by R. Cooper
Twenty
the gift of the Three
RESIDENTS of the barracks had flooded into the courtyards by the time Delf returned. Delf stayed upright through force of will, and didn’t stop to join in any excited conversations about the sky and what it must mean. Neither had she stopped to help clean up the messes from a few of the market stalls that must have spilled during the earth’s shaking. She would have, if she hadn’t been so worried, and the sun hadn’t been slowly but surely setting behind all the flickering color.
She nodded at the people she knew but continued on, feeling much older than her years. Buried deep where she kept her bad dreams and sharper memories was a well of panic like she hadn’t felt since the eve of Til Din. But panic receded when there was work to be done, and there would be plenty of that tomorrow.
Part of her worried that others would be surprised or dismayed, that they might argue. But only a few even seemed to notice her, and that was with alarm. Delf imagined she was a sight, with her damp, wild hair, in her sodden, ill-fitting clothes. But she forgot about her appearance entirely once Prityal’s room was finally in sight.
Others were still gathered around the doorway. Some priests or priests-in-training were straining to listen at the door, while also clearly talking amongst themselves about whatever was going on outside.
“Go and see for yourselves,” Delf told them, startling some of them who hadn’t heard her approach. Then, without knocking, she pushed on Prityal’s door and entered her room.
She’d thought, somehow, despite what she knew of magic, that Prityal might be awake and well again.
She was not.
Prityal was lying on the sort of narrow bed that Delf would have imagined her choosing—if Delf had ever dared to think of Prityal in bed back when they had not known each other well. It was, however, a wooden-framed bed, sturdier and fancier than a cot, and raised from the ground. The bedding looked fine and soft as well. Delf smiled to see that, despite everything. Prityal more than deserved her private comforts.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Ranalaut’s quiet fury broke Delf from her staring.
Ranalaut stood not far from her, near the foot of Prityal’s bed. The sling on his arm was gone and he was in simple clothing, for his tastes, although that could have been due to the heat in the small room. It had a fireplace, and someone was keeping the fire burning bright.
Delf closed the door behind her and leaned against it to stay up.
Ran’s glare would have pinned her to it at any other time. “We were told you woke hours ago,” he continued, his voice husky with frustration or lack of sleep. “Are you well?” Ran straightened abruptly, raking a look over Delf and perhaps noticing her trembling limbs. “They said you were injured. I should have asked.”
“Delflenor,” Jareth cut in, more politic than her beloved, “do you need the care of a healer?”
That drew Delf’s attention to Bon, seated beside Prityal, obviously in the middle of working some magic. But it was either routine for her or a spell that was not taxing, because Bon opened her eyes to give Delf her usual cool look of disapproval.
Delf considered her, then turned back to Jareth. “Prityal doesn’t like a fire in her room unless it’s too cold to not have one. The smell of the smoke will sometimes give her bad dreams.”
Jareth arched her eyebrows, then exchanged a glance with her beloved. Ran coughed, but went to the fire to poke at it with one of the irons, tamping down some of the flames, but leaving enough to light the room. It was slow work, since his ribs would not have healed enough in the past week and a half to make bending down easy. Jareth watched him for another moment, frowning slightly, before facing Delf again with no warning.
“Delflenor,” she began carefully, and Delf both expected and deserved to be judged for returning Prityal to them in this state.
“Delf, if you like,” Delf said anyway, before taking a breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t take care of her as I should have.”
Jareth scoffed and exchanged another glance with her beloved. Then she actually smiled, a half-curl of her lips, there and gone. “That’s what Prit said about you when we first brought her in here and got her to wake.”
Delf turned to stare at Prityal in bewilderment, only to sigh in relief over a worry she hadn’t known she had. Someone, likely Ran, had cleaned Prityal’s face and neck, and perhaps even her hair. Her curls spilled across her forehead without hiding her face. The bedding covered her to her chest. Her arms were at her sides. When the priests and healers came into the room to help her, they would see the Hope, but asleep. Prityal would not want strangers to see her any other way.
