Page 65 of Changelings
“I’ve dealt with him.” He couldn’t keep the growl from his voice.
To his surprise, a vicious sort of grin touched Imogen’s lips. “Good. He hurt Chestnut.”
“He’s paid for his crimes,urisá.I swear it to you.”
She hummed in agreement, her eyes slipping closed again. Balar thought she may have fallen asleep, that grin still on herlips, but Imogen surprised him when she whispered, “I’m glad you’re here.”
Balar’s chest burst with grateful purrs. “I would be nowhere else.”
21
The next fortnight or so of Imogen’s life was strange. Not bad, just strange. Full of new things, situations, and experiences.
First and foremost, she had not just one but five manticores living with her. Not always all at once or within the cottage, but there were always lion-men coming and going. Of course, Balar was a constant presence by her side, always there to cater to her every need and whim.
This time around, she wasn’t so overwhelmed by it. Perhaps it was because of just how much help she needed in the days following her fever. Although it broke only a day after Sofie began her treatments, Imogen was still consigned to bed to rest. Weak and tired, she’d little choice but to leave the care of her little herd and farm up to Balar and his brothers. While she might’ve considered this an affront before, somehow, knowing that Balar had it handled was a kind of relief.
Or perhaps it was different this time because Balar treated her with the utmost care and gentleness. He looked upon her like she was something precious, something worth caring for. Noheated looks or innuendos or evening winking. Which was fine. Just fine.
He spent every night in the main room of the cottage, contorting himself onto the sofa. Even after Sofie declared Imogen was out of danger and packed up her healer’s bag, Balar kept his post.
He was there in the morning to carry her out to the armchair and feed her breakfast. He was there to change her bandages, after careful instruction from Sofie, administer poultices, and coax foul-tasting tonics and medicine down her throat. He was there in the evenings to prepare supper, keeping her company and entertaining her until it was time to tuck her securely into bed. He was even there in the middle of the night when she woke needing a cup of water or to use the chamber pot.
Through it all, he was as stalwart as he was gentle, as dedicated as he was kind. Imogen couldn’t have asked for better care.
And yet, there were times she felt a niggle of unease in her belly. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, only that he sometimes avoided looking her in the eye.
Was he upset? Tired? Unhappy? She couldn’t tell, and it was beginning to bother her.
There hardly seemed a good time to bring it up, though. Sometimes, she was half-convinced she imagined it. But then she’d catch him with a sort of long look on his face, one that gave her pause. Even when he hid it behind kind smiles and sweet words, Imogen couldn’t help feeling like he was burdened by his thoughts.
Whenever she asked over him, if he was sleeping and eating enough, he brushed aside her worries. “You need only think of yourself. I promise I’m well,urisá.”
Imogen nodded slowly the next time he said just that, unconvinced. “What does that mean?” she blurted. “Urisá?”
His golden brows rose in surprise, making Imogen blush. She hadn’t asked about his mantii words before. What she knew already she’d learned from one of his many bouts of storytelling, particularly during their early courting days.
Balar’s expression became tender in a way that almost had tears pricking her eyes.
“It is what we call someone dear to us. Someone we have affection for.” He thought a moment. “Like your darling or sweetheart.”
Oh. Imogen twisted her fingers in her lap. He’d been calling her that for a long time now. And whatever he might be upset about, he still called her that, at least.
It was a few days after her fever had broken that Neomi came to the cottage. Sorcha and Orek had taken Sofie back to town just the day before, as Imogen, Chestnut, and the goats were all doing well, so it was several manticores who greeted Neomi.
Imogen heard her before she saw her. Leaning to the side in the armchair, she tried to peek out the front door, which the brothers had taken to keeping open when the weather wasn’t poor. It helped keep the cottage from feeling too cramped, and Shadow enjoyed getting to come in and out on his own whim.
Imogen heard a bit of discussion out in the meadow, a woman’s voice interjecting between the deep rumble of manticores. Finally, Neomi broke through the wall of tawny muscle, marching into the cottage with several sheepish manticores jogging at her heels.
Neomi took in the sight of Imogen, resting comfortably in her armchair by the fire, and Balar in the kitchen, hands white with flour as he kneaded a huge roll of dough. Her sister blinked, processing what she saw, before rushing to Imogen and falling to her knees.
“Genny! I’m so sorry, I’m sorry foreverything!” Grabbing Imogen’s hands, Neomi buried her face in the blanket on Imogen’s lap.
“Genny?” Diar repeated with a snort.
One foul look from Imogen shut him up. He gulped, his ears flattening to his head, and he made himself scarce.
Patting her sister’s head, Imogen said, “I’m all right, Neomi, really. They’ve been taking good care of me.”
