by E. A. James
Atrian snorted. “You’d do just as well with an injury,” he said. “You don’t wish to wed, anyway.”
Huen glared. “I have not found the right bride,” he thundered back. “I will, eventually. I swear it.”
“And make some poor girl wed an old man?” Atrian threw his head back and laughed. Even in laughter, the sight of him was intimidating enough to chill Huen’s blood. Atrian was tall and huge, with bulging muscles and tattoos all over his body. His fair hair was braided with beads and feathers and it fanned from his shoulders in an intimidating mane.
“Curse you, father,” Huen muttered under his breath. He threw the bread and cheese to the floor, no longer angry. His blood was boiling as he ran out of his grand home, towards the show arena. Huen normally hated to fight – he hated the discomfort, the pain, the injuries after. But he was flooded with such strong anger and adrenaline that right now, he knew it was the only thing to do.
As Huen reached the outskirts of the castle grounds, he looked over the show arena. Flames licked high into the black night and Huen shivered as the cries and grunts of warriors and showmen filled his ears. With any luck, I’ll be killed, he thought as he quickened his pace to a run. By now, his heart was thudding in his muscular chest and his eyes were wide.
The arena was staffed by the lower-class men of Zheka. They barely noticed Huen as he shed his cloak with the royal insignia and walked into the arena.
There wasn’t an official event for weeks, but Huen could tell the sweaty men streaked with grime and soot had been practicing all day. An enormous man walked past Huen, covered in scratches and blood stains. Caged lions and tigers paced at the other side of the arena.
Or better yet, let me in there, Huen thought, staring at one of the tigers as it gnawed savagely at a huge hunk of raw meat. At least that way, it would be over quickly.
Huen puffed out his chest and walked over to the largest man he could find – a massive warrior, tattooed and filthy with sweat and blood. He smelled like a stable, and Huen made a fist and punched the man in the shoulder.
“Guh,” the man grunted, whirling around with anger in his eyes.
“Fight me,” Huen said. He bared his teeth and growled, stepping in nimble circles around the man. Huen wasn’t as large as some of the Zhekan men, but he was quick and slender, with a well-defined body and an even more agile mind. He’d rarely lost a fight, but right now, Huen was in the blackest of moods.
The man grunted and glared, walking closer to Huen with heavy footsteps.
Huen made a fist and swung, expecting to punch the man in the jaw. But the man was surprisingly quick for his size, and he grabbed Huen’s fist and twisted it down, keeping a tight grip. Huen groaned in pain as his wrist snapped. Agony exploded in his arm and he growled, ripping his wrist free from the giant.
The man reached forward and grabbed Huen by the hair, tangling his fat fingers in Huen’s fair locks. He swung Huen forward and pushed, hard, until Huen went scrambling to the ground. His heart was racing in panic and his wrist was throbbing in pain as he hauled himself to his feet, skittering back and leaping from one foot to the other.
The man advanced and Huen threw another punch, swinging his good arm until his fist connected with the giant’s chest. It felt like punching a wall of marble, and Huen staggered, cradling his now-sore hand with his useless broken wrist. Pain and adrenaline flooded his body as he darted around, flailing his sore hand over his head.
Huen stumbled again, tripping over his own feet. The giant man approached, glaring down. From where he lay on the ground, Huen felt even smaller. The giant man roared and raised his leg high into the air, preparing to crash down on Huen’s femur. Huen gasped and rolled to the side just in time for the man’s foot to stamp into the ground. A cloud of dust rose, temporarily blinding Huen. He coughed and hacked, covering his mouth and nose with his left hand. From out of seemingly nowhere, the giant grabbed Huen’s arm and flung him across the arena. Huen skidded and stumbled, regaining his balance. His right arm hung uselessly from his side and adrenaline flooded his brain as he tried to think of how best to win. With a fierce growl, he ran forward and lowered his head, charging his powerful opponent with all of the strength left in his body.
Huen sent the giant flying and he immediately attacked punching and kicking. He reached for a staff and whipped it through the air until the blunt end crashed into the man’s head and his eyes rolled back.
Huen stood there, his heart beating wildly. Pain racked through his body and he couldn’t even think straight. He shivered and shook. Just then, he noticed a large crowd of men approaching him with menacing expressions on their faces.
“Hey, you! Get back here,” one of the men growled. “You can’t just come in here and attack our showmen!”
Huen panicked. Turning on his heel, he ran and fled the show arena. As he ran, the pain in his wrist grew. When he looked down, he gasped to see shards of creamy ivory bone poking through his tanned flesh.
Huen wouldn’t have admitted it for all the gold in Zheka, but the sight of blood had always made him faintly nauseous. He felt his stomach flip and turn, and his legs turn to jelly as he stared down at his ruined wrist. His eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed, hitting the hard ground like a sack of bricks.
“Mother! Look and see!”
The girl’s excited cry was the last thing Huen heard before losing consciousness.
CHAPTER TWO
Aine
Aine bent over the unfamiliar man, blinking in surprise. The first thing that struck her was the man’s beauty. He had delicate, sculpted features that looked more like a statue than a real man of flesh and blood. His smooth skin was tanned and golden from days spent in the sun, and his cropped fair hair looked so soft she wanted to run her fingers through it.
