The door opened, Tobin stepping in with a call of “Beothen is back!”, then falling silent as he stopped mid stride. “Oh. Begging your pardon.” He cleared his throat and made a quick retreat.
Dnara’s heart fluttered wildly within her chest, the fever no match for the heat that took hold up the back of her neck as she stepped out of Athan’s embrace. Athan stood there, arms still held out as if supporting the shadow of where she had been. He, too, cleared his throat then scratched the back of his neck.
“I should see if Beothen has news,” he said, voice unsteady.
“Yes. Of course,” she replied pithily, her own voice restricted as her pounding heart made it hard to breathe. “Hopefully the news is good,” she added after a hard won breath.
“Hopefully,” he agreed then stepped to the door before pausing. “You should eat. There’s cheese there, on the table.”
“Thank you. I will,” she stuttered as he left, closing the door behind him. Sitting down at the table, she reached first for the pitcher of water and an empty glass. With unsteady hands, she filled it then drank it all within one go. The water helped cool and calm her. One glance at the cheese made her nauseous. But, heeding Athan’s advice, she cut off a chunk and chewed.
The door opened and Penna entered. “Oh, good, you’re eating. Would you like some bread to go with it?”
Forcing the cheese down her throat even as her stomach recoiled, she thought bread did sound more appealing. “Yes, please. Thank you.”
Penna opened a wooden box and pulled out a cloth-wrapped loaf then set the loaf on a cutting board. “Cornbread. It’s the only bread these days, with wheat refusing to grow and any oats going to livestock, or beer,” she laughed at the last part then sighed as she sat down. “Of course, now that’s gone sour, too.”
“I don’t mind cornbread.” Dnara took the offered cut piece and nibbled. Her stomach didn’t protest, but instead her hunger ignited. “It’s very good.”
“Thank you, dear.” Penna smiled then looked to the blisters on Dnara’s arms. “It’s not healing like last time? Your arms, I mean.”
Dnara swallowed the larger bight she’d taken. “Doesn’t appear so. But, they don’t hurt, not really. The salve is helping.”
“That’s good.” Penna nodded softly at that, her eyes never leaving the scars. “I can’t imagine what it’s like, having the magic or it doing that to your arms. And I can’t ever thank you enough for what you did.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Dnara protested against having anything to do with her using magic. “I don’t know how to use magic, I swear.”
“And I believe you,” Penna said with an understanding smile and tears gathering to redden her eyes. “You said it last night, though. I heard it. You said ‘I only wanted to help’. You wanted to help me with my coughing, and somehow, be it magic or some wind spirit that’s latched onto you, or simply the gods hearing your prayer... You did help me. You got that vileness out of me, and I can breathe again. For that, for this gift, I can’t ever thank you enough, but I’ll try. So, thank you.”
A gift.
The voice whispered through her mind as clear as it had come from a shadow sitting on her shoulder. Afraid of it as she may be, she could not deny that it had helped Penna. So, she swallowed her next bite, gave Penna a timid smile and said, “You’re welcome.”
And in her heart, she could feel the wind smile with her.
16
“Are you certain you’re okay to travel?” Athan asked for the fifth time that morning.
Dnara scratched Treven’s long nose and tried her best not to be annoyed by Athan’s concern. “I’m certain.” After eight days of well-intended cloistering within the cottage, she could feel the wind tugging at her skirt, urging her to get moving again. To where, she had yet to figure out, but staying in one place had brought her no closer to discovering the answer.
“You can ride in the wagon with Penna,” Tobin said as he patted the lowered back gate on the horse-drawn wagon that served as his bread stall in town.
“Thank you,” she replied, accepting his kindness and Penna’s hand up into the back.
“There we go,” Penna said as they settled, their legs dangling down over the edge a few feet from the ground.
Athan gave Dnara another long look of uncertainty but gave in when it became clear he was the only one against her going into town. Next to him, Jenny mounted her black horse, which she’d named Rupert after hearing Penna’s tale of the smart mouse named Rupert who had saved King Haverashi from the vile vizier’s plot to overthrow the sultanate of Ka’veshi some six hundred years ago. A fanciful tale, for certain, but entertaining on a dark night when no fire would light in the hearth. Dnara had thought it an odd name for a horse, but supposed it was no less a strange name for a horse than Treven was for a mule. Staring into Treven’s clever eyes as Athan finished loading the saddle that Treven refused to let Athan ride in, she wondered if an equally fanciful tale lay behind Treven’s unusual name and peculiar tendencies.
The three coils of rope hung from Rupert’s saddle, but their magic had not returned. Unlike the ropes, Jenny’s clothes had remained black and stitched with the royal crest, but Penna had accidentally lost the embellished vest in the river while washing it. Jenny didn’t seemed too concerned and quite happily accepted some of Tobin’s old clothes in return, preferring pants to skirts and being more his size. Now, striding atop the
