Five Lands Saga Box Set 1 (Five Lands Saga Box Sets), page 68
“Hmph,” Sayvil said. “I had to use this on Quinn once, after a wild dog took a bite out of his leg. I don’t recall him complaining so much.”
“I’ll be sure to admire his stoicism when I meet him.” Jaeme rolled his shoulder forward; after the initial burn, the salve now felt cool against the wound. Sayvil wrapped a fresh bandage around it. “Actually, this feels pretty good. You’re a wonder, Sayvil.” He lay back against the pillows propped up to the wall, wincing only slightly at the pressure. The straw in the mattress and pillows crackled as he shifted.
She shrugged. “It could have been a lot worse. If it had gone for your throat, there wouldn’t have been any salve in the world that could save you.”
It had gone for his throat, he remembered. The snapping of jaws, the glint of knife-like teeth, the cold, slimy sheen of skin. It had been his reflexes that saved him, instinctively blocking his neck as they knocked him into the bog. Beyond that, though, he couldn’t recall very much of what followed. The jagged wound to his shoulder was the worst of it, although he also bore the marks of a shallow rake across his chest and a swollen cut on the back of his head where he must have hit a rock. Of the three of them, he was the worst wounded. All in all, a fortunate outcome, given the circumstances.
“How’s Daniella?” he asked, as Sayvil gathered up the bandages and bowl of ointment. He pulled on his linen shirt gingerly, wincing as he shifted his arm into the sleeve.
“She’s fine. Slept like the dead most of the day, like the rest of us,” Sayvil said, her expression still weary, which Jaeme understood all too well. He thought he could use a hundred years of rest after that debacle. “Her leg will heal up nicely, and her arm as well, since the cuts weren’t too deep. The town healer did a good job with the stitches on both of you.”
“And no word from the others?”
Sayvil scowled. “Not yet.”
Jaeme had hoped that Kenton, Perchaya, and Nikaenor would be close behind them, or even beat them here by virtue of not going through the swamp. He hoped to the gods that they hadn’t been driven there to face the Nichtees that he’d just escaped. Worse yet was the thought that they might have been apprehended by Erich Dektrian—though Jaeme thought better than to say the man’s name aloud in any tone of voice. Kenton and Perchaya could be executed on the spot for being Drim, but if they were right that Diamis needed them, more likely the lot of them would be rotting in the brig of a ship on their way to Peldenar by now.
Much as Jaeme wanted to believe that Kenton was delusional, that they were none of them important, he’d seen what had happened in Tir Neren. Saara was, beyond a doubt, the bearer of Nerendal. And Daniella testified about her father’s plans for bringing back Maldorath.
Jaeme didn’t like to think about what was going to happen if the others were captured or killed. He suddenly wished Daniella were here and swung his legs over the side of the bed, intending to find her, even as the sudden movement made his wounded head ache.
Sayvil turned a glare on him. “Stay in bed. I’ll have your dinner sent up.”
He laid back with a groan. Jaeme was normally quite happy to lounge about and be waited on, but on this occasion, it only drove his thoughts to dark places. Still, food sounded good. Greta, the matronly proprietor of the Harpoon, was an exceptional cook. “Dinner it is.”
Sayvil swept out of the room, her mind apparently elsewhere. On that plant she found in the swamp, no doubt. Jaeme’s thoughts wandered back to that moment with Dani, sitting on the log with her as she shivered. Of the way it had felt to kiss her again, something he hadn’t been sure would repeat itself after the long awkwardness on the ship from Tirostaar. He’d prefer if the kissing would repeat itself without the awkwardness, but they’d hardly had a moment alone away from the swamp, the gods-forsaken Nichtees, or Sayvil’s persistent ointment applications.
A rap against the door interrupted his thoughts. “Come on in, Greta,” he said. His stomach contorted a bit, and he realized how hungry he was.
