I try to shift away from the hand against my arm, that insistent hand that keeps pushing on me.
“Wake up.”
I blink through gritty eyes and glimpse Kassandra kneeling beside the bed.
“Oh, thank Olah,” she says. “You’re awake. I feared you were dead.”
Death would be easier than this, waking in a Bloodstone warrior’s bed.
Several times during the night, I woke with a start, and jerked my gaze to where Gabriel sat. He never moved, never spoke, but I knew he was awake. It was the position of his body. He never slumped forward. He sat stiffly, his focus trained on that tent flap, as though he would murder the next person who dared to step through.
I rise to sit as Kassandra gasps.
“Oh, Sol. Your cheek.”
With trembling fingers, I lift them to the ache and trace the stitches. Sympathy shines in Kassandra’s eyes as she watches me for several moments before speaking.
“Gabriel told me what happened last night. I’m to help you get ready for the council.”
“The council?” I whisper, my words hoarse.
“You need water.” Kassandra hurries from the tent and returns a moment later with a goblet brimming with water. “Here. Drink this.”
I comply and take a greedy drink. Only after I fully quench my thirst, do I lower the goblet.
Kassandra takes it from me. “I’ll find you something clean to wear. Then, I’ll take you to the council.”
As promised, Kassandra provides a clean surcoat. I bathe with the herbs she supplies and don the soft garment.
The moment I’m finished, she pulls me from the tent. Another humid summer day wraps around me as I follow her to a circular tent, where dark gray Bloodstone flags stab the ground in front of the structure. The serpent coat of arms etched into the fabric taunts me, bringing back memories of a different night. A different place.
That night, the Bloodstone people rode into my village and slaughtered nearly everyone. They left the survivors with fire in their bellies. Survivors like me.
Mother is the reason I’m here, and she is the reason I cannot leave. No brute in the middle of the night will steal my revenge. Esmund attacked me, but he didn’t destroy me. Gabriel made sure of it.
I stab my thumbnail into my palm and exhale. One day, I may even have to thank him, but not yet.
Frankincense burns from a single brazier, and a long, rectangular table occupies the center of the tent. Five men sit on the far side, waiting for me. I recognize three of them. Luc, Gabriel, and Cenric—the man who executed those four Malachites.
The other two council members are young too. They wear the same type of armor, the combination of leather and mail.
Luc points to an empty seat across from them. Kassandra follows me to the table and sits next to me. I exhale and fold my hands in my lap. Thank Olah, they allowed her to join me.
Luc studies me for several breaths before speaking. “Are you well, Sol?”
Unconsciously, my fingers lift to my cheek, to the stitches. I rip my hand free. “I’m well.”
“Gabriel gave me a full account of what happened last night. Esmund should have never attacked you.” Luc glances at the quiet man next to him. “Gabriel did what was needed to assure your safety.”
I blink, but the imagery of Gabriel ripping the sword out of my assailant’s throat still sears my vision.
Find your calm.
I swallow and make myself speak. “I know.”
“Are you well enough to proceed?” Luc asks, bringing my focus back to him.
A part of me, a very large part of me, wants to say no. “I’m well enough.”
