Page 71 of Silverbow
eighteen
Oryn
“Why?” He asked.
She shrugged. “Should I meet another man with a cudgel.”
His gifts stirred at her words. They had gone mostly quiet since they’d found her, but when her temper flared or danger was hinted at, Mosphaera seemed to take an interest. He’d been hesitant to heal her in Trowbridge after how he seemed to lose control at Ryerson House, but to his surprise, when he released the damper and melded air, water, and spirit together for the healing, his gifts seemed to hum contentedly in time with hers.
“No man with a cudgel will trouble you now,” he answered.
She rolled her eyes. “And when you are not lording over me?”
“I intend to lord over you until we reach Drozia.”
“Are there no cudgels in Drozia?”
He blew a long breath out through his nose. “None you need be concerned about.”
“You will not teach me?” There was a determined squaring of her shoulders he’d come to recognize since Trowbridge.
He sighed. “You’re more likely to get hurt than learn anything useful.”
“So what am I supposed to do if I meet another brigand, play dead?”
“The bow serves you well enough. Play to your strengths.”
She huffed as if the godsung gift was nothing at all and stomped to the horse line. Enya Ryerson was as ill tempered as the big red mare tethered beside Kiawa. She was stubborn as a mule, bristled at every common sense suggestion he made, and demanded to know the reason for everything. With the hum that filled his ears, she was like a tiny, unruly bite-me buzzing around that he couldn’t bring himself to squash.
He had learned much of her temper along the road, but he’d gleaned no more of what Peytar Ralenet wanted with her. In fact, the more he got to know the girl, the less he understood why she was worth a tidy fortune to the High Lord of Pavia. She would never survive the Haarstrond Court, or perhaps, the Haarstrond Court would not survive her. Perhaps for that reason alone he should deliver her to the Master of Coin. Mosphaera rattled him even for the passing inclination.
The Silverbow seemed to take a shining to Aiden, which he found even more irksome. The fire wielder’s endless bantering was bad enough, but now he had someone who bantered back. Her barbs were sometimes playful, but sometimes the ever present rage got the better of her and they came out with a venom that took him aback.
Anger seemed to be the only emotion she ever allowed off a tight leash. He could sense no more fear in her, but she often clung to that horse head carving in her pocket like some men clutched to their devotions. It was often the only tell that something bothered her, that and the half-heard list she muttered under her breath when she thought no one was listening.
Unsurprisingly, she held to the Estryian ideas of propriety, which made for interesting camp life even if she was too stubborn to admit anything made her uncomfortable. It had been long years since they had a woman in their midst, and longer still for a mortal woman, but it made little difference to Oryn or his companions. She was a bounty to deliver to sanctuary, no more, no less, even if this particular bounty seemed to do unusual things to his gifts. Unfortunately for her, Berdea Plain lacked any semblance of privacy. Perhaps fortunately for her, there was only one bathing hole on the way to Windcross Wells.
“You can wash,” Colm told her, nodding to the pond. “No one will bother you.”
Spots of color bloomed in her cheeks. “I…” She eyed the water that lay bare to their camp.
He could see her grasping for a flimsy excuse. Oryn sighed. It would be a long ride to Drozia if she refused to bathe. “You will wash or I will drop that pond on your head,” he said coolly.
She snapped up straighter and opened her mouth to argue, but it was Aiden who cut her off. “Don’t worry, Lady Silverbow. We’ve all dandled prettier women over our knees, and less pretty too. Nothing of great interest to us here.” He waggled his eyebrows at her in challenge.
Colm rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger, shaking his head in silent admonition. Bade wore his usual scowl that could have meant anything at all, but Oryn watched the girl. He expected another flush of crimson, but she rose steadily to her feet and tossed her long braid over her shoulder.
“Tell me, wielder. How many cups of wine must you ply a girl with before she finds much of great interesthere?”
Emerald eyes raked over Bellas’s son from head to boot, examining him like she might a horse. By the thin press of her mouth, she found much left to be desired. Oryn hid his own grin by shear force of will. Perhaps the curious girl with the curious gift would give Aiden a run for his coin.
“What do you say we find out in the next tavern?” He shot her a wink.
She snorted and stalked to her saddle bags, muttering about men under her breath. Goading her seemed to work. Perhaps Aiden was on to something.
“Do you enjoy getting knocked off your horse?” Colm asked quietly.
“Do you think she’ll take me up on it?” Aiden asked eagerly.