“Thank you,” Delf told Ran quietly without taking her eyes from Prityal’s sleeping figure.
“Do you have some explanations for us now?” Bon demanded, not bothering to whisper, but then, Prityal’s sleep was not natural.
Delf took another breath, this one deeper, before turning to her former instructor. “You are going to be busy. We must be ready, and that will mean fewer secrets.” Delf had not raised her voice, but Bon’s eyes went round and her expression stiffened. Delf looked back at Prityal. “It will be hard. The cheves will be disturbed. Some are going to accept it and forget their grander aims. Others will think they must challenge it, no matter how many signs there are. But there will be so many signs. The Three lined it up well in the time They had to wait.” Tomorrow, Delf would worry. Tomorrow, she would present all of this in ways that had more coherency. “Too many cheves think any mundane event is a sign of their greatness. We should speak first to the ones who are reasonable, who have only small ambitions. We should reach out to them, and honor them. After all, to be united and strong is to their benefit as well, if they have sense enough to grasp that. The others should be offered the same chance, but we will need that strength to deter them or to make them see reason… or to make consequences clear.” Every stray thought from the back of Delf’s mind flew from her mouth in the same calm, distracted tone.
She watched Prityal breathe and thought of what had brought her there.
“The unclaimed places,” Delf began again, “such as the forests that make up Oryl Wood, and the vast, unknown wilderness beyond it. We need to send more artisans and priests there, as well as knights. So anyone living there will remember we serve them too, and also to bind them further to us, if they should wish that. We can offer craft and trade, as well as protection if it is needed. Studies should be made of our ruins, not only by priests or ancient knights with plots on their minds. But the cheves first. They must be dealt with before the rest.”
When no one spoke, Delf tore her gaze away and turned first to Bon, then to Jareth
Bon had narrowed her eyes. Jareth’s brows were raised again.
“I will discuss this further tomorrow if you like.” Delf spoke to them both, as well as to Ran. “But not now. I am tired, and we have less than a day, if Rosset the Betrayer did not lie. If his magic holds.” A matter of hours until Prityal died.
“She won’t,” Jareth answered as if Delf had said those words aloud. “We won’t allow it. And neither will They. After all, how is she to bring our chevetein to the Seat if she is here?”
Ange must have passed on that information. Delf silently thanked her for sparing Delf that conversation.
“Yes,” Ran agreed passionately. “The fate that Rosset believed was Prityal’s, the chevetein to be found. Now that is a good question. How is Prityal to bring a chevetein to the Seat if she cannot rise from her bed?”
“She asked,” Delf said simply.
Whatever was in Bon’s or Ran’s thoughts, it was Jareth who seemed to understand first. She made a startled noise, like a gasp caught in her throat.
Delf closed her eyes and sagged against the door.
“A questionable choice, I agree.” She quirked her lips without opening her eyes. “I don’t think of myself as… well, I don’t think of myself.” She waved a hand over her clothes, her hair. “It upsets her so. I
will have to do better, once I… if I… The question is how. I think I know. But,” Delf opened her eyes to stare down at her hands. If she had been someone less honest, she might have blushed at the memory of Prityal speaking of her hands, and what else her hands had done.
Instead, she pushed away from the door and reached out to Ran, who was closest to her.
She glanced her fingers over the back of his hand, then caught it in hers when the first touch made him stiffen. He jerked back, his mouth falling open. Delf understood, silently catching her breath as a rush passed over her, like the hot air near a bonfire. It set her skin alight and yet did not burn.
Ran groaned and pulled away, his cheeks and brow dotted with sweat, and regarded Delf with alarmed wonder. He swallowed, then slowly put a hand to his side, over his ribs.
So, Rosset had not lied about what Brennus had done. It seemed a strange way to begin a new life, but also fitting for the sort of person Brennus was. The sort of person Delf was, too.
She smiled. Ran sucked in a breath before nodding toward Jareth. “My petal, as well. Please.”
