Dark Moon Defender (Twelve Houses) (63 page)

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Authors: Sharon Shinn

BOOK: Dark Moon Defender (Twelve Houses)
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“Who are—what did—
stop that!
” she gasped, and both of the women laughed.
 
 
“My name’s Senneth. That’s Kirra. We’re friends of Justin’s,” the white-haired woman said. “Oh, and by the way. We’re mystics.”
 
 
Mystics.
Kirra
. Ellynor remembered that name. Her momentary stab of jealousy was replaced by a sense of profound relief that rolled over her like cooling water, extinguishing Senneth’s sprays of flame. “Can you save Justin?” she whispered.
 
 
“You’ve already saved him,” said the one called Kirra. Justin had said she was beautiful, but Ellynor hadn’t envisioned anyone
quite
so attractive. “You’re the one I’m worried about now.”
 
 
“It doesn’t matter about me,” Ellynor said. She was feeling remarkably alive after those jolts of power from the mystic’s hands, but she was still exhausted. She wanted to sit up, exclaim, check on Justin, get a better look at Kirra’s face, but she couldn’t. She wanted to close her eyes and sleep for a week.
 
 
“Oh, I’m guessing Justin believes it matters very much about you,” Senneth said. “Stay here a moment. I’m going to see if I can find the room our hostess has set aside for you.”
 
 
“I don’t want a room,” Ellynor said drowsily. “I don’t want to leave Justin.”
 
 
“He’ll be here when you wake up,” Senneth said. “I can’t imagine, after all this, he’d leave
you
behind.”
 
 
CHAPTER 31
 
 
IT was nighttime when Justin woke, opening his eyes to a sudden and complete sense of consciousness.
 
 
Nighttime. In a place he did not recognize. And great burning Mother, he felt like fifteen different kinds of hell.
 
 
It was instinct to attempt to piece together where he was and what had happened, all the while lying so still no one in the vicinity would realize he was awake. Softness below him— he was in a bed. Shapes arranged like doors and windows against the denser materials of walls—he was in a good-sized room. No shackles on his wrists. He was among friends.
 
 
So he was a guest in someone’s house, and he must have come to rest here after the battle to end all battles, because he certainly recognized the feel of a sword wound and, holy Mother, there were dozens on his chest and arms.
 
 
And just like that, he remembered. The fight in the forest. The Lestra’s men. Taking a blade through the ribs just as he lunged to cut the other man’s throat. He had fallen to the ground knowing his wounds were most likely fatal, bitterly cursing himself for having failed Ellynor, who would come down this track in five days and find him missing —
 
 
That he still lived could only be attributable to magic. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to remember anything that had happened since that fight in the forest. He had the sense that a good deal of time had passed—days, he hoped, instead of weeks—but he had only the most confused impressions of movement, voices, touch. A hand on his shoulder, a hand over his heart. That much he remembered. Whose hand? Ellynor’s? How long had she tended him? Was she still here? Where was he?
 
 
Still not moving his head, he sent his gaze around the room. This wasn’t his rented place in the boardinghouse, that much he was sure of. And he didn’t think it was the interior of the convent, which Tayse had described as far more stark and severe. Had someone found his fallen body on the road and brought him back to safety? Was he in Neft?
 
 
Was somebody caring for him?
 
 
There was a chair next to the bed. He narrowed his gaze and strained to see. Yes, someone was sitting in the chair. A woman. It was impossible to see her clearly in the darkness, but he could make out a long tumble of hair, a silky sheen where her pale skirts were gathered around her knees.
 
 
“Ellynor?” he whispered, not daring to believe. He struggled to sit up—damn, that was painful—and succeeded in pushing himself onto his elbows. “Ellynor?”
 
 
The woman stirred and straightened, then leaned forward in her chair. He could tell before she spoke that she wasn’t Ellynor, and a great blow of disappointment landed in his stomach.
 
 
“You’re awake!” the woman exclaimed, and most of his disappointment evaporated.
 
 
“
Kirra?
What are you doing here?”
 
 
She bounced out of the chair and perched beside him on the bed, running her cool hands lightly over his face and shoulders. “Long story. Give me a minute. How do you feel? How’s your breathing?”
 
 
“Hurt all over. Weak. Breathing’s fine, though. Why? Did I get a sword through my lung?”
 
 
“Nicked the edge of it, from what I can tell. Though, really, you had so many wounds I haven’t had time to catalog them all.”
 
 
“What happened to me?”
 
 
She reached over to light a candle on the bedside table, then folded her hands in her lap and looked down at him. The single flame ran a loving glow down her golden hair, painted a saintly expression on her beautiful face. “What do you remember?”
 
 
“Fight against some convent guards in the woods. I think I killed them all, but some of them were pretty good. From what I remember of the last couple of blows, I could have died.”
 
 
“Should have died,” she said. “I’ve never seen anyone live when they had wounds like yours.”
 
 
He was silent a moment, for that was a strange thing, to be told you had knocked on the door of death. “How did you find me in time?” he said. “I had no idea you were anywhere near Neft.”
 
 
She was smiling now. So much for the pious expression; this look was pure Kirra. “But I wasn’t,” she said in a dulcet voice. “I’m not the one who saved your life.”
 
