Page 27 of The Iron Dagger
“Goodnight, Angharad.” he murmured.
“Goodnight, Gideon,” she said.
He turned and strode down the hall as Hara closed the door.
SIX
Gideon
After breaking their fast in the common room of the inn, Gideon tasked the stable boy with bringing Ruteger around, and they set off down the road. He and Hara hadn’t spoken much as they ate their porridge, but she had greeted him with a level “good morning”. Perhaps he was in her good graces again.
Not that it should matter. But it did make the journey easier when he didn’t feel as though he had to tread carefully around her. He’d stared at her as she ate, watching her over his cup.
He tried to goad her last night, as he often did towards soft-hearted fools who felt they held some high moral position over him. The problem was that Hara was not easy to ruffle. Her temper never betrayed her and she could walk away with an even tone.
He did not know what he expected last night when he went up to her room to apologize, but a soft smile and a gently closed door in his face was not it. He was accustomed to strong reactions from women, good and bad, but Hara turned him away as though she did not share the burgeoning obsession that seethed in his chest. There were no tears or annoyed huffs or even a slap. She was so damned composed, as though she was the mature adult and he the petulant boy. She was unshakeable, immune. Just once, he wanted to see her give a hint that he had affected her somehow. Everyone had their weak spot, so what was hers?
He found the idea strangely addicting, but it was unwise to needle her. She was the one he depended upon for his healing unguents. He had to be cautious and not perturb her or say something unforgivable, lest he find himself retching and helpless on the forest floor again.
When they stopped by a stream to take their midday meal, he limped towards a boulder while Hara brought out some food for the cat. He watched as it munched on some dried fish, its little fangs protruding with each bite. It looked rather ordinary, if not a little plump.
“Can she do anything?” he asked, gesturing with a bit of bread in his hand.
“‘Do’ anything?” said Hara.
“Magic.”
“She’s very obedient.”
“That isn’t magical.”
“It is for a cat.”
He shifted on the boulder and winced as he accidentally put weight on his heel. It had been bothering him since the morning, but he thought it wasn’t worth delaying their start.
“Painful?” she said. He nodded once.
Angharad went to one of the saddlebags and returned with her mortar and pestle. She crouched before him and slipped his boot from his foot, unwinding the bandages gently. Some brown blood had stained them, and he winced when she peeled the fabric away to reveal sticky reopened wounds.
“Looks worse than it feels,” he said, letting out a gasp as she applied something cold and stinging to the cuts. “Can’t you make painless ointments with all your spells?”
“Yes,” she said, a corner of her mouth lifting.
He glowered. “Then why am I subjected to this torture?”
“Because you don’t like magic. So you get the stinging, mundane medicine.”
He pursed his lips. “You used the magic stuff on me before.”
“And you complained the whole time.”
“I didn’t say a word,” he said, indignant. He had made sure to hold his tongue after the first time she’d accused him of whingeing.
“You sat there with your arms crossed, rolling your eyes and sighing if a spell took too long. So I’d prefer not to waste my power if that’s how it’s met.”
“Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”
She glanced up at him. “Then say it.”