Delf nodded and stumbled the few steps to Jareth’s chair, landing with one hand at Jareth’s shoulder, with just her fingertips on the exposed part of Jareth’s neck. Jareth tensed and squeezed her eyes shut, then gasped loudly and pulled away.
She reached out, not to her leg, but to Ran, and looked at Delf the moment Ran’s hand was in hers.
“Sit down,” Bon ordered firmly.
Delf moved and sat without thinking, perching so clumsily that she nearly fell from the side of the bed. Bon stood up to catch her and push her back, then swept Delf’s hair from her eyes.
Delf blinked. “You should fetch anyone else with a recent injury or illness. Brennus… Rosset said this happened before. I hoped… I don’t know how long this will last. You should call anyone you can now.”
She thought Ran, or perhaps it was Jareth, tumbled out the door. Someone began to shout.
Delf turned her head to Prityal and did not object when Bon took her arm by the sleeve and placed it so that Delf’s hand covered one of Prityal’s.
Prityal’s hand twitched. Delf held it tighter, waiting breathlessly as Prityal stirred and moved her head away from the uncomfortable, perhaps frightening, heat of it. But her eyes didn’t open, and after another moment, Delf let go.
Bon released Delf in order to gently pull back the bedding and then roll up the undershirt Prityal had been dressed in so she could look at the wound.
The place where Rosset’s knife had broken the skin was nearly smooth, healed over with only a line for a scar. But the dark purple streaks still led out from the spot. Magic, like traces of poison.
Bon inhaled sharply, but her face was stone again as she redressed Prityal and rearranged the blankets. She frowned briefly at Delf without speaking, yet stepped aside as Ran shoved someone through the door.
A squire, one of those wounded in the same fight as Ona and the others. They gasped at the sight of Prityal and flinched when Jareth ordered them in and to move faster. They groaned as Delf took their hand, then pulled away with wide, staring eyes.
Others followed. Delf dropped her weary head and held out her arm for them to come to her. She smiled for the scared ones until she was too tired for that. She touched bakers with burns, and tanners and saddlemakers with cuts. She laid her hands on the shoulder of a knight kicked by an icor, and half a dozen others bearing wounds, old and new, from conflicts with cheves. There were more wounded in the barracks, but those were unable to rise, or with too much difficulty, and Delf regretted her foolishness in not finishing her cup of broth and in not resting sooner as she’d been told to. But those knights would still heal without her, though it would take longer and leave thicker scars behind.
When a child with slightly pink cheeks and a nose red from sneezing was brought in, Ran made a rude noise, and he carried the little one out himself after Delf had done her work. He shut the door firmly as well, and Delf wondered why he would do so a moment before her chin hit her chest.
She flexed her hands, which were strangely cold despite what she had done.
“This much was a gift,” Bon said, as if agreeing with a point someone must have made.
A gift. Delf raised her head with effort and turned to look at Prityal. She still had not woken.
“It didn’t work.” Delf whispered what everyone must be thinking. “Not for her.”
Jareth, of course, was cautious. “We don’t know that. It might be slower to work with other magic involved.”
“I told you I was no champion,” Delf told Prityal, wishing she could feel smug. “I am not the knight in the story that you wanted.”
Ran was unusually hesitant. “Is that… important?”
“No.” The hems of Delf’s breeches were damp. She hadn’t noticed. “But it’s what she wanted. I thought this would help. That I was finally… perhaps my quest is not over, and I need to find them.”
“Find who?” Ran moved to the foot of the bed.
Delf glanced to him. “Her champion. The one to love her. The one she secretly thinks of.” Delf frowned and abruptly turned to face Bon. “You can never tell anyone that.”
Bon was surprised enough to show it with several quick blinks. But her voice was smooth. “We have other things to focus on. You have duties that you must—”
“No. This.” Delf growled it. “She has given service and blood to Ainle. Ainle will stop for her now.”
A bold statement from a fool who could barely stand at the moment. Strange, then, that Ran should grin.
Delf stared at him in blank confusion, only more lost when she realized Ran was grinning at something behind her. Then she jolted and turned.
