The flesh still looked fierce and red to Fern, the stitches ugly and stark against the elf’s pale skin; however, she couldn’t deny that the Oathmaiden seemed much more herself. Her eyes were clear and bright, and she’d declined the sleeping tincture the monk had urged upon her.
Now, she sat on the pushed-together beds while the black-furred physician examined her under the frosted morning light.
“I’d normally advocate rest for at least another few days, but I suppose a bit of walking about would be all right. As long as you’re careful of the stitching. Not that I could make you stay put if I wanted to,” he grumbled.
Fern, seated on the stool withTen Linksin her lap, didn’t miss the amused quirk of Astryx’s lips.
“My thanks, Burdock,” she said, dropping her shirt back into place. “I promise to go easy.”
The rattkin rolled his eyes. “Tarim’s patience.” Then he muttered his way out of the tiny infirmary, closing the door behind him.
“So,” said Fern. “No reading today?”
Astryx glanced around the room with obvious distaste, then eased herself off the beds. She shrugged carefully, massaging the back of her neck. The motion pulled the skin along her ribs, and she hissed through bared teeth. Letting her hands fall back, she said, “Let’s get out of this gods-damned room. How’s Bucket?”
“Why don’t I show you?” replied Fern, tucking the book back under one arm.
Astryx sketched a glance over Nigel, propped in the corner, but left him behind.
Out in the hallway, she ran a hand through her tangle of silver hair, now in need of a trim. The Tarimites had built at a generous scale for rattkin, but that still meant that her head nearly brushed the ceiling.
The monks they encountered stared in awe at the elf as they passed, but she didn’t appear to care. She moved more slowly than normal, wincing each time she had to duck under any lintel too short for her height.
When they emerged into the cold outdoors, Astryx breathed a long sigh of relief, closing her eyes and turning her face up to the wan light that found its way through the cloud cover. Errant flakes melted on her cheeks.
As they approached the stable, the elf spotted Staysha’s wagon off to the side. At her questioning glance, Fern gave her the rundown on the Silver Sparrow, who, unsurprisingly, Astryx had never heard of. Fern was glad that they hadn’t run into the dwarf along the way. There was something satisfying about being the one showing Astryx around an unfamiliar place. It was nice to be the person who knew what she was doing for once.
Inside the stable, the Oathmaiden spent a long while reassuring Bucket as he whuffled at her hair and uttered distressed whinnies. She ran her hands slowly along his neck and let him lip her fingers, murmuring into his ears.
Fern felt a bit like a voyeur, so she found a seat at a bench beside the tack-mending table and flipped idly through the book while she waited.
She glanced up when Astryx cleared her throat.
The elf leaned against Bucket’s stable door with her left arm curled up under his chin, scratching his cheek. In her other hand, she held a sheet of paper that appeared to have been folded and refolded. She looked . . . embarrassed.Shy?It was an unfamiliar expression on the Blademistress’s face.
“I, um.” Color rose in the elf’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean to take this.”
It dawned on Fern why the page looked so familiar. That washercrabbed writing on it.
At the no-doubt horrified expression on Fern’s face, Astryx hurried to explain, “It caught on my leg, back at the waystation. I guess I stuffed it into my pocket. I’m not sure what I was thinking.”
“Oh, gods,” muttered Fern. “You read it, then? How ashamed do I need to be?”
Astryx gave her a confused look, then turned her attention to the page. Swallowing, she read,“I’d seen her fight before, and I don’t know how else to put it—she’d always been flawless, like she’d experienced the battle already a thousand times before and knew every beat. But against Tullah? It felt like a first. Like the layers of a legend were peeled back, and I saw the person underneath, the instinct and impulses that make her who she is. The sound of her voice when she saw what was happening to Bucket? I felt it in my heart. At the edge of what she could handle, caught between two disasters, hurting inside and out, I think I finally understood why people still tell stories about her. She was beautiful.”
It was very quiet in the stable, and Astryx kept her eyes on the page.
Finally the elf broke the silence, her voice wobbly. “Is this really what you see?”
“Yes. I mean. Sometimes. I don’t know.” Fern massaged her eyes with her paws. “I’m sure I’m not the only one,” she said in a small voice.
She heard the elf approach, and the paper crackled as she laid the page down on the tack table. “I’m sorry I kept it.”
Fern sighed. “In your defense, you’ve been asleep most of the time.”
“Still.”
Astryx carefully lowered herself to sit beside Fern on the rattkin-sized bench, her knees awkwardly high. She looked endearingly ridiculous.
