goblin into the thing. Afterwards, Falia took Gideon back to her hut to clean the scratches that Jurl’s claws had left on his skin.
Chandra remained behind in the livestock hut and said to the goblin, “Stop that snarling! We can’t let you go, and that’s your own fault.”
“Bad,” said Jurl.
“Nonsense. You’ll be perfectly comfortable in here.”
“Village eat goblin,” he said ominously.
“What?” She realized Jurl must have heard her dinner conversation with Gideon. “Don’t be silly. We were joking. They won’t roast you.”
“Stranger,” Jurl said bitterly. “Stupid.”
“I consider the source,” Chandra said, “and feel unmoved by the insult.”
She left him sulking and made her way back to Falia’s hut.
Predictably, perhaps, the girl had convinced Gideon to remove his tunic, and she was making a lengthy and intimate task out of tending what were only a few negligible goblin scratches on his chest. Chandra gave the two of them a dismissive glance, then went over to the bedroll that had been provided for her, smoothed it out on the floor, and lay down. While doing so, she noticed in passing that Gideon had a broad, hard, mostly hairless chest, and his arms were well muscled. There were several scars on his left arm, and another on his stomach.
At length, Falia ministered to his wounds. Then she offered to comb his hair for him, which was still rather tousled.
Chandra snorted.
Giving no sign that he had noticed Chandra’s derision, Gideon smiled kindly at Falia and assured her he was accustomed to doing it himself. “But thank you for the offer.”
Rosy-cheeked and glowing from within now, Falia looked quite different from the pale, hollow-eyed girl whom they had first met. “Please make yourself comfortable in the other bedroll,” she said to Gideon. “I must go and get another.”
“Am I taking yours?” he said. “I don’t want to deprive you of your bed, Falia.”
“Please, you’re my guest. It’s my pleasure that you should sleep in my bed!”
I’ll bet it is, Chandra thought.
“I’ll get another bedroll for myself from my aunt’s hut,” the girl said. “I’ll be back shortly.”
As soon as she left, Chandra said reprovingly to Gideon, “She’s a child.”
“Actually, she’s probably older than either of us, Chandra.”
“You think?” She propped herself up on her elbows and looked at him in perplexity.
“One of the typical effects of blood magic is that it slows or even halts the normal aging process.”
“But surely she’s not a blood drinker?” Chandra said.
“No, I think she’s exactly what she says she is: the village menarch. You heard what she said. The wise woman passes her wisdom to her successor through a blood ritual.”
“Yes, I did hear that.” Chandra lay down again and stared at the flickering light from the candles as it bounced off the ceiling. “The wise woman passes along knowledge and wisdom through her blood, and maybe some power. And part of the power involves ensuring that the next wise woman remains the exact same age she is at the time of initiation… until it’s time for her to turn the duty over to her successor?”
“It seems necessary,” Gideon said. “She remains young so that she can marry and bear children, but that could take a long time considering how few people are in the village. I imagine mortality rates among infants is high in this kind of environment.”
“I think she sees you as a potential mate.” Chandra thought it over. “How old do you think she is?”
“We’d probably be able to make a better guess if we met the aunt who was the wise woman before her.”
“Well,” Chandra said, “no wonder Falia seems so, er, ready for marriage.”
“That’s a surprisingly tactful way for you to put it. You must be tired.” He stepped over her prone body and started laying his bedroll in the narrow space between hers and the wall.
“What are you doing?” she demanded. “You’re not sleeping this close to me.”
“Yes, I am. I want you lying between me and her,” he said firmly. “You’re my protection.”
Chandra snorted again. “Oh. All right. Fine.”
She rolled over on her side, with her back to him, and closed her eyes. She assumed Falia wouldn’t be pleased with this arrangement when she returned to the hut, but Chandra was much too tired to care.
She dreamed of fire.
Not the hot power that had mingled with her fear and fury when she killed the Enervants. And not the wild flames that had scalded her in the Blind Eternities as she made her escape from the Prelate’s dungeon.
The fire in her dreams wasn’t the seduction of a boom spell, or the fragile sparks of a new enchantment. No, this was the fire of sorrow and grief, of shame and regret.
“I don’t want to kill any innocents,” Gideon said in that calm, impassive voice he often used. White flames danced around him as he said it. Pure white.
And in those flames, she could hear their screams clearly. Their bodies writhed in the fire, and the stench of their burning flesh made her want to vomit, as it always did. Her throat burned with sobs that wouldn’t come out.
But the sobs must be coming out, because she could hear them. Choked, desperate, tearful gasps.
“Chandra,” he whispered, his voice cool against the heat of the agonized screams of the innocents dying in the fire.
She tried to move, but her limbs were immobile. She wanted to scream, but only a helpless moan emerged from her throat.
“Chandra.”
And when the blade of a sword swept down to her throat, she awoke with a strangled gasp of horror.
It was dark. No candles were burning. And Chandra had no fire to call upon here.
“Shhh, it’s a dream, just a dream,” Gideon whispered. His arms came around her. “Shhh.”
She struggled against the imprisoning arms.
“It’s me,” he whispered. “You had a nightmare.”
Her heart was pounding. Her temples throbbed. She was sweating. A strangled sob escaped her throat, humiliating her.
His body was pressed up against her side as she lay on her back. One hard arm encircled her shoulders, the other curled around to cradle her face. “Shhh. You’re fine. It was just a dream.”
Chandra raised her hand to the hand that cupped her cheek. She intended to reject that intrusive, offending caress. To fling off his hand… But somehow, instead, she found herself grasping it. He returned her grip and squeezed gently.
“Just a dream,” he said again.
She focused on her breathing, trying to steady it.
“Maybe going to bed on a belly full of grub worms wasn’t such a good idea,” he whispered.
A choke of surprised laughter escaped her.
Then she felt queasy. “You had to mention that,” she murmured. “I’d actually forgotten.”
“Sorry,” he breathed against her ear.
She took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. She could still hear her heart thudding with terror and guilt.
Gideon said, “Do you want to tell me what you dreamed?”
“No.”
He accepted this, and they lay quietly together. After a while, he lifted his head. Then he whispered, “It’s too dark to see, but I think she’s still asleep.”
Chandra was glad she hadn’t disturbed the girl. Having woken Gideon was embarrassing enough.
He lowered his head again, letting it rest close to hers. “I can’t tell how long we’ve been asleep. The light’s always exactly the same here.”
“The moonlight, you mean.”
“Mmm.”