It surprised him to see Daniella enter the room, carrying a tray laden with a steaming hunk of pork and sauce-covered mushrooms, along with a tankard of ale. She wore a new tan linen dress, her unbound red hair curling down around her shoulders. There was a bandage tied around her left arm, but she didn’t seem to have trouble holding the tray. Jaeme was grateful to see her wounds hadn’t been nearly as dire as his—he’d been in and out of consciousness all day. He vaguely remembered a farmer finding them a little ways outside the swamp, and being put in a cart, but the next thing he knew, he was here, being stitched up.
“I’m not Greta,” Daniella said, “but I hope that since I’m bringing food, I’m still welcome.”
There was no one Jaeme wanted to see more. “It depends on what you brought me,” he said with a grin. “Here, let me help . . .” He started to get up as she walked towards him, still limping from the wound to her leg. He hoped she hadn’t been walking much—even a shallow wound could open again easily.
“Don’t get up. If I can carry you through the swamp, I think I can manage a tray.” She set it down on a small oak table beside the bed. He shifted his legs to make more room for her, but she didn’t sit. “How are you feeling?”
“Still a bit like a gnawed-on bone, but awake and alive enough. Nothing a good dinner and some time spent with you won’t fix.”
Daniella looked down at her hands.
Gods. It was the boat ride all over again. Jaeme had once fancied himself a ladies’ man, but these last months with Daniella had disabused him of that notion.
And yet. At a couple points during the day, the healer had come in to check on him, fearing he’d develop a fever from infection. He’d woken, barely, as she felt his forehead and examined his wounds. But the last time, maybe only a couple hours ago, he’d found Daniella sitting on a stool on the other side of his bed. She’d been bent forward with her head resting beside his arm, fast asleep. He hadn’t dared move or even breathe deeply for fear of waking her. When Sayvil woke him for good this time, she was gone.
There was always something a little skittish about her when it came to his affection, so he didn’t want to push her in any way. But it seemed now that even his usual flirtation was making her uncomfortable.
He decided to change the subject, and gestured to the tray. “So I take it you wandered down to the common room, at least?”
She nodded. “It was pretty full, too. Word’s spread all over town about Lord Jaemeson’s battle in the swamp with the Nichtees. You’ve become quite the legend.”
“For bravery or foolishness?”
She grinned. “A little bit of both. But you seem to have quite the reputation among your subjects. They love you, regardless. I promised that before we left, you would give a complete retelling of your encounter with the beasts and daring rescue of the two trapped maidens. They seemed to think it a wonderful trade.”
Probably better than the tale of being shoved in the mud and having to be dragged to safety by the woman he loved. “I take it you’ve embellished it some already.”
“I may have mentioned a fierce duel between you and the Nichtee king, who challenged you with a blood-oath of vengeance.”
“And of course, I won by sheer will of my righteous fury.”
“Is there any other way?” She handed him the ale as he leaned to reach it and he took a deep drink. He wished she’d sit, but she seemed to be avoiding both the bed and the stool, and he wondered how much longer he could persuade her to stay.
“They have a god-rune on the wall,” she said suddenly, her attention captured by the rune of Kotali carved at the base corner. “I’ve heard that the castles here are blessed by the priests, but I didn’t know that inns are too.”
Jaeme nodded. “It’s fairly common in Mortiche. Especially in a place like Haidshir, living so close to the swamp. The runes supposedly provide protection against dark powers and evil intentions. I would normally make some kind of disparaging comment here, but being half-eaten by Nichtees has given me new perspective.”
She looked back at her hands, her fingers laced delicately together. “Still no word from Ithale.”
His chest tightened. “I know,” he said, holding back a sigh. He set the tankard back on the table and sat forward. “I suppose if I were a knight from one of your stories, I’d already be halfway back to rescue them.”
Daniella half smiled at him. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’d never have left them to begin with. You would have taken on all the soldiers yourself.” She pretended to consider. “You might have left one or two for Kenton. If you were feeling generous.”
