than any farm cat I’d ever seen. He stared at me with eyes that always made me feel that he understood more than a cat should.
I scratched at his ears with one hand, wiping my eyes with the other. “I bet you’d let me go, Max,” I muttered.
“I am not so sure about that,” Max replied in a raspy voice, his mouth forming the words in a in a very un-feline way.
I gasped and sat up, pushing myself backwards with my feet until my back hit the wall. There was no way that a cat had just spoken to me. Max was just . . . a cat. “You—you—”
“Yeah, yeah, I am just a cat. Now just take a deep breath and listen to me . . .”
****
My head jerked up as Briscott entered the tent with a man dressed in similar dark brown clothing behind him. The man’s black cloak was drawn back over his shoulders. Shaggy brown curls framed his rounded, ruddy face, his beard a patchy mess. Stern green eyes glared at me above a thin line of a nose. He was almost short enough to stand up straight in the tent but had a stoutness that would make it unwise to dismiss his strength due to his height. Two sheathed daggers were strapped to one hip, a heavy-headed hammer with a leather-wrapped handle hanging from a loop on the other.
I couldn’t discern whether I’d only been thinking about the day Max had revealed his ability to talk, or if I’d actually fallen asleep. My head was still a little fuzzy. If I had been asleep, it was a direct result of the tashave leaf. Emotionally, I was too worked up for sleeping. Realizing what the curly-haired man’s hammer was for, I didn’t think I’d ever sleep again.
Briscott crouched before me, giving a rueful shake of his head and letting out a deep sigh. I’d viewed his friendliness as an insult before, but now I found myself missing his easy smile and pleasant voice. “This is Oslen. He’ll be implanting the rock. I’ll be right here holding your legs. It’s best if you don’t struggle.”
Oslen spit something dark to the side as if chewing pipeleaf. “Yeah, those who struggled before got a shallow grave for their efforts,” he added gruffly without a hint of threat. He was simply telling me the truth of it. Unlike Briscott, Oslen showed no sign of friendliness in his voice or expression.
“Oslen!” Briscott scolded. “There’s no blighted cause for that.” Oslen simply shrugged.
Briscott retrieved a bottle and a cloth from the chest. He wadded the cloth into a ball, pressed it over the glass lip of the bottle, and then flipped the bottle, soaking the cloth with whatever was in it.
Briscott gestured with the saturated cloth. “This’ll give your skin a bit of a chill, but it should help ward off infection.”
Briscott rubbed the cloth in concentric circles starting at the center of my chest. A slight odor of alcohol rose from the cloth, but I had no idea what it was. Briscott had been right, though; it was cold to the touch and sent a chill deep into my skin that didn’t go away as it dried. My naked torso was already cold from the fall-day chill, but where he’d applied the solution, it felt as if my skin were covered in frost. I began to shiver.
My brain shouted at me to beg them to release me, to simply untie my limbs and send me away. However, I knew that with the gems in their chests, they had to fulfill the orders they were given. So instead, I dropped my head to the side and closed my eyes.
“Don’t warn me when you do it,” I requested solemnly, fearing the pain and the potential for death.
“We can at least do that for you,” Briscott replied softly, a hint of his affable voice coming through. His hands pressed down on my ankles. What felt to be one of his shins pressed down across my thighs right above my knees. “I’m so blighting sorry.”
I responded with a deep breath through my nose, keeping my eyes shut tight. I heard some movement and then felt a cold
I scratched at his ears with one hand, wiping my eyes with the other. “I bet you’d let me go, Max,” I muttered.
“I am not so sure about that,” Max replied in a raspy voice, his mouth forming the words in a in a very un-feline way.
I gasped and sat up, pushing myself backwards with my feet until my back hit the wall. There was no way that a cat had just spoken to me. Max was just . . . a cat. “You—you—”
“Yeah, yeah, I am just a cat. Now just take a deep breath and listen to me . . .”
****
My head jerked up as Briscott entered the tent with a man dressed in similar dark brown clothing behind him. The man’s black cloak was drawn back over his shoulders. Shaggy brown curls framed his rounded, ruddy face, his beard a patchy mess. Stern green eyes glared at me above a thin line of a nose. He was almost short enough to stand up straight in the tent but had a stoutness that would make it unwise to dismiss his strength due to his height. Two sheathed daggers were strapped to one hip, a heavy-headed hammer with a leather-wrapped handle hanging from a loop on the other.
I couldn’t discern whether I’d only been thinking about the day Max had revealed his ability to talk, or if I’d actually fallen asleep. My head was still a little fuzzy. If I had been asleep, it was a direct result of the tashave leaf. Emotionally, I was too worked up for sleeping. Realizing what the curly-haired man’s hammer was for, I didn’t think I’d ever sleep again.
Briscott crouched before me, giving a rueful shake of his head and letting out a deep sigh. I’d viewed his friendliness as an insult before, but now I found myself missing his easy smile and pleasant voice. “This is Oslen. He’ll be implanting the rock. I’ll be right here holding your legs. It’s best if you don’t struggle.”
Oslen spit something dark to the side as if chewing pipeleaf. “Yeah, those who struggled before got a shallow grave for their efforts,” he added gruffly without a hint of threat. He was simply telling me the truth of it. Unlike Briscott, Oslen showed no sign of friendliness in his voice or expression.
“Oslen!” Briscott scolded. “There’s no blighted cause for that.” Oslen simply shrugged.
Briscott retrieved a bottle and a cloth from the chest. He wadded the cloth into a ball, pressed it over the glass lip of the bottle, and then flipped the bottle, soaking the cloth with whatever was in it.
Briscott gestured with the saturated cloth. “This’ll give your skin a bit of a chill, but it should help ward off infection.”
Briscott rubbed the cloth in concentric circles starting at the center of my chest. A slight odor of alcohol rose from the cloth, but I had no idea what it was. Briscott had been right, though; it was cold to the touch and sent a chill deep into my skin that didn’t go away as it dried. My naked torso was already cold from the fall-day chill, but where he’d applied the solution, it felt as if my skin were covered in frost. I began to shiver.
My brain shouted at me to beg them to release me, to simply untie my limbs and send me away. However, I knew that with the gems in their chests, they had to fulfill the orders they were given. So instead, I dropped my head to the side and closed my eyes.
“Don’t warn me when you do it,” I requested solemnly, fearing the pain and the potential for death.
“We can at least do that for you,” Briscott replied softly, a hint of his affable voice coming through. His hands pressed down on my ankles. What felt to be one of his shins pressed down across my thighs right above my knees. “I’m so blighting sorry.”
I responded with a deep breath through my nose, keeping my eyes shut tight. I heard some movement and then felt a cold
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