It was Barrow who pulled her against him. “A wounded warrior is never a burden. Rest now. You’ll soon be in more able hands than mine.”
Ember was grateful to relax against his chest. Her eyelids were heavy, eager to obey Barrow’s command. As they dropped down, she saw Alistair watching her. When he caught her gaze, he lifted his hand and offered a tight smile. But she was already too far gone to return it.
TWENTY
BY THE TIME EMBER stirred again, the landscape that welcomed her from sleep was familiar. The steady motion of Toshach’s gait slowed to a stop in Tearmunn’s paddock. Ember sat up and immediately winced from the pain.
“You needn’t move.” Barrow’s voice was at her ear. “We’ll send for healers to bear you to your cell.”
The thought of being carried in a litter from the stable to the barracks mortified her. “No, no.” She straightened further without flinching to make her case. “I can walk. I don’t think the injury is that serious.”
“You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
Ember gritted her teeth. “I can walk . . . please.”
“As you wish,” Barrow said. “But I hope you’re not so eager to suffer that you’ll refuse a bath and an elixir to ease your pain if I order them for you.”
Ember smiled at the promise of hot water brought to her cell, and she would have eaten newt eyes if someone claimed they’d take the pain in her shoulders away.
She could feel blood and grime caked to her face and back, itching as it dried. Beneath the itch lay a steady, building pain nagging her like the drone of insects. Barrow’s hastily wrapped bandages chafed at her wounds, but at least the sudden bites of pain kept dizziness at bay.
“If you insist,” she said, and felt his chest rise and fall with quiet laughter. Unfortunately the motion sent pain shooting through her shoulders, but she worked hard not to show it.
He slid from Toshach’s back and handed the horse’s reins to a waiting stable hand.
Ember bit the inside of her cheek as she slowly pushed herself out of the saddle. If she moved carefully enough, she could almost ignore the pain. She felt strong hands grasp her waist, easing her to the ground. Despite her claim that she didn’t need help, she turned with a smile to thank Barrow for his assistance. But it wasn’t Barrow’s face she found upon turning. Alistair still held her waist, though he dropped his hands from her sides when her eyes widened upon seeing him. From over Alistair’s shoulder Barrow watched them. He didn’t interfere, but his brow knit together as the pair stood awkwardly while the stable hand led Toshach out of the paddock.
“Thank you,” Ember muttered, and moved away from Alistair. Though she felt unsteady, she managed to make her way toward the barracks. She could feel Barrow’s gaze boring into her back with each painful step.
I will not falter. I will not falter.
“Let me help you.” Alistair touched her arm and she jerked away before she could help it. His grimace was fleeting, though, replaced in a moment with a gentle smile.
“There’s no shame in it, Ember,” he said. “You did well. Killing a striga on your own is better than most initiates ever could hope to do.”
Ember returned his smile, sorry that she should be so repulsed by his touch. She would have to make an effort not to shy away from him if she wanted to mend their friendship.
“Thank you, Alistair . . . perhaps you can assist me to the barracks?” It was a first step toward making things right between them.
Alistair hesitated but then offered his arm, which Ember took, letting some of her weight lean into him. Barrow, who had silently made his way to stand beside her, cast a wary glance at Alistair but didn’t voice an objection. As Alistair led her forward, Barrow stayed at her shoulder, following like a shadow.
The rest of their group bustled ahead of them. Stable hands were already seeing to the horses while Lukasz and Sorcha gave orders. Kael stayed close to the sorcerer, who watched the flurry of action with a bemused smile even as Kael jostled him into motion.
Ember’s eyes moved over the prisoner, who was being led by Lukasz a few steps ahead of them. The sorcerer walked proudly, back straight—a ridiculously dignified pose for someone whose clothes resembled badly deteriorated burial cloths. He was also calm for his predicament, acting more like an honored guest than a captive. Was he simply that proud? Or did he think showing fear before the Guard would only worsen his position?
“Stop!”
Lukasz raised his hand and all activity ceased. A woman was running across the courtyard, waving her arms and shouting at them. It took Ember a moment to recognize her. Eira was dressed in a silk gown dyed a deep blue that rivaled the night sky; its skirt dragged through the muddy ground as she ran. Her hair was piled atop her head in a carefully arranged mass of tiny braids and ringlets currently favored by noblewomen.
When she reached them, she spoke breathlessly. “You must take Lady Morrow and prepare her.”
It was Barrow who stepped forward. The tall knight’s body partially shielded her from Eira’s view.
“What’s happened?” he asked.
“The abbot is here and demands an audience with her,” Eira told him. “He arrived an hour ago. Without announcement.”
A ripple of tension swept over the Guard. Beside Ember, Alistair cursed under his breath.
“What’s wrong?” Ember asked, but Alistair shook his head to silence her.
Lukasz frowned, glancing at the prisoner and lowering his voice. “But he was just here.”
“I know,” Eira said. The look she gave him was weary. “He received a letter from her father.”
“Lord Morrow?” Lukasz shook his head. “He’s interfering. He should know better.”
“Apparently he doesn’t.” Eira searched the group until her eyes rested on Sorcha. “You know what to do. I’ve had the necessary items sent over to her room. Gather the servants you need and bring her back to the manor as soon as you can.”
Sorcha nodded and grasped Ember’s hand. “Come with me.”
“She’s injured.” Barrow frowned at Eira. “Can’t it wait? She must be seen by the healers.”
Eira shook her head. “If the abbot has to see her in a sickbed, it will only make things worse. She’ll have to bear the pain until he’s satisfied.”