Page 111 of Silverbow
Oh, Enya.
The fire wielder shrugged. “I guess the gods really do love the Trakbattens.”
Enya
Enya stared at what had once been the contents of her saddle bags, scavenged by the demi-elves from what was left of Kolvar’s men. It was piled at her feet like some strange kind of offering.
A lantern with two casks of oil, flint and steel, her belt knife, a spare bowstring, a waterskin, a tin cup and bowl, a small kettle, a blanket roll, towel, bandages, a salve, a needle and thread, sewing scissors. A brush, hoof pick, feed bag, a sack of oats. A hair comb and a bit of soap. Honey and tea. Silver. Arawelo. My bow and quiver. My wits. The dust scarf.
Her wits had been scrambled and her clothes had been discarded somewhere, of no use to Kolvar’s men. Suddenly she realized what else was not there and she howled in such agony that Colm dropped to his knees at her side. She tore through the pile again, searching.
“Where is it?” She asked desperately. “Light, where is it?”
“Where is what, Enya?”
She wasn't entirely sure if it was the carving or the man that had panic crushing her chest. She'd seen it in the dirt, known it had been left behind, but the vision had showed her Liam sinking to the paving stones in some godsforsaken alley, the hilt of of a knife protruding from between his ribs. The broken sob that ripped through her was inhuman, painful, like the song of the demondread in Ested.
Her home, her family, her name. All of it, gone. Replaced by the crushing weight of a title and a gift she didn't want. She was adrift with nothing to hold on to, nothing but a bargain with a witch.
She didn’t care if these immortal warriors saw her cry anymore. She didn’t care what the Prince of Eastwood and his companions thought of her as she frantically reached the bottom of the pile, knowing she wouldn't find it, and buried her face in her hands. Her world was in tatters, blown to bits by a witch and Oryn Brydove.
She flinched at the broad hand that splayed on her back, and she looked up, ready to make good on her promise to Oryn bloody Brydove, but it was not his hand. It was Colm who wrapped an arm around her in cautious comfort. Enya let herself fall against his hard chest and buried her face in his shirt. She didn’t know how long she sat wrapped in his embrace, letting her grief pour out. It seemed endless, wringing from her every scrap of anything good she'd ever felt.
As the gushing sobs faded to a trickle, a throat cleared. Enya looked up to see Oryn, his hand outstretched. In it, he held Liam’s horse head carving. Rage flashed, boiling her grief to something ugly. That he should have it…that he should touch it…after everything he’d done…after what he'd cost her…
She wiped her face with her hands and pushed the tears back behind the wall that had crumbled so long ago, haphazardly packing it all away for later.Later.Cautiously, so that her skin did not brush his, she reached out and plucked the little knot of wood from his hand. A muscle ticked in his jaw, but he turned away without a word.
Enya clutched it to her chest, whispering her list to herself.The horse head carving.She still had it. She still… White in a bed of green drew her eye. She frowned at the little flowers that bloomed all around her. For a moment, she wondered if the blow to her head had made her hallucinate. Perhaps this and everything Hylee had shown her hadn't been real. But it felt real.
Aiden came to her as Colm backed away, leading an anxious Arawelo. His boyish face was etched with lines of worry as he squatted, holding an empty saddle bag. The mare nudged at Enya with her nose. She reached up and buried her face in her mane.Arawelo.
“Rough day,” he sighed. Enya turned her face to glare at him and he held up his hands defensively. “I was talking about me. There I was, minding my own, chatting up a baker’s daughter, when a bloody black coat put a collar around my neck. Beat that, Lady Silverbow.”
In spite of herself, a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I don’t see one now.”
Aiden tapped a finger to his temple. “Always astute.” He plucked a white blossom and brought it to his nose to sniff. He gestured to the pile. “May I?”
She nodded. She could feel him watching her from the corner of his eye as she brought a shaking hand to her throat.What Hylee had shown her…
“Someone plan on leashing you?” He asked with a jest that wasn’t quite a jest.
“No.”
twenty-nine
Enya bloodyTrakbattenwas nothing if not muleheaded. “Let me heal you,” he insisted as they readied their horses. She looked through him like he wasn’t even there, her eyes unfocused. He supposed that was an improvement over how she’d looked at him when he’d lost his temper. “At least let Bade look at your shoulder. Please.”
If anyone was counting, he thought he’d said that wretched word more today than he had in two hundred and twenty-three years. He would keep saying it if it would make things right, but he doubted it would. Healing what he could of the wounds she’d taken from the bounty hunters was the least he could do, but she refused to let him touch her because of his blasted bargain with the witch.
Still, it seemed she recognized the arm needed tending, but she eyed the earth wielder distrustfully. Bade looked at her with bored disinterest, as if he hadn’t just been told she was bloody royalty, and a lost heir to boot. He certainly didn’t care if she rode all the way to Drozia with a dislocated shoulder, but Oryn did.
“Fine.”
Bade strode forward and took hold of her wrist. She hissed through her teeth as he guided her arm out to the side and over her head. “I’m going to enjoy this, Silverbow,” the blademaster mused.
“Wha-AAAAAGGGHHH!”
An audible crunch made Oryn shudder.
