I spread Ospreys cloak out as best as I could, so it formed a barrier between him and the straw tick and then I tried to get him comfortable on the bed. He filled most of it, his long limbs sprawling in every direction and his lips parted in deep sleep. Worried, I checked over his wounds. I needed to do it before I lost the last of the light.
The wound on his chest looked the same as it had back at the monastery. It glowed faintly from my bee deep inside it and even knowing I’d put the bee there, I still shuddered at the thought of something living crawling around inside his chest.
I inspected his other wounds for the first time. The knife wounds were deep and while some were healing nicely, others were angry and red, some healing in a puckered fashion, others still open. They needed proper attention. I felt his forehead, but he seemed a normal temperature. He should be burning up with all this infection. He needed a real healer.
I shook my head as I took off the short swords and leaned them against the bed. Before I could get him what he needed, I needed sleep. I could barely keep my eyes open and while I probably could have tucked in next to him in the bed, it didn’t feel right. Not even when we’d slept side by side in the tangle of willows. Too much had been done to Osprey against his will. Too many choices had been made without him. I shouldn’t take this choice from him, too. He shouldn’t share a bed with a woman without his permission being granted first. Even a woman barely old enough to be considered more than a girl.
I forced myself back to my feet and searched the old cabin until I found a pewter cup on a shelf. I knocked out the spider and dead flies inside, cleaned it as best as I could, and filled it from the rain barrel, trying not to think of frogs as I took my first sip and then brought a little to wet Osprey’s mouth. When he woke, I’d offer him more.
I pulled my handkerchief out and tucked it around his bindings, making him as comfortable as possible and then slumped to the floor beside the bed, leaning my head against the musty straw tick. I placed one of the short swords beside me – free of its scabbard. Who knew if I might need it?
Then, I pulled the silver penny Osprey had given me out of my pocket and looked at the side with the faces of two brothers on it. Two brothers. Two opposites. They’d torn a nation in two. Would these two brothers I was so deeply entangled with do the same thing now? They were certainly ripping me apart.
I didn’t think it would be possible to fall asleep so uncomfortably. But I must have been asleep because I woke with a start. Someone knocked against the rain barrel outside. And Osprey was still asleep beside me.
Chapter Three
I BLINKED MYSELF AWAKE, my heart in my throat. Whoever was here must know we were here, too. It would be too much of a coincidence that two travelers would seize upon the same idea of spending the night in this decrepit shack at the same time.
Cautiously, I put my hand on the hilt of my short sword and let my head rest back against the mattress, eyes closing to slits, feigning sleep. The shadows around the bed should hide me.
Whoever it was, he was quick. He had the door open and was across the creaking floor in a heartbeat. He leaned over the bed where a shaft of moonlight from the broken roof lit Osprey’s face. I heard his breath suck in when he noticed the blindfold – or maybe it was the belt binding Osprey’s hands, but there wasn’t time to speculate. I reached up from my place on the floor, seized the front of his shirt before he could make a move, and pulled his head down to where the tip of my short sword nicked his throat.
“I think that’s close enough, don’t you?” I asked, my voice barely louder than my beating heart. “How many are with you?”
“Just me,” he said hoarsely. He wasn’t very tall – only a few fingers taller than me – but he was wide and muscular.
“And with no light and no knock, you can only have one purpose here.”
“It’s not what you think.” His words were hurried.
“You’re not hunting fugitives fleeing Le Majest?”
“I am, bu –”
I cut him off. “Then it’s exactly what I think. You’re going to drop your weapons.”
“Easy,” he said, trying to straighten. I pulled harder on his shirt, letting the tip of my sword bite into his flesh. He hissed and he was close enough now that I could see his face clearly in the moonlight. He was in his thirties. A rough stubble lined his cheeks. His eyes were wide in the moonlight, but one drooped slightly, made heavy by scar tissue. On his temple, a single wing showed.
“What’s the meaning of that tattoo?” I tried to make my voice dangerous. I didn’t dare sound eager. Didn’t dare even hope he might be friend instead of foe.
“You must know what the Single Wing are, girl, since your brother and a man calling himself Wing Ivo arrived on my door with hardly a welcome, yanked me from my bed last night, and set me out to search for you. Me and half the Single Wing surrounding the city. ‘Just in case,’ they said and yet here you are in the old Vyten cabin, camped out with a prisoner.”
I eased the sword back and he straightened.
“I’m glad you’ve decided to let me live,” he said a little sourly, rubbing his throat. “Your brother didn’t mention how handy you were with a blade. We don’t have much time to get you out of here as it is. The Wings have been flying around the city day and night and now Claw patrols have been sent out. Met one myself. They showed me a paper with your face drawn on it and a warning about bees.”
“Is there somewhere close by that’s safe?” I asked, scrambling to my feet.
“Not exactly. I’m Marcel, and until I was set to be your nursemaid, I was blacksmith of my village. Your brother said you’re called Aella. Didn’t mention a prisoner.”
“He couldn’t have known,” I said. “Good to meet you, Marcel.”
“Sure,” he sounded put out and cranky – which he was. I hardly knew what to do with him. “Is he dead or dying? You sure as skies didn’t carry that big boy all this way and he hasn’t stirred since I arrived. Looks like he’s bound up quite a bit. Feverish maybe.”
“He’s sick,” I said shortly. “And I don’t need a nursemaid.”
“Maybe he does,” Marcel said with a grunt. “I have a cart on the main road and a pony where the trail branches. I’ll get the pony and we can put the prisoner on it. Unless you want to leave him here. I’m not against leaving War and Wings boys to their own fates. They took my Barla when she tried to hide her sword from them. Displayed her body as a warning.”
His voice was raw now with unhealed pain and I flinched in sympathy.
“I’m sorry.”
“We’re all sorry,” he snapped but then he seemed to recover himself. “I’ll get the pony if you want to keep him.”
“He’s not like the rest,” I offered.
“Sure,” he said. “People always say that and it’s never true. But I’ll do as I was asked. Those fool city people might have jumped the gun but none of this works if we don’t all work together.”
“None of what works?”
“The revolution. Have you lost your hearing?” I waited to see if he wanted to vent more but he shook himself and sighed. “The pony. I’ll be back.”