head, pillowing it on her bent arm to avoid staring at Dahleven, but after a bit she felt herself drifting off and propped her head on her hand again. She forced her drooping eyelids wider and tried to focus on Sorn’s breathing. She thought that maybe it came a little easier. After a few minutes she found herself drifting again. She blinked furiously, trying to clear the gritty feeling from her eyes.
“I’ll watch. We need not both lose sleep.”
She searched Dahleven’s face, then flicked her eyes away again, feeling guilty for nearly falling asleep. “I said I would stay with him.”
“You have, and you’ve brought him comfort. But he sleeps now. You may as well lay your head and rest a bit, too. I’ll wake you if there’s need.”
*
Dahleven watched Lady Celia’s face relax in sleep. He was grateful for her tenderness toward his sworn brother. He looked again at her hand clasped in Sorn’s. Sorn had very nearly sworn him to care for her earlier, as a man would ask his brother to protect his lady. Dahleven remembered the words of Lady Celia’s song, “We’re snuggled up together, like birds of a feather…” It was a song of courting. Sorn had at last found a woman who saw him as more than a friend. Could such feelings grow in less than a day? Dahleven’s gaze traveled to where Sorn still clasped her hand, and then to the cuff he’d given Sorn that now wrapped Celia’s arm above her elbow. It wasn’t a betrothal band, but it was all Sorn had to give in this place, and rested in that spot. Apparently, Sorn had made his choice, and the lady had accepted.
Sorn’s breathing came fast and ragged and smelled terrible, though it was hard to separate from the stink of his wound. It was worse than Ingirid had smelled after he and Sorn had thrown his older sister into the sulfur springs. The memory triggered an involuntary smile. He and Sorn had been partners in mischief since they’d gotten lost in the tunnels below Quartzholm together, long before his Talent Emerged. They’d sworn brotherhood in his tenth summer, their difference in rank of no consequence to them.
Dahleven’s heart felt like a stone ground to dust by Sorn’s suffering. In all the adventures and dangers they’d faced together, he’d never imagined that Sorn could die.
*
Cele startled awake as Dahleven pulled her hand free from Sorn’s stiff fingers. Dahleven’s shadow loomed over her as he knelt beside her, the first faint graying of dawn behind him. Sorn’s chest lay still, no longer struggling with painful breaths. He’s gone . She made a short, sad little moan as Dahleven pulled her first to sit, and then to stand.
She’d known these men for just over a day, but she felt smaller, bereft by Sorn’s death. Cele looked up, into Dahleven’s eyes. The pain there mirrored her own. He put his arm around her shoulders and she felt as though he’d given her permission to share his grief, a permission she hadn’t realized she needed until he touched her and led her a little way apart from the camp.
His kindness broke her tenuous self-control. Her eyes stung and filled; tears tracked her cheeks. Dahleven hesitated a moment, then pulled her closer. Cele’s arms slipped behind his shoulders. She gasped in damp, sobbing breaths, feeling as though something in her chest might explode and suffocate her. Fear and loss crashed in on her. She was so far from home. Her mother was dead, Jeff was gone, Elaine was beyond reach, and now Sorn was dead, too. He’d offered her friendship. His easy, instinctive gift for putting her at ease had made this strange world easier to bear. Conflict twisted and knotted her heart. She wanted Sorn to still be alive, but she was relieved his suffering had ended.
Cele pressed her face against Dahleven’s chest and shivered in his arms.
Fender brought a blanket and draped it around her. Dahleven continued to hold her, rubbing slow circles on her back. The pressure in her eased, and she
“I’ll watch. We need not both lose sleep.”
She searched Dahleven’s face, then flicked her eyes away again, feeling guilty for nearly falling asleep. “I said I would stay with him.”
“You have, and you’ve brought him comfort. But he sleeps now. You may as well lay your head and rest a bit, too. I’ll wake you if there’s need.”
*
Dahleven watched Lady Celia’s face relax in sleep. He was grateful for her tenderness toward his sworn brother. He looked again at her hand clasped in Sorn’s. Sorn had very nearly sworn him to care for her earlier, as a man would ask his brother to protect his lady. Dahleven remembered the words of Lady Celia’s song, “We’re snuggled up together, like birds of a feather…” It was a song of courting. Sorn had at last found a woman who saw him as more than a friend. Could such feelings grow in less than a day? Dahleven’s gaze traveled to where Sorn still clasped her hand, and then to the cuff he’d given Sorn that now wrapped Celia’s arm above her elbow. It wasn’t a betrothal band, but it was all Sorn had to give in this place, and rested in that spot. Apparently, Sorn had made his choice, and the lady had accepted.
Sorn’s breathing came fast and ragged and smelled terrible, though it was hard to separate from the stink of his wound. It was worse than Ingirid had smelled after he and Sorn had thrown his older sister into the sulfur springs. The memory triggered an involuntary smile. He and Sorn had been partners in mischief since they’d gotten lost in the tunnels below Quartzholm together, long before his Talent Emerged. They’d sworn brotherhood in his tenth summer, their difference in rank of no consequence to them.
Dahleven’s heart felt like a stone ground to dust by Sorn’s suffering. In all the adventures and dangers they’d faced together, he’d never imagined that Sorn could die.
*
Cele startled awake as Dahleven pulled her hand free from Sorn’s stiff fingers. Dahleven’s shadow loomed over her as he knelt beside her, the first faint graying of dawn behind him. Sorn’s chest lay still, no longer struggling with painful breaths. He’s gone . She made a short, sad little moan as Dahleven pulled her first to sit, and then to stand.
She’d known these men for just over a day, but she felt smaller, bereft by Sorn’s death. Cele looked up, into Dahleven’s eyes. The pain there mirrored her own. He put his arm around her shoulders and she felt as though he’d given her permission to share his grief, a permission she hadn’t realized she needed until he touched her and led her a little way apart from the camp.
His kindness broke her tenuous self-control. Her eyes stung and filled; tears tracked her cheeks. Dahleven hesitated a moment, then pulled her closer. Cele’s arms slipped behind his shoulders. She gasped in damp, sobbing breaths, feeling as though something in her chest might explode and suffocate her. Fear and loss crashed in on her. She was so far from home. Her mother was dead, Jeff was gone, Elaine was beyond reach, and now Sorn was dead, too. He’d offered her friendship. His easy, instinctive gift for putting her at ease had made this strange world easier to bear. Conflict twisted and knotted her heart. She wanted Sorn to still be alive, but she was relieved his suffering had ended.
Cele pressed her face against Dahleven’s chest and shivered in his arms.
Fender brought a blanket and draped it around her. Dahleven continued to hold her, rubbing slow circles on her back. The pressure in her eased, and she
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