Fire - Kristin Cashore [7]
Archer stood tall and graceful on the stone terrace, eyes raised to the sky, longbow lightly in hand. He reached to the quiver on his back, notched another arrow, and swept the treetops. Then he saw them, the man dragging her bleeding from the forest. He turned on his heel and ran into the house, and even down here, even from this distance and stone walls between them, Fire could hear him yelling. She sent words and feeling into his mind, not mind control, only a message. Don’t worry. Seize him and disarm him, but don’t hurt him. Please, she added, for whatever it was worth with Archer. He’s a nice man and I’ve had to trick him.
Archer burst through the great front door with his captain Palla, his healer, and five of his guard. He leapt over the raptor and ran to Fire. ‘I found her in the forest,’ the poacher cried. ‘I found her. I saved her life.’
Once the guards had taken hold of the poacher, Fire released his mind. The relief of it weakened her knees and she slumped against Archer.
‘Fire,’ her friend was saying. ‘Fire. Are you all right? Where else are you hurt?’
She couldn’t stand. Archer grasped her, lowered her to the ground. She shook her head numbly. ‘Nowhere.’
‘Let her sit,’ the healer said. ‘Let her lie down. I must stop the flow of blood.’
Archer was wild. ‘Will she be all right?’
‘Most certainly,’ the healer said curtly, ‘if you will get out of my way and let me stop the flow of blood. My Lord.’
Archer let out a ragged breath and kissed Fire’s forehead. He untangled himself from her body and crouched on his heels, clenching and unclenching his fists. Then he turned to peer at the poacher held by his guards, and Fire thought warningly, Archer, for she knew that with his anxieties unsoothed, Archer was transitioning now to fury.
‘A nice man who must nonetheless be seized,’ he hissed at the poacher, standing. ‘I can see that the arrow in her arm came from your quiver. Who are you and who sent you?’
The poacher barely noticed Archer. He stared down at Fire, boggle-eyed. ‘She’s beautiful again,’ he said. ‘I’m a dead man.’
‘He won’t kill you,’ Fire told him soothingly. ‘He doesn’t kill poachers, and anyway, you saved me.’
‘If you shot her I’ll kill you with pleasure,’ Archer said.
‘It makes no difference what you do,’ the poacher said.
Archer glared down at the man. ‘And if you were so intent on rescuing her, why didn’t you remove the arrow yourself and bind the wound before dragging her half across the world?’
‘Archer,’ Fire said, and then stopped, choking back a cry as the healer ripped off her bloody sleeve. ‘He was under my control, and I didn’t think of it. Leave him alone.’
Archer swung on her. ‘And why didn’t you think of it? Where is your common sense?’
‘Lord Archer,’ the healer said testily. ‘There will be no yelling at people who are bleeding themselves to unconsciousness. Make yourself useful. Hold her down, will you, while I remove this arrow; and then you’ll do best to look to the skies.’
Archer knelt beside her and took hold of her shoulders. His face was wooden but his voice shook with emotion. ‘Forgive me, Fire.’ To the healer: ‘We’re mad to be doing this outside. They smell the blood.’
And then sudden pain, blinding and brilliant. Fire wrenched her head and fought against the healer, against Archer’s heavy strength. Her scarf slipped off and released the shimmering prism of her hair: sunrise, poppy, copper, fuchsia, flame. Red, brighter than the blood soaking the doorpath.
SHE ATE DINNER in her own stone house, which was just beyond Archer’s and under the protection of his guard. He had sent the dead raptor monster to her kitchen. Archer was one of very few people who made her feel no shame for craving the taste of monster meat.
She ate in bed, and he sat with her. He cut her meat and encouraged her. Eating hurt, everything hurt.
The poacher was gaoled in one of the outdoor monster cages Fire’s father, Lord Cansrel, had