Page 69 of Silverbow
The men they passed on the road eyed their blades and broad shoulders and offered respectful nods. Enya hated them for it. It wasn’t fair that a strong jaw and a set of muscles made them safe where she wasn’t. But if the passersby thought anything all about the girl who rode in their company, they were wise enough not to mention it where they could overhear.
Enya tried to make herself useful, but there was little to do that the demi-elves didn’t do better or faster. She continued to hunt along their route, and whenever her arrow found what Bade’s couldn’t, Aiden let out a whoop that made the dark eyed demi-elf’s scowl deepen.
“I’m not going to skin them for you,” he huffed when she held out the day’s rabbits.
“I don’t have a knife,” she seethed.
He arched a brow Oryn’s way and it unceremoniously landed at her feet in the grass. For that, she refused to find even a kernel of gratitude. It was her knife, after all.
A little stream at one campsite offered a chance at laundry, and Aiden joined her with a bundle of travel stained garments. He dubbed her Lady Laundress and gave her a mock bow that made Enya laugh until a vision of Mistress Alys brandishing a wooden spoon flashed behind her eyes. She had to turn her face down to her scrubbing to hide the way it twisted. She let the anger well, and channeled it into scouring the road from her clothes.
“You finally going to make yourself useful, Brydove?” Aiden asked.
Enya jumped. She hadn’t heard Oryn come up behind her. The silver haired gargoyle rolled his eyes and brought a hand up. He gestured as if he were tugging at invisible threads. The arm he flung out was all that stopped her from toppling into the stream when she realized hewaspulling invisible threads.
Beads of water leapt back into the stream and the dark damp spots on the boulder where she'd been spreading wet clothes vanished. When Enya picked up a shirt, dry as if it had been hanging on a line all day, her mouth fell open. He shot her a small, satisfied smile that made her stomach do an unexpected flip.
“How do they not catch you?” She asked wonderingly.
“We only wield out here,” Aiden answered, gesturing to the emptiness.
“Wielding leaves residues that some can read,” Oryn explained. “The bigger the wielding, the bigger the residue.”
“The healing in Trowbridge?” She asked.
“Small enough to dissipate before any wielders happened by.”
“And what Colm did at the gate?”
“Miniscule,” he assured her before gathering his laundry and stalking back to camp. Enya watched him go, eyes still wide. She was growing accustomed to the fires that appeared from thin air, but any other bit of wielding still sparked dread and fascination.
Aiden chuckled as he gathered the other men’s clothes. “Wait until you see him in a fight. Water is only one of Oryn’s lesser gifts. Air is his real gift. Terrifying things, air wielders.”
Enya swiveled, eyes wide. “Not fire?”
He gave her a wink. “Flame can’t burn those with fire in the blood, except dragonfire of course.” He smirked at her astonishment and scratched at his chin. “But the air wielders go around strangling people withair. Hardly a fair fight.“ He tapped a finger to his lips in thought. “I’d say earth is a close second. One moment it’s there beneath your feet, and the next,poof.”
He flicked water droplets her way for dramatic effect. “Now water…water is not so scary unless you have the misfortune of fighting near enough of it, but even a puddle could be used to drown someone, I suppose.”
Enya felt the color drain from her face. “And fire wielders? For the people without fire in the blood?”
He grinned at her. “We can do all kinds of useful things, Lady Silverbow. Make a nice cup of tea, heat your bath, warm your bed…”
Enya gasped as a jet of water suddenly leapt from the stream bed and blasted Aiden in the face. The demi-elf cursed and spluttered. She clapped a handover her mouth as a wild laugh broke loose. Oryn was busy tending the spit, but from the corner of her eye, she thought his stony mask slipped into a smile.
That night, rocking anxiously beside the fire, she finally worked up the courage to ask Colm for his dream ward. He gave her a warm smile and beckoned her over. Unlike the icy feel of Oryn’s healing, she felt nothing at all beside the brush of his fingertips on her brow. But that night, she drifted in a glorious, dreamless sleep.
***
A dullthud thud thudroused Enya in her blanket roll and she sat bolt upright. She swiveled, looking for signs of trouble. Aiden and Colm sat tending the fire. Bade and Oryn were stripped to the waist, fists raised, with sweat glistening off their bare skin.Dear gods.
The swell and dips of honed muscle were almost indecent as she stared at Oryn’s broad back. Her mouth went a little too dry and her heart did a stupid little stutter when he turned and she took in his chiseled abdomen and broad chest.
She watched, utterly transfixed, as they moved around each other like big cats. Silent, graceful, deadly. When Oryn shifted again and Bade turned, she gave a start. The darker man was just as sculped as Oryn, perhaps even broader, but a hideous mass of scars trailed down his side. From shoulder to waist, the ruined flesh looked like melted candle wax, twisted and angry. Other scars crossed his chest and back, thin lines made by blades, but she stared in horror at the old burns.
She started when Colm pressed tea on her with a warm smile. “Did you sleep well?” He asked brightly, but the smile faded as he followed her gaze.
“It…was not healed?” She asked quietly.
