The Towers of the Sunset - L. E. Modesitt [206]
“Ummm . . .” A sound of rustling and a pressure on his forearm tell Creslin that she has shifted her weight, although she still remains on her back, propped up by pillows.
“Nordla couldn’t wait. They even sent their own proposed agreement. We haven’t heard from Hamor or Fairhaven. Shierra, Hyel, and Lydya think they’ll agree. Byrem already has four ships back afloat, and the Hydlen and Analieran prisoners are busy expanding the breakwater. The Nordlans are adding another pier, but they’ll be gone in a few days. We agreed that they could have one ship back.” He swallows, licks his lips, and shifts his hand so that it loosely holds her arm just above the waist.
“. . . wise?”
“We’ll still be able to salvage more than a dozen vessels, and we can’t crew that many, can’t even find many sailors for the next season. Besides, our quarrel’s not really with Nordla.”
At the sound of a footstep, Creslin looks up, his senses extended. The blackness identifies the newcomer. “Lydya?”
“I thought I’d find you here. Let me see.”
Creslin’s fingers tighten around Megaera’s arm for an instant before releasing her. He stands and steps back toward the half-open window, letting the light but warm fall breeze flow around him while Lydya bends over Megaera, checking her arms and the deep slash in her thigh.
“You’ve had a little more help, I see.” She turns to Creslin. “I just hope you could afford it.”
“I gave only what you said I could.”
“Not any more?”
“A little. I know my own limits.”
Even Megaera laughs, but her hollow chuckle wrenches at his guts, and his eyes burn.
“Enough. You gave too much. There’s such a thing as emotional stability.” Lydya’s arm takes his above the elbow. “You need to rest in your own room. The last thing I need is for both of you to collapse.” The healer smoothly but firmly draws Creslin out of the room and down the hallway.
She nearly throws him onto the bed before she begins to speak. “You’re impossible! When you draw down your energies too low, you get overemotional, and that feeds right back to her. The last thing she needs to worry about is your worry for her.”
“But—”
“But nothing. I know you have more strength than you need physically. But you’re strung out emotionally and feel as guilty as light. Megaera will pull through, but it won’t help if she’s saddled with your guilt and sadness, or if she’s reminded that you blinded yourself by trying to save her.”
Creslin opens his mouth, but Lydya continues.
“Yes, I know it wasn’t just to save her, but to save Klerris and Hyel and yourself as well—but that’s the way she feels. And I can’t help feeling that you did it to save Klerris. Do you understand?”
He nods.
“I need to get back to Megaera. Make sure that you feel cheerful and loving when you see her . . . and even when you don’t. Do you understand?” she asks again.
“Yes, honored healer.”
“Good!”
She leaves the door ajar. Quick steps take her back down the hallway and into Megaera’s room. “Men!” The snort following the comment also carries.
Creslin slips off his boots and stretches out on the bed. Far sooner than he would have thought, his eyes close . . . although it is but early afternoon.
CXLII
CRESLIN KNEELS CAREFULLY, touches the damp ground around the seedling, then eases his fingers to the stalk that will become a great black oak . . . someday. For an instant, the calm of order flows from him to the small tree, to the handful of leaves that have not dropped but soon will, bolstering the plant against the coming winter.
Then he stands and makes his way back up to the terrace, feeling the dampness of the morning sea breeze on his cheeks, listening for the sound of surf upon sand, for the clop of Kasma’s hooves on the road, or for the firm step of Megaera upon the stones leading from the stable. He will go to the keep later, but there is no need to hurry, not since his skills seem to be limited to thinking and deciding, and those can be practiced at the holding as well as at the