Page 61 of Changelings
“I’m sure she will,” Sofie said kindly. “She’ll tell you herself soon enough.”
“You swear it?” Balar rumbled, not looking up from Imogen.
“Healers never swear to things, occupational hazard. But I can say that she’s young and strong. With a little help from us, she has every chance of recovering.”
He supposed he could swallow that. Like medicine, the truth didn’t have to taste good, so long as it did its work.
Passing a paw over her head, he pushed the fringe of hair off her forehead. He took heart to see that the line of consternation that’d been etched there had eased; she certainly looked more at peace. As though she was just in a deep sleep.
Balar sat with her while Sofie took the opportunity to lay out her healer’s things and make herself comfortable in Imogen’s bedchamber. Although Balar considered he should say something, make conversation, he couldn’t bring himself to. Sofie didn’t pry, her presence unobtrusive, and Balar was grateful.
He had nothing to say, really, other than wishing Imogen would hurry up and recover.
They watched over her in companionable silence until Balar heard his name called from outside.
“That will be Diar,” he said, getting to his feet.
“You go ahead. I’ll sit with her for a while.”
“Thank you,satana,” he said. Before stepping away, he bowed his head in respect. “I will be in your debt.”
“No debts, Balar. I’m happy to help.”
Straightening, Balar told her seriously, “When I called you for aid, you came. Know that should you ever need it, I shall answer your call.”
Sofie didn’t smile or wave off his words, instead meeting them with wide, awed eyes. She merely nodded, accepting his gratitude.
With one last gentle touch to Imogen’s cheek, Balar pulled himself away. It hurt, but he put one foot in front of the other. There would be time to watch over her, to see for himself every small change for the better.
For now, though, Balar would take care of everything else, ensure that there was nothing for her to worry about when she opened her eyes again.
Out in the meadow, Diar had indeed returned. Soren and Kiri had come to join him, and all three inspected a pile at Diar’s feet with faces wrinkled in disgust.
Balar could smell it before Diar said a word. Rusting iron caked in old blood.
A shiver of rage twitched between his wings.
“They walked into a trap. Many traps,” Diar growled. “This is just a few of them. They were everywhere along the path, well hidden under leaves.”
Picking one up by the chain, Balar’s nose wrinkled. He could smell not just animal blood but Imogen’s as well along the teeth. To a one, the release mechanisms had been tampered with, and the traps seemed almost purposefully rusty and dirty.
To inflict maximal pain and suffering.
The metal chain bent in Balar’s grip.
Dermott.
This was all that man’s doing. Taking another deep pull, ignoring how the scent of hiskigara’s blood and fear soaked the metal, Balar could just smell that worm. He’d touched these traps. Set them.
Their placement and number couldn’t be a mistake.
These weren’t for a stray animal—they were a message.
Balar’s chest rose and fell with rapid breaths, histurukinside him prowling just beneath the surface. He’d held back the worst of his rage, suppressed the violent instinct to maim the threat, and now it was time to unleash it.
His gaze met Soren’s.
His brother bowed his head in deference. “Go,seska. We’ll watch over her.”
