The Blood King by Gail Z. Martin

said, heading inside. “Thanks for the wine.”
    “Sleep well,” Vahanian murmured. When she was gone, he opened the wineskin and took a long drink. Though the evening had grown colder, Vahanian did not go inside right away, waiting until he had finished the wine and was too exhausted to stay awake. Between the wine and the fatigue, he counted on being too tired to dream. The dreams still found him.
    THE CONSTANT TRAINING and strategizing could not quell Vahanian’s growing concern. Tris and Carina had been at the citadel of the Sisterhood for two full weeks. No one—not even Staden—had heard from them. As the days wore on, he could tell that Kiara was worried as well. Her training lost focus and she drew away from them, into her own thoughts.
    There was little comfort he could offer. While Kiara and Tris were open about their involvement, his relationship with Carina was much more tenu-ous. And while Vahanian finally admitted to himself that he was in love with the dark-haired healer, he remained unsure about the extent to which Carina returned those feelings.
    So it was with carefully guarded reserve that he greeted the late evening news of Tris and Carina’s unexpected return from the Citadel. They arrived in a closed carriage, under the king’s guard. Only the companions from the trail and Staden met the car-riage. Vahanian hung back, willing to let the others take the foreground. His concern deepened as Tris and Carina stepped from the carriage.
    Tris’s thin frame was gaunt. When Tris’s cowl fell back to expose his face, Vahanian could see the marks of battle wounds, recently healed. For a moment, Tris’s green eyes met his, and Vahanian felt a shiver go down his spine.
    Tris’s gaze
    reminded Vahanian of the look he’d seen before, in the eyes of returned prisoners of war, men who had endured the unspeakable and would never sleep well again.

    Carina leaned heavily on Tris’s arm. Her slight frame was nearly hidden by her heavy cloak and her face was haggard, with dark-circled eyes and a weary expression. Kiara rushed forward to greet both of them, and while Vahanian could not hear the words that were spoken, it was clear from Kiara’s expression that Tris had asked her to look after the healer. Carina nearly stumbled as Kiara took her arm. Carina looked over her shoulder, and Vahanian thought she looked his way. Reluctantly, he watched her disappear toward the stairs with Kiara as the others crowded around Tris.
    “I promise, I’ll tell you everything I can—tomor-row.” Tris managed a wan smile that did not reach his eyes. “We’ve been to the Crone and back, and I’m afraid I’m a good bit worse for the wear, in spite of all Carina’s help.”
    “You look tired, m’lad,” said Staden. “Best thing for you is to get some sleep.
    Tales will wait until morning.”
    Tris nodded, and grinned wearily at Carroway. “I have some more grist for your stories,” he said, clapping the bard on the shoulder. “But I don’t know if anyone will believe them.”
    “The drunker they are, the more that sounds rea-sonable,” assured Carroway, but Vahanian could see the worry in Carroway’s face.
    “Give me a day or two to rest, and I’ll be back in the salle,” Tris said to Vahanian.
    “Yeah, sure thing,” Vahanian agreed dubiously.
    Early the next afternoon, Vahanian chanced to encounter Kiara in the upstairs passageway, bearing a tray with two teapots and plates of cold meats and cheeses. “Filling in for the kitchen help?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
    Kiara blushed. “Yes, I guess so. Tris asked for some tea, and I volunteered to bring it up. It’s just—”
    Vahanian chuckled. “I understand.” He nodded toward the two pots. “You must expect him to be thirsty.”
    “I planned to stop by and check on Carina.” She shot a sly glance toward Vahanian. After the con-versation on the balcony, he was sure that Kiara both recognized and endorsed his interest in her cousin. “Carina