloth and held it out toward the shape. The golden, furry muzzle of a chayim stared back at her, its eyes glimmering in the light. Standing on all fours, he appeared enormous, but smaller than her first chayim. He dipped his head down toward her and blew into her face.
“Oh,” Jeniah said in a soft voice. “It’s you.”
Pushing aside the branches, Jeniah stepped outside the cave, her hand held out. The chayim leaned toward her hand and she reached out to touch him. A low purr came from the chayim as she petted him. His mane was shorter than her first chayim’s, but just as soft.
Twice in her lifetime, she had been chosen by a chayim. No other maiden in all the lands had received such an honor.
“Thank you, my friend,” she whispered.
He gave her a gentle nudge in return as she stroked his shaggy mane. Her skin tingled and she felt light as his mind enveloped hers in gentle warmth. No, not his mind—her mind. The chayim was female, the mate of the other who had chosen her.
She bore no malice for her mate’s death, for his spirit now resided within her in a more intimate manner than he ever had in life. Visions of the land changes, the years, the understanding of the symbiotic relationship between all the creatures alive came over Jeniah. She saw herself as a being of great worth, a necessary part in the order of the universe, with a role that could affect others, either for good or ill. Her chayim showed her the burden of her own destiny. All of Arden depended upon her to save them from slavery and death.
Her chayim showed Jeniah that her ability to blur was only the smallest part of an ancient and powerful magic, a magic that would change the course of humanity, not only in Arden, but in many nations. Crushed under the weight of the responsibility, Jeniah’s limbs gave way and she collapsed. The connection remained. The chayim told Jeniah her name. Maaragan.
Jeniah understood the sacredness of knowing a chayim’s name, and the power and responsibility attached to that knowledge.
Maaragan’s mind withdrew slowly, leaving Jeniah feeling both humbled and ennobled.
The air cooled tears on Jeniah’s cheeks, and she threw her arms around Maaragan’s neck. Her chayim growled softly, leaning into her embrace. Then Maaragan turned, padded silently away, and disappeared. After a lingering look, Jeniah returned to the captain inside the cave to bathe his face and hush his anguished calls.
Calmer now and lying next to his master again, Braygo nuzzled the captain. Jeniah smiled at the beast’s loyalty and concern.
She sat lost in thought, grappling with her own self-worth, overwhelmed and frightened at the knowledge bestowed upon her by her bonded chayim. She faltered as it occurred to her that she alone had claim on the crown. She would be the rightful queen, and she must free her people. A daunting prospect. Her mother believed her capable of it and so did her chayim. But how could she, a girl of not yet nineteen, save all of Arden and influence many nations?
The captain let out a strangled cry. Visibly tormented by his delirium, he thrashed. Jeniah gave him water and unwrapped his bandages, only to discover that his wounds looked even worse. The terrible gashes gaped open, festering. H
is fever soared.
Jeniah knew she had to do something or he would die.
She had never tried to care for another person. The thought of this man’s life in her hands was terrifying.
Once, Jeniah had watched the stable master clean a wound on Egan’s leg by holding a hot cloth against it to draw out the sickness until it bled clean, and then sewed it closed.
She held her hand out over the top of the broken middle of the still-burning firestick to test the heat. It might be enough to heat water. She had seen a small pan in one of the packs earlier. After digging it out, she went outside to fill it with clean snow.
Maaragan was nowhere in sight, but a moment later, she quietly appeared and bumped her muzzle against Jeniah’s shoulder. Jeniah rubbed her face and mane before returning to the cave. Maaragan sat in front of the cave, guarding it.
To Jeniah’s relief, the firestick heated the water to a slow simmer. Jeniah rolled the captain over onto his side and began the painstaking process of trying to release the infection from his injuries. He cried out in sleep.
“I’m sorry, Captain.”
She traced her free hand over the bare skin of his chest while the other held the hot, wet cloth against his wound, and soon he quit fighting her. As she held the cloth against his wounds, the sickness soaked into it until finally the wounds bled clean. Once the worst of the injuries on the captain’s side were cleaned, she turned her attention to the wound piercing his shoulder. Then she looked to the gash on his forehead. It was healing better than the others, but she cleaned it carefully, hoping it wouldn’t scar too badly.
With nothing in the packs that she could use to sew the dangerous cuts in his side, she could only re-bandage them. If only all her studies had included the healing arts.
Then her mind caught hold of an idea. She must find something to clamp the skin together until the wounds could heal. Her eyes fell on the shrub that the chayim had come through. It was a reshle shrub, heavily laden with the same seedpods she had been eating.
After picking several reshle pods, Jeniah pried apart the edge of the pod enough to fit a fold of fabric between the two sides, but it snapped open and broke. She let out her breath in disappointment. Trying again, she carefully pried open the edges, not so far that it would break, but enough to place it over the hem of her tunic. This time it remained intact, and when she let it go, it snapped closed, effectively gripping the material like tiny jaws.
She glanced back at the captain. It would be painful but it might work. She gently lifted the two sides of the gaping wound on his side and pulled them together. Wishing she had two more hands, she slid her fingernail between the seedpod halves and opened it enough to slip it over his skin, which she pinched between her fingers. When she released it, the seedpod snapped shut, holding the two ragged edges of skin closed.
She flinched, anticipating his reaction. He moaned and turned his head, but did not awaken. Braygo stared accusingly at her as if he suspected her of trying to hurt his master. She patted the duocorn’s neck and murmured assurances before returning her attention back to the injured man.
It was difficult work, and Jeniah broke more pods than she used, but in the end, about a dozen seedpods held the wound closed like giant stitches. She smiled ruefully. Hopefully, when he awoke to see her unconventional form of medicine, he wouldn’t think she’d tried to kill him.