 
He felt an emotion knock through him—hope or apprehension or something he couldn’t identify. “Who did? What happened?”
 
 
“We’re still piecing it together. And it’s not entirely credible. But apparently the young woman you’ve grown so fond of—”
 
 
“Ellynor?” he said sharply. “She’s mixed up in this?”
 
 
Kirra nodded. “
Oh
, yes. Apparently she found you on the trail, surrounded by corpses, and as close to death yourself as makes no difference. And she—I don’t know what she did—she put a
spell
on you or something, and then came racing into town to find the man who lives here. Faeber? Is that his name?”
 
 
That made sense. So he was in Faeber’s house. “I’d told her she could trust him if she ever needed help.”
 
 
“So he got a wagon and drove out to pick you up, and they carried you back here. Where everyone expected you to expire at any minute. But you didn’t die. Not from blood loss. Not from infection. Not from anything.”
 
 
She waited, watching him expectantly. “Why didn’t I die?” he asked, since she was obviously waiting for the question.
 
 
“I have no idea. Marney—Faeber’s wife—says Ellynor wouldn’t leave your side. Lay beside you on this bed for five days, her hand always touching you. Like she was feeding you with her own strength. I don’t know how else to explain it. When I got here, Ellynor herself was practically a wraith. Like she’d given up every ounce of energy in her body. Given it to
you.
”
 
 
He felt a sudden surge of fear that made him fight to sit up again. This time he succeeded. “Where is she? Is she all right? I didn’t—I wouldn’t—if something happens to her because of me—”
 
 
“Well, I think it was a pretty near run thing,” Kirra admitted. “I think, as close to death as you had been at first, that’s how close she was by the end. It was like she traded everything with you. Gave you her health while she took on your weakness. I can’t imagine how she did that. I want to learn, though.”
 
 
Who cared about mystics’ tricks? “But is she all right?” he said impatiently. “Where is she? Can I see her?”
 
 
She leaned close enough to push him in the chest, and he collapsed back on the pillows. “She’s sleeping. Senneth’s with her. And you know Senneth can keep anybody alive.”
 
 
That news made a small bright ball of happiness inside him. “Senneth’s here?”
 
 
“Oh, we’re
all
here. Tayse, Cammon, Donnal—all of us.”
 
 
“Really? Why? For me? How’d you know I was hurt?” She watched him a moment, grinning. “I’m just going to let you figure that out on your own.”
 
 
It wasn’t hard. “Cammon.”
 
 
“Cammon, indeed. Clutches a hand to his heart, shrieks ‘Justin!’ and falls to the ground most dramatically. Got our attention, I assure you. We were a couple days outside of Ghosenhall, but we altered course and came flying down here so fast I feel like I must have left a hand or a foot behind on the road. At least a couple of pairs of shoes.”
 
 
“When did you get here?”
 
 
“This afternoon.”
 
 
“So it’s been about five full days since I’ve been hurt. And I’ve done nothing but lie here this whole time?”
 
 
“Lie there and heal,” she corrected.
 
 
“I need to get up.” He lifted a hand and made a fist. No strength in his fingers. How long would it take before he’d be able to heft a sword? “I’m so weak.”
 
 
“You will be for a while, I’d think,” she agreed. “I can help you along a little, but your body will have to do some of the work itself.”
 
 
He pushed the covers back. He was wearing some kind of long nightshirt, certainly not his own. Faeber’s, maybe. Beneath it, his legs looked spindly and wasted. Bright Mother of the burning skies, his whole body flexed with pain when he swung his legs to the side of the bed and paused there, gathering his strength.
 
 
Kirra was watching closely. “You might want to wait till Tayse is around. He can help you up.”
 
 
“Don’t need Tayse’s help to walk across the room,” he said with a grunt.
 
 
“Well, if you fall over,
I
can’t lift you.”
 
 
“Guessing Donnal’s right outside the room,” he said. “But I’m not going to fall over.”
 
 
She shrugged and stopped arguing; Kirra was never much of one for urging caution. She did come to her feet, though, ready to help him if she could. Justin braced his heels on the floor and then heaved himself up, feeling the shrieking protest of every half-healed wound. But he stood steady, once he got over the initial dizziness. As soon as he had readjusted to the sense of his own weight, he took a few careful steps, hands outstretched to grab at furniture if he needed to. But he felt stronger with each step, more sure of himself. He crossed to the wall and rested a moment before beginning the short journey back.
 
 
Just as he reached the bedpost, the door pushed open a few inches and a large black dog nosed in. “He’s up,” Kirra said to the dog, who came all the way into the room and flowed into the shape of Donnal. The mystic was smiling through his beard.
 
 
“Thought I heard voices,” Donnal said. “How are you feeling?”
 
 
“Lucky.”
 
 
Donnal nodded. “That seems to be the general opinion.”
 
 
“And sore as hell.” He paced slowly back toward the wall. It did not escape his attention that Donnal remained by the door, Kirra by the bed, both of them close enough to catch him if he fell.
 
 
“So tell us about these people whose house we’re in,” Kirra said. “They’ve been exceedingly gracious, but I can’t think they’re delighted to have so much company all at once, and so many of them at death’s door.”

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