Fire - Kristin Cashore [109]
There had been too many minds in the courtyard to control at once. She’d had help. Welkley’s people had been on the floor creating distractions to deflect attention from her. But persons here and there had seen, and Fire had to make a list now of people who must be watched with extra care on the chance they’d found it interesting that the lady monster seemed to be working her charms on Gentian and Gunner - interesting enough to talk about it, or even do something about it.
Still, it had worked. Gentian and Gunner had stared, paralysed by the vision of her. I want to talk to you, she’d thought to them as Nash had dragged her away. I want to join your side. But don’t tell anyone, or you’ll put me in danger.
Now she sank into a chair in Nash’s sitting room, her head in her hands, monitoring Gentian’s eagerness, Gunner’s suspicion and desire, and skimming the rest of the courtyard and the entirety of the palace for anything relevant or worrisome. Nash went to a side table and came back, crouching before her with a cup of water.
‘Thank you,’ she said, glancing up gratefully and taking the cup. ‘You did well, Lord King. They believe you guard me jealously and I’ve a wish to escape. Gentian is positively brimming with indignation. ’
Clara, sprawled on a sofa, snorted in disgust. ‘Gullible no-heads.’
‘It’s not their fault, really,’ Nash said soberly, still crouched before Fire. He was having a hard time getting up and leaving her. Fire could feel that he was trying. She wanted to put a hand on his arm, out of gratitude for all the ways he always tried, but she knew her touch would be no help to him. Why don’t you take water to your brother, she thought to him gently, for Garan had begun to sweat with one of the fevers that overtook him in moments of stress, and was resting on the sofa with his feet in Clara’s lap. Nash bent his chin to his chest and stood to do what she said.
Fire considered Brigan, who’d leaned back against a bookshelf, arms crossed, eyes closed, ignoring the argument beginning now between his sister and brothers about the whys and wherefores of Gentian’s stupidity. He was neatly dressed and shaved, but the bruise on his face had darkened to something purple and ugly, and he looked so tired, as if he’d like to sink into the bookshelf and become a part of its solid, inanimate bookshelfness.
When did you last sleep? she thought to him.
His pale eyes came open and regarded her. He shrugged, and shook his head, and she knew it had been too long ago.
Who hurt you?
He shook his head again, and mouthed a word across the room. Bandits.
Were you riding alone?
‘I had to,’ he said quietly, ‘or not get here in time.’
I was not criticising you, she thought. I trust you to do what you must.
He opened a memory to her. He’d promised her, one green and gold day at the start of summer, not to wander alone at night. Yet he’d ridden last night alone, and most of today. It was within her right to criticise.
I wish, Fire began, and then stopped, because she could not think to him that she wished they did not have this task to do, she wished she could comfort him and help him to sleep. She wished this war away that he and Nash would fight, hacking with swords and fists on a frozen field against too many men. These brothers. How would they get out of such a thing alive?
Panic bunched inside her. Her tone grew tart. I’ve grown quite fond of your warhorse, Big. Will you give