I watched him deflect, recognizing the wall going back up. But I didn't push. I just stood, picked up the sledge and moved to the next post, waiting for him to brace it.
We worked in silence for several more strikes. I could see his hands were starting to ache from the vibration, but he didn't complain. He never did.
"How is she?" he asked suddenly.
I paused mid-swing, caught off guard by the question and the odd tension in his voice. "Ellie?"
He nodded, not looking at me.
Something warm unfurled in my chest at the thought of her. "Stronger each day. The infection is fully cleared. She helped me prepare poultices yesterday…" I paused, remembering the way she'd smiled at me, the gentleness of her touch. "She has gentle hands. Patient. She ground the herbs so fine even Kessa was impressed."
"And the others?" His voice was carefully neutral. "The male with the broken leg?"
"Dev. He mends well. He's managing to walk further every day, though he still needs the walking staff for now, and he tires easily." I brought the sledge down again, feeling the post sink deeper. "The other two keep to themselves. I… I'll admit, I am concerned for the female."
"How so?"
I paused, choosing my words carefully. "The male, Nathan—he has something, something he works on every day. It seems important, though I'll admit, from what I've seen, I could not tell you what it is or what it is made from. He's very focused on it. But I've noticed they do not spend any time trying to integrate themselves. The wounded male, Dev—he is making good attempts at learning words. I think Ellie has been teaching him."
"And?" Rivik's voice had an edge to it now.
I glanced at the cave where Nathan and Megan were staying. "She is coming on fast too. She makes me sit at night and talk to her, tell her stories, correct her when she speaks." I paused, trying to articulate what I'd been sensing. "Nathan, though—I don't know, Rivik. He controls his mate more than I feel comfortable with. Or tries to. I watch them sometimes and I cannot quite put my finger on it, but he always seems to be there, always positioned between her and everyone else. She never speaks unless he has spoken first. She never eats until he has eaten. She never looks at anyone directly when he is close by."
The sledge came down harder than necessary on the next strike, and I felt Rivik absorb the impact with gritted teeth.
"You think he hurts her?" His voice was tight.
"I don't know. I haven't seen any injuries that concern me. But there are different kinds of hurt, Rivik. You know that."
"I have. Keep watching," he said. "If you see anything conclusive, tell me immediately."
I nodded, and we returned to the work. The next pole went in cleanly, and I moved to the last one without being asked. Rivik handed me the sledge and braced the final post. I took a deep breath, wanting to broach something with him, but not wanting to add to his burdens.
"You have not been to share drink, or visit at my hearth in quite some time," I said quietly, not looking at him. "I have wanted to ask, have I offended you in some way, brother?"
"You haven't offended me."
"Then something else keeps you away."
He didn't answer immediately, so I brought the sledge down, filling the silence with something easier than words. The impact shuddered through the post, and I felt him absorb it.
"I've been busy," he said. The excuse felt weak. "The council. The eastern patrols. Cera arriving. The storm damage."
"All true," I agreed. I brought the sledge down again. The post shuddered, sank, held. "And before the storm? Before Cera?"
He flexed his hands around the post and said nothing.
"Rivik."
"Leave it, Daska."
"I would," I said, setting the sledge down with deliberate care, "if I thought you were well. But you are not well, and you have not been well for some weeks, and I am your healer as well as your brother, and I am asking you directly."
"I'm fine."
"You said that when you had a broken rib from the Greywash hunt. You also said it when your father died." My voice was quiet. "You have always said it. It has never once been true."
He released the post and straightened, rolling his shoulders. The last pole was seated well enough. The work was done.