Jaeme wanted to laugh, but the truth of it struck him. He’d sworn oaths in his youth, when he was no older than Nikaenor. Oaths of valor and courage, of protection and defense of those in need. Ever since he was a child, he’d loathed the way other knights cast aside their vows, but somewhere along the line he’d slipped into maligning the vows themselves.
Jaeme wasn’t sure exactly when that had happened. “I could take a small boat. Have them drop me off outside the town. I don’t think any of the soldiers got a clear look at me. And they’re not looking for a man traveling alone.” He said the last part pointedly to forestall any plans on her part to join him.
“Jaeme,” Daniella said, looking worried. “You’re not even close to recovered yet.”
He shrugged—or at least did so with his uninjured shoulder. “Wouldn’t matter in the ballads, would it?”
“It’s just poetry,” Daniella said. “Since when do you care about what knights are supposed to do?”
Jaeme felt himself slouching sullenly. “Maybe I should.”
“Then why don’t you?”
He looked up at her, and she met his eyes. There was no hint of judgment in her tone, only interest.
Jaeme would take any scrap of interest she was willing to throw his way. “Because I hate the knighthood.”
Her eyes crinkled in confusion. “But why? You are one, after all.”
“Not by choice.”
Daniella’s expression only grew more confused, and Jaeme realized he was going to have to choose between brushing her off and telling her the truth.
He was surprised to find he wanted to tell her. “They killed my father,” he said. “The Dukes Council, I mean.”
Daniella lowered herself onto the stool, her knees resting inches from him. “Really?”
He nodded. “He was accused of murder. A massacre, actually. And treason. One of the knights who was a friend of my father’s had his estate raided, his people killed. He was run through with a sword. And while all of my father’s men denied that they’d been there, my father stood accused by his own oath brothers. They produced witnesses from gods know where. He was a duke, a full member of the Council. These men were his blood brothers but they wouldn’t listen to him when he swore his innocence. They sentenced him to death—stoned him.” Jaeme paused before offering the last, awful piece. “I watched.”
Daniella reached out and took his hand, and even if her motivation was mostly comfort, he held it tight in his own.
“How old were you?” Daniella asked quietly.
“I was six,” Jaeme said. “But I was old enough to know he hadn’t done it. Some of them must have known it as well. They needed someone to blame, for their honor. That’s the way they work, the way they’ve always worked. They’re hypocrites who hide behind a code of morality that they can only pretend to live up to.” His expression softened a bit as he studied her. “And well-read Sevairnese girls are hardly the only ones who fall for it,” he added gently, with a half-smile.
“I’m so sorry.” Her green eyes were sorrowful. “What about your mother?”
Jaeme let out a breath. “She was there, too, when he was stoned to death. I remember her screaming and screaming, having to be held back from running to him. Something in her mind just snapped, and she never recovered. She sees people who aren’t there, talks to thin air, wails incoherently. She’s being cared for in one of our estates. I rarely go to see her. I would, but—” He swallowed thickly. “But my presence seems to make her madness worse, agitate her further, especially as I’ve gotten older. I think it’s because I look so much like my father.”
Daniella squeezes his hand. “I can’t even imagine.”
“Yes, well,” Jaeme said. “Listen to me, complaining to you about my family problems.”
She let out a terse laugh. “Being around Nikaenor’s family, I was starting to identify with Kenton, of all people.”
“Gods help us.”
A shadow settled across Daniella’s face. She’d made a joke of it, but only to disguise her pain. Jaeme ought to recognize that. He did it himself often enough.
“Do you miss your father?” he asked.
Daniella looked at him in surprise. “Gods, no. I was glad to get away.”
Jaeme nodded. He could understand that. “But you didn’t always know he was a blood mage, did you? Did you ever love him?”
Daniella hesitated, probably because the memories were too painful.
But then she shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, I don’t love my father.” Her grip loosened on his, then her hand drew away entirely. His heart sank along with it. “I should let you rest,” she said, standing. “Sayvil would scold me if she knew I stayed so long and—”
“Dani,” Jaeme said. “Don’t go.”
