Slowly, Magdala turned her head and took in her surroundings.
She lay on a soft mattress in a room of whitewashed stone. Late evening light played across the floor, dappled through the leaves of an ash tree outside.
Her body ached, but more from inactivity than injury. Pushing the quilt aside, Magdala slipped up the cotton nightdress she was wearing and inspected her legs. They were dotted with purple burn scars, mostly healed. When she tried to ball her hand into a fist, two of her fingers refused to curl. She wondered if she’d ever hold a knife again.
But where was Asherton?
Bleary, her head pounding, Magdala eased her legs over the edge of the bed, but when she stood, the floor pitched,and she had to steady herself on the bedpost. Gradually, the room solidified around her, and she limped to the window and parted the curtains.
A purple carpeted moor, blue with a late summer haze, rolled in smooth fells down to an emerald lake. The sun had just dipped below the mountains, and a herd of wild hinds skipped across the heath. A fiddle played at a distant cottage, a dog bayed, and a dragon flapped its wings at a neighboring farm. Thechuck, chuck, chuckof an ax echoed from behind the house.
A smile teased Magdala’s bruised face. Somehow, by miracle or the grace of the Only, she was in the Wildlands.
But she didn’t recognize the cottage. It wasn’t her mother’s, nor any of her neighbors. And where on earth was her husband?
As if in answer, a door slammed somewhere in the house and Asherton slipped into the room, carrying an armful of firewood. He wore typical Russuli garb—snug brown canvas pants tucked into heavy-soled leather boots, a plaid wool shirt, and a suede leather coat. His hair was wind-ruffled, his eyes bright. Magdala forgot her soreness as she admired him.
When he saw her, his face lit up and then fell. “What are you doing out of bed?” he asked, sounding cross. “Go and lie down!”
His broken arm had been mended, straight as new. She frowned, wondering if her mother had altered it.
“Get back in bed,” Asherton ordered.
Magdala leaned against the deep windowsill and let the wind play with her hair. “Whose house are we in?”
He smiled. “Our house.”
She scowled. “Our house burned down.”
“My darling wife,” he said, crossing the room and wrapping his arm around her waist, “do you think I’m the kind of man to marry a girl and not provide her with a roof over her head? I’ll have you know, I bought this house for five whole kibs.”
She raised her eyebrows as he guided her back to the bed and said flatly, “Exorbitant. How ever did you manage it?”
“Your ma said it was empty and needed a good scrub, but legally I had to pay her something for it. As it turns out, all that cleaning you made me do at Elegy had its benefits. If being an exiled king faking his own death doesn’t work out, I could have a promising career as a scullery maid.”
Magdala sat on the edge of the bed. “How long have I been sleeping?”
“About three weeks,” he said. “And honestly, your legs have gotten hairy. You scratch me in the night. Somewhat like sleeping with a bear.”
She slapped his arm and he chuckled, pressing his lips to her neck, just below her ear.
“I could not possibly have needed three weeks of sleep!” she protested.
“You awoke once or twice, but your ma and the physician said in order for you to recover well, you needed more rest, and so they dosed you with drowserjaw until your bruises faded.”
This wasn’t unusual among the Russuli, and so Magdala didn’t mind. Asherton seemed discomfited. He took her hand and slid his fingers through hers. “But I missed you.”
Brushing the loose curls from his eyes, she said, “I dreamt of you.”
Asherton touched his forehead to hers. “What sorts of things did you dream?”
“Oh, I’d rather show you than tell you.”
He laughed and pulled her against his side, kissing the top of her head. “How do you feel, really?” he whispered into her hair.
“Achy, but alright.”
“You frightened me half to death,” he said. “Zephyr found us a few minutes after you collapsed, and by then, I was practically hysterical. I didn’t know if you’d killed Angelonia, or if she’d killed you, or if you’d killed one another. I’m deeply traumatized. You have traumatized me.”