Prityal’s eyes were steady on her, although bright with sleep or sickness. “Delflenor.”
“Ah.” Delf exhaled nothing but that, then scooted over clumsily to be closer. “Here at last, my lady. I’m sorry it took me so long.”
Prityal answered this with a beautiful, slow smile that shifted to a frown before Delf’s heart could recover. “We need to go!” Prityal pushed down with her hands as if trying to sit up. “We have to go to the Seat. I promised!”
“We will.” Delf found herself crooning while Bon easily urged Prityal back down. “We will, love. Shh. Rest now, and I will explain.” What she had said caught up with her a moment afterward, along with awareness of their audience, but it was her dignity at risk, not Prityal’s, so she left her words in the light. “I have my own promise first,” she said to Prityal’s unhappy face, with a bitter smile for herself. “I have to save you. I confess, I am not doing it well, so far.”
Prityal deepened her frown. “Your wound.”
Delf glanced away from her, to her arm, and the traces of blood seeping through her sleeve. Bon immediately pushed aside Delf’s cloak to better examine the damage.
“It didn’t heal me,” Delf realized aloud. “I suppose that was too much to ask. Or They thought I needed the reminder of the cost of my stubbornness.” She shook off Bon’s concern and looked back at Prityal. “I could have stopped you sooner. I could have asked for this, and They would have granted it, and you would have listened to a just command made with the voice of the Three.” She was distantly aware that the others might not know the details of this story, unless Prityal had managed to tell some of it. “Rosset tricked her into coming for me. Afterward, he insisted I could have stopped her sooner, and now I see he was right in that, at least. I, fool that I am, countered that spell with something much harder.”
“You countered a spell?” Bon asked, over the sound of Jareth’s similarly disbelieving question. “You left your training. How did you defeat unknown magic?”
Prityal blinked slowly, exhaustion in even her smallest movements, and still managed to glare at the memory of Rosset. Delf clucked her tongue at her, wanting her to rest, hoping Jareth’s faith in the priests was not misplaced.
“I convinced her to remove Rosset’s helmet—
she had borrowed it. The helmet was also etched with old markings, like his knife. It had tricked her into not seeing me. Or… he used magic later to make it do so. I’m not sure which.”
“How did you convince her?” Jareth wondered quietly.
Prityal gave Delf a reproachful look, which Delf responded to with a huff. The sound smoothed away some of Prityal’s frown, so Delf could not regret it. But she did finally look away, to Jareth.
“I asked her to trust me.” The statement broke a bit in the middle when Prityal took Delf’s wrist and pulled Delf’s hand to her chest. She held it in one of hers, breathing faster as another hot rush of healing magic passed between them, and then sighing when it ended.
Ran startled Delf, and apparently everyone else, when he cackled. “And she did? Prit, my darling, forgive me, but trust is not what you are known for.”
Delf shook her head. “Prityal would not, no matter who gave the order, attack someone unarmed. So I threw down my weapons and then my shield.”
Ran stopped cackling. Prityal seemed offended. Jareth was silent, thoughtfully so.
“You offered yourself,” Bon said into the quiet. “That is a very specific act.”
“Delflenor,” Prityal took Delf’s attention back with one whisper. “Have you really come to save me?”
“You asked me to,” Delf returned, equally soft. “I can do nothing else but try. Do you still want that, or should I leave you and search for someone else who can?”
Prityal stared at Delf for a moment longer, then sighed. “How do you know so much, but never this?”
“Ah. If you are scolding me, you must be feeling better.” Delf wiped at her eyes with her other arm, then her nose, getting her borrowed shirt even more wet.
“You are teasing me. I never know what to say to that.”
Delf smiled warmly despite the tears sticking to her eyelashes. “There is nothing you need to say, my lady. I’m satisfied with what there is.”
Prityal tightened her hold on Delf’s hand. She inhaled slowly and softly. “Is that all? I have… I’ve bared more of myself for you than for anyone else outside of this room. Is it not enough? I thought… are we to always do this?”