“Sir?” Aine asked softly. “Sir, what’s happened to you?”
A moment later, Aine’s adoptive mother, Mie Brevenswood, darted over with her hands twisted in her apron. When she saw Aine, she narrowed her eyes.
“Daughter, best leave the man,” she said. “Come, back to the home. You have not finished your chores.”
Aine frowned. “Mother, he’s hurt,” she said. “We should help him.” Aine brushed the stranger’s hair out of his eyes. “He doesn’t look common,” she said. “He looks like a royal.”
Mie rolled her eyes. “Aine, come,” she said sternly. “No royal would be caught in this part of Zheka, and you know it.”
Aine bit her lip. “Mother…I want to help him,” she said. “Perhaps you could finally teach me the healing arts!”
Mie sighed. This wasn’t the first time her headstrong, adopted daughter had brought up wanting to learn the traditional arts of Zhekan women. Normally, at the age of twenty-six, a Zhekan girl like Aine would be well-trained. She’d have a specialty, and she’d be looking for a suitable husband.
But Aine wasn’t a Zhekan girl. She’d originally been born in the kingdom of Glasule, abandoned by her parents. Her adoptive father, Thom, had found her wrapped in a blanket in the woods, near the Zhekan border. Mie and Thom hadn’t been able to have children of their own, and Thom had brought the baby girl home as a surprise for his wife.
Mie sniffed. “Perhaps,” she said. “But I warn you, daughter, do not go getting ideas above your station. If you care for this man, he is your responsibility. And you must understand that he has the right to leave and never speak to you, not even to thank you. Assuming he is of royal blood, that is,” she added, looking down her nose at the limp body on the ground.
Aine smiled. As gently as she could, she slid her arm under the man’s legs and pulled him up against her. He was surprisingly heavy – while lean and slender as a cat, Aine could tell that every inch of his body was muscle and grit. I wonder how he got so hurt, she thought as she looked down at his wounded wrist, wincing at the sight of blood and shards of bone.
The stranger murmured and groaned as Aine carried him gently inside the small, crudely hewn cabin where
she lived with Mie and Thom.
“Mother, I’m going to set him down by the fire,” Aine said softly. “I think he is beginning to stir.”
“Very good,” Mie said. “And here,” she added, handing a leather-bound volume to Aine. “Be very careful with this.”
“For it is the only book we own,” Aine recited back, having heard her mother’s warning many times over her twenty-six years. Aine couldn’t have named how many hours she’d spent staring at the worn book, with the gold lettering on the spine too faded to read. It was her mother’s spellbook, and Aine had been forbidden from even glancing at the pages.
“You will find potions for healing, for draining the infection from the blood,” Mie said. “And you may use this to bind his wrist.” She handed Aine a faded shift.
Aine smiled and dipped into a curtsey. “Yes, Mother,” she said.
Aine stayed up the whole night, caring for the stranger. She washed and bound his wounds, then brewed a simple potion with trace amounts of wormwood and lavender, meant to ward off infection. Still, the strange man was feverish. His skin was damp and hot all night long, and Aine dabbed at his forehead with a bit of cloth leftover from the shift. By the time the sky was beginning to lighten with the first sign of coming dawn, Aine was exhausted.
“Do not think you may rest, daughter,” Mie said in the early morning. “I need you to finish sewing the gauntlets, they were commissioned by a very wealthy man.”
Aine stifled a yawn. “Yes,” she said, bowing her head. “I will make sure they are finished by the end of the day.”
But even with her leatherwork in her hand, Aine couldn’t stop staring at the stranger. He twitched and shook, trembling and murmuring in his sleep. Aine wondered if he was even conscious of what had happened. She was so curious to find out what had happened to this man that she felt she would burst if she never learned the truth.
It was a slow day. Aine’s hands were sore and sloppy at needlework, from a night of ripping worn muslin into strips and stirring heavy, aromatic potions that made her feel sleepy. She repeatedly dozed off, only waking up to the sound of a sharp cough from Mie.
Mie and Thom were quite poor. Mie took in sewing from the nobility – she wasn’t overly skilled when it came to potions and spells. Thom had, in his day, been a prize fighter in the shows. Mie liked to tell Aine of the days when they had been prosperous. But now Thom was a lazy drunk. He occasionally did seasonal labor with the farms dotting the Zhekan countryside, but most of their meager income came from Mie and her needlework.
Just as Aine was stifling another yawn, the man stirred. He blinked, opening his eyes and looking around. When he saw Aine, his mouth twisted in disgust.
“What kind of hell have I gotten myself into now?” The man looked at Aine. “Where am I? What’ve you done with me?” His voice was arrogant and throaty, much lower than Aine would have predicted based on his fair looks.
“Sir, do not be angry with me,” Aine said. She rose to her feet and looked down at him, holding her chin high in the way noble women did. “I have cared for you and dressed your wound. Your wrist is quite broken,” she said. “And it will be for some time. But thanks to my care, you will not die.”
