Page 6 of The Fires of Longest Night
You cannot die,Isiridion replies, and its tone is somewhere between adamant and desperate and heartbroken. Ria can think of nothing to say in reply, and after a pause, Isiridion tries to lighten their conversation.
Besides. The Warlord’s daughter should not emerge from Longest Night unfucked, my friend. You have a night aheadof you, and you need to be whole and hale enough to be put through your paces by that young woman.
Ria smiles a little sadly, finally thinking to check over her wounds. A fine line below her collarbones, already sealing; a puncture oozing slowly at her hip, and a decent cut in her left upper arm, across her bicep.
A shame. You know how Nissa likes to stroke your arm just there, over that curve,the dragon teases.
I have two arms, dragon,Ria replies, deadpan.Two biceps. Two rather lovely shoulders, if I do say so myself.She squeezes her right bicep, making the muscle leap into shape, and kisses the curve with a noise of approval.
The dragon snorts a smoky breath out, entertained, just as Ria hoped.
Just as well,Isiridion laughs in her head.Just as well.
And as they ease back into their cheerful banter, the moment of dread is gone. For now.
CHAPTER 4
NISSA
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Kaderlyn says, binding another lantern to a stick. The sticks make them easier to carry and dance with in the darkness.
Nissa swallows and bites her lip. “I do hope so,” she murmurs softly. She’s walked a loop of the encampment three times, hunting for Ria. “They were meant to be back hours ago. It’s just not like her.”
Kaderlyn sighs out a breath and covers the younger girl’s hand with hers. “I know. Soon. I’m sure of it. Longest Night can’t bring this kind of darkness.” She squeezes gently. “Right, my girl. Take these to Bartleboy. You can see if he’s heard anything. He hears more than anyone else in this encampment. Gossip, mostly, but he’ll know if your girl is back.”
Nissa suppresses the instinct that wants to protest at Kaderlyn calling Ria her girl, not even sure what drives it. Her chest is tight with anxiety, and she scoops up the handful of lanterns to carry away.
Bartleboy is busy, but he stops counting the skins of wine he has sitting on a shelf as soon as he sees her. “Are you well, Nissa?” he asks. “You look a little…”
She blinks swiftly. Sympathy tends to make her cry, and the tears would make for excellent gossip. “I am well, thank you. It looks like you are busy here, preparing everything. Have you seen Ria? She should be back from collecting water by now, no?”
He frowns. “That was hours ago, too… She…” He hesitates and glances towards her, brow furrowed. “She should be back.”
The words sound as hollow as her heart is, the sinking sensation like what she imagines drowning must be like.
“Warrior incoming! Wounded! Fetch Illima! Fetch the healer!” The high voice is barely audible from inside, but Bartleboy and Nissa share a glance and then hasten outside into the sunlight.
Anderit, a ten year old boy with dark, loose curls, pelts into the center of the encampment, and looks around, wild-eyed and a little breathless. “Where is she? Illima! We need Illima! Ria’s injured!”
All the air in her lungs comes out in a gasp, and Nissa feels like she’s been sluiced with ice water. “Where is she?” she hears someone say, and then realizes abruptly that it’s her voice, chill and precise. She swings about.
“Bartleboy, fetch Illima, and bring a stretcher just in case. Find three strong people to help carry. Kaderlyn,” Nissa addresses the woman who has emerged from the tent where they had been working to see what’s happening. “Light the fire and the lanterns in the healer’s tent. We need it warm in there if we need to stitch.”
Somehow, her voice doesn’t shake. Her hands do, though, and she tucks them under her arms as she strides off in the direction Anderit had come from. “Show me where she is, Anderit. Now.”
Anderit, his eyes wide, runs ahead of her, and she lengthens her stride until she’s almost keeping pace with him. She doesn’t run.
They emerge from the trees beside the grasslands and Nissa blinks as Ria looks up from where she’s knelt beside her dragon, a grin on her face. Her chest loosens at the sight.
And then she makes out the blood.
“Are you…?” She hurries across and skids to her knees in the dirt, brushing Ria’s cropped hair out of her eyes, and running gentle fingers across her neck, where blood is spattered. “Are you hurt?”
Ria doesn’t seem inclined to stop her questing hands from running all over her body. “Not badly,” she says, and as Nissa’s breath comes short again, trying to find the injury, she shivers. “I mean, I’ll need some of your skills, maybe Illima’s, but I will be alright.”
She hesitates for a moment, then catches Nissa’s hands. “Nissa. I’m alright, I promise.”
Nissa catches her breath on a sob, finally meeting Ria’s gaze, and then throws her arms around Ria’s neck, drawing her close. “I—I couldn’t bear…”