Daniella winced, her hands fussing with her skirts as if they suddenly didn’t know where to land.
Jaeme pulled himself to his feet and reached for her, and he could see tears forming in her eyes as she shook her head.
“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t get up. You need to heal, and I—”
Jaeme laid a hand on her shoulder, and she didn’t move to pull away. “I’ve upset you,” he said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
Daniella shut her eyes, the tears clinging to her lashes, glistening in the candlelight. “No. It’s just that—I can’t be close to you.”
Jaeme faltered, his hand still resting on her. His mind flickered over the possibilities he might have missed—a lover, a betrothal, a vow of chastity, a preference for women—but quickly dismissed them all. They’d talked about her past relationships, and she’d never mentioned—
“I can’t,” she said again, though instead of pulling away, she was leaning closer, so near that he could feel the warmth of her body. “Because of what happened with Erich.”
Jaeme lifted his arms and wrapped them around her, and Daniella nestled into him. She said she couldn’t be close to him, but he was more sure than ever that she wanted to be. “He hurt you,” he said. “But I’m not him. I won’t—”
“I know,” she said, her breath ragged against his chest. “I know you’re not Erich. You’re kind and good and—”
“—a total ass.” He squeezed his arms tight around her as she made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob.
“An adorable ass,” she said. “And better by far than the knights in the stories, whatever you say about them. But Erich had honor once, too. He was good to me, and then, after a while . . .”
Jaeme pressed his face into her hair. “I won’t hurt you, Dani. I swear it.”
“I know,” she said. “I’m going to hurt you.”
Jaeme shook his head, his nose rubbing against her temple. “No, you could never—”
She pulled back suddenly, holding him forcefully at arm’s length and looking into his eyes. “I’m a weapon. Not a girl but a thing. You ask if I love my father, and I don’t. And yes, he’s a blood mage, and a lot of other things, but lots of people love their parents even though they’re horrible. That’s what a person is supposed to feel, but I don’t. I loved Erich and look what I did to him. I turned him into—”
“No.” Jaeme closed the distance between them again, drawing her back into his arms, forcing himself not to wince at the flare of pain in his shoulder. “No. Whatever he did to you, that was on him.”
Daniella’s face crumpled. “You saw what I did in Tir Neren. I’m—”
“What I saw,” Jaeme said, “was a scared girl with no control over what was happening to her. I’m sorry about what they’ve done to you, but Dani. It wasn’t your fault.”
Her curls bounced as she shook her head. “But if it was, if being around me corrupted Erich, if I changed you—”
“You’ve already changed me for the better.” He put his hand on her cheek, the back of his fingers running along her jawline. It was true. Before he’d met her, there were so many things he hadn’t considered about his life. He could see now that he’d neglected his own oaths, and no matter what the Dukes Council had done, there was no excuse for that. He still didn’t believe that Kotali—if he still had any power at all—would have chosen him, but Daniella made him want to believe. For her.
He ran his hands up her arms, and she folded into him, still looking up into his eyes.
“You should be afraid of me,” Daniella said.
“Ah,” he said. “Are you both the maiden and the Great Northbeast in this story? Do I need to slay you in order to win you?”
One errant tear escaped down her face. “Do you want to? Win me, I mean?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.
Jaeme smiled. Her feelings in return felt more like something he needed to earn rather than win. “Am I going to need to pay a visit to the River King and borrow some of those colorful fish to spell it out for you? Because I think he . . .” He never finished that sentence, forgot entirely he was about to say, because suddenly Daniella was kissing him, her hands at the back of his neck and sending a rush of breathless heat through him as he pulled her closer, his heart pounding in a way it hadn’t since his first time many years ago. But this time, it was not due to an awkward fear of doing something wrong, but instead the greater fear and anticipation of doing the first truly right thing in his life.