The man didn’t reply. He stared at her crossly. “My wrist hurts,” he said. “Have you no skills?”
Aine rolled her eyes. “Enough,” she said. She poured cold water from a pitcher into an earthenware mug and passed it to the man. “Drink this,” she said. “Sir, what is your name?”
“I can’t very well tell you my name while I’m drinking, can I,” the man said crossly. “I am called Huen. Huen Covendane, of the kingdom of Zheka.”
Aine’s eyes flew open and she flushed. “Oh, sir,” she said. “I had no idea!”
Huen glared at her. He took a long drink of water.
Aine took the mug back from Huen and set it on the ground, reaching forward to wipe his lips with a cloth. She got to her feet and scurried over to Mie’s herb table, where she mixed a new solution of wormwood and lavender. Carrying it back to Huen, she got to her knees and passed the mug.
“Drink this,” Aine said. “It will prevent infection. That was a bad break! What could have possibly happened, did you fall off a horse?”
Huen didn’t reply. He greedily drank the concoction and leaned back against his makeshift pillow, an old shirt that Aine had filled with straw and placed under his head.
When he had finished the drink, Aine took the cup from his hands and went outside to wash it in the small spring Thom had coaxed from the earth. By the time she was back inside the small house, Huen had fallen asleep.
Aine frowned. A bit of a rude man, really, she thought as she tossed her light curls over one shoulder and sighed. Her back and neck ached from hunching over her sewing, but the light was beginning to fade and Aine knew that Mie would soon be home and demanding to know why Aine’s work wasn’t finished.
With a sigh, Aine settled back down and scooted close to the hearth of the fire. She sewed nimbly and quickly, her fingers dancing with the broad needle over the flaps of leather. Biting her lip, she tried to push all thoughts of Huen out of her head.
It was dark by the time Mie returned home.
“Daughter,” she said. “How is our guest?”
Aine shrugged. “He woke, briefly. I gave him more of the wormwood.”
Mie nodded. “And the gauntlets?”
Aine handed them over and Mie inspected them in the dim light of the fire.
“Well done,” she said. “Tomorrow you can begin work on the gown commissioned by Lady Noore.”
Aine nodded, trying not to look as miserable as she felt inside. I’m so exhausted, she thought as she sank down by the fireplace and warmed her numb hands to the flames. It feels as though I’ve been awake for a week!
Aine barely had time to relax before Mie called her.
“Aine, come eat something,” she said, raising an eyebrow. “I expect you’ll be up with your patient all night.”
Aine nodded. She was still thrilled to finally be learning magic – something she’d wanted ever since she’d been a child. But she knew Mie was only allowing her to practice because Mie herself couldn’t be bothered to care for Huen.
“Do not eat so quickly, child,” Mie scolded. “You’re going to choke.”
Aine flushed. “Sorry,” she said softly. She forced herself to chew the chunks of potatoes and mealy carrots in her thin stew. When she was almost done, she spooned the sole chunk of mutton from the bottom of the bowl and closed her eyes as she ate, savoring the salty, rich taste.
The night seemed to go on forever. Aine slumped by the fire with her eyes closed, dozing off every few minutes. Huen slept fitfully – again, he sweated and trembled all night long. Some of the anger and indignance Aine had felt at Huen’s abrasive personality began to fade.
He’s so alone, she thought as she watched his handsome features twitch and jerk. What happened to make him so bitter and angry? He’s a royal cousin – he must have everything he could possibly want!
Aine held her breath as she reached over Huen’s supine body and took his left hand in hers, lifting it close to the fire and inspecting. No – there was no tattoo there. Men and women in Zheka wore blue tattoos around their left ring fingers to indicate marriage.
So there was no quarrel with his wife, even though he looks old enough to wed, Aine thought curiously, frowning as Huen stirred and shifted. As gently as she could, she set his hand back down on his chest. I’ll just have to be content with not knowing, for now, Aine thought. She closed her eyes and leaned against the hearth, aching with exhaustion.
In the morning, Aine’s back was stiff and sore. She groaned as she hauled herself into a standing position, rubbing her lower back with both hands. Aine winced as she walked to her mother’s herb table and brewed yet another potion for Huen when he awoke – this time, she included willow bark and crushed beetles. This should give him vitality, she thought nervously as she stirred the foul-smelling po
tion, carefully consulting Mie’s spellbook.
Finally, just before Aine took her midday meal, Huen awakened. He forced himself to sit, groaning and rubbing his forehead. When he saw Aine, he narrowed his eyes.
“What’s your name?” Huen asked Aine in a growly voice. “Who are you?”
Aine dipped her head to show respect before meeting Huen’s eyes. They were nice – a warm, soft brown that looked like velvet.
“I am Aine Brevenswood,” she said softly.
“I see,” Huen said curtly. He cleared his throat. “May I have something to drink, Aine? I’m terribly thirsty.”
Aine poured cold water into a mug and handed it over, along with the potion. “This should help you,” she said. “It should give you energy?”
Huen raised an eyebrow. “It should? Are you a woman, or not? How long have you been studying?”