But what if he never woke up?
Chapter Nine
Kai woke to pale fingers of light reaching into the cave. The branches he’d cut and used to block the entrance were trampled and cast to the side. Princess Jeniah, wearing his spare tunic with the ragged pieces of her gown showing below the hem, sat with her back against the rock wall, her hand resting on his chest with a cloth in her limp fingers, her head tilted to one side in sleep. The warmth of her hand felt soothing.
Kai ached all over and his mouth felt like a desert. When he reached toward the water skin, pain lanced his body. He fell back, and the movement sent another jolt of pain through him. An involuntary moan escaped his mouth.
The princess’s eyes opened blearily and she blinked a few times before focusing on his face. She touched his cheek. “How do you feel?”
“Thirsty,” he managed to croak.
The princess retrieved the water skin and cradled his head while he drank. Her tired eyes revealed her concern. As she carefully laid his head down, she held her cool, soothing fingers against his cheek.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“I lost track. Three or four days, I think.”
“That long? We can’t remain here. We have to get you to Darbor where it’s safe.” He tried to rise, but fire shot through his side, cutting off his breath.
Wearing a curious smile, the princess put her hand on his chest and gave him a gentle push until he rested his head. “Don’t worry, Captain, we are safe here. And I really don’t think you are well enough to go anywhere yet.”
Kai let out a sigh of exasperation. “They’re looking for you. We have to keep moving.”
“Your fever has come down some. I should clean your wounds again.” She pulled back a blanket tucked around him.
Kai stared at his side. “What is that?”
“Uh . . . seedpods.” She sounded embarrassed. “I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t have anything to use to sew your wounds closed, so I had to improvise.”
Kai felt one corner of his mouth lift. “Inventive. It might work.”
He stiffened as she began cleaning his injuries, but she carefully avoided touching the seedpods holding his skin together.
“I’m sorry, Captain. I’m trying not to hurt you.”
“I know. It’s all right.” He braced himself and clenched his teeth so he wouldn’t flinch each time she touched him. Instead, he focused on watching her. Even in her rumpled state, her beauty was bewitching.
“I’m glad you’re finally awake. It will be easier to feed you now. You weren’t terribly cooperative before.”
When she had finished tending his wounds, she spooned some very bland, warm liquid into his mouth and laughed softly at his expression. “I’m sorry about the fare, Captain. Not only is this my first attempt at cooking, but the only thing I had to use to make a broth was the dried meat I found in your pack in the saddlebag.”
Drowsiness returned and he could only eat a few sips of the broth. As sleep crept in, he was aware of her gentle hands on his face.
During the night, a noise brought Kai bolting out of his blanket, hands on weapons, fully alert. The motion sent a blinding shot of agony through him and a cold sweat beaded on his skin. He fought to avoid screaming in pain.
The princess cried out in her sleep and began calling for someone named Mora. Wasn’t that her lady-in-waiting? Then her voice took on a desperate edge. “No. No!”
Kai let out a steadying breath as he realized there were no tangible threats. The princess’s voice had awakened him. He leaned over and touched her arm. “Princess.”
She jerked away from his hand as if it were a hot coal, then shot up to a sitting position, her eyes wild and unfocused.
“Don’t be afraid, Your Highness. You’re safe.”
Her breath came in ragged gasps as she stared at him unseeing. Slowly, the terror in her eyes faded. After blinking several times, the princess put her hands over her face.
Instinctively, Kai reached for her, but then he withdrew his hand. It would not be appropriate for him to touch the princess. He had taken that liberty in the cave filled with water, but she had been too distraught to notice or care.
He remembered the enemy soldiers in the queen’s room, and the shattered look in Jeniah’s eyes. He knew that if she relived that moment in her nightmares, she would not be receptive to comfort from him—or any man. While helplessness and anger swelled within him, he lay back down to stare out at the darkness beyond the cave, trying to clear his mind. He listened to the noises of the night and wished the muse of the poets, who spoke with beauty and eloque
nce, would inspire him tonight. They would know the right words to say to her. Nothing came to Kai’s mind. All he could think of was how badly he wanted to kill the Hanorans who had hurt her.
Gradually, the princess’s weeping subsided. She lay back down, pulling the blanket around her. Kai turned his head to look at her, but her eyes were averted.
“Are you all right?” he whispered. He knew it was a foolish question, but saying nothing seemed insensitive.
Without looking at him, she nodded and then turned over with her back toward him. A moment later, she said, “I’m glad you’re here, Captain.”
That sweet statement startled him. Somehow, it meant more to him than he would have ever admitted out loud, or even thought possible.
Another few days’ rest quieted Captain Darkwood’s fever, and his color returned to normal. Jeniah fed him dried meat from his packs, along with reshle seedpods, which he ate with more enthusiasm than she did. When he fell asleep again, she stayed nearby, worrying that he might relapse, but he slept peacefully.
Hunger drove the Darborian to get up from his sickbed earlier than he should have. Against Jeniah’s words of caution and still clearly favoring his injured left side, he left the cave, declaring that he would retrieve the beast he had buried in the snow, if some wild animal hadn’t found it.
When he returned to the cave only seconds later, he exclaimed, “There are tracks everywhere and blood on the snow.”
“I know.”
“What happened?”
“Wyrwolves came, but a friend protected us.”
“A friend?”
She smiled, still in awe over it. “I was chosen by another chayim, which, I think, has never happened before in Arden’s history. When the wyrwolves came, she defended us.”
Clearly stunned, the captain slid down the wall to a seated position. “I left you defenseless and another had to take my place.”
