Rufe shook his head. “The pack mule carried a few clothes and a spare pair of boots. I should have brought them in earlier.”
Footsteps crunched in the snow. A loud voice shouted, “We are soldiers of King Niam of Delletina, here to investigate a disturbance. Let us in.”
Draylon shifted his gaze from Rufe to Yarif. “Let me do the talking.” Just in case they were forced to fight, he held his sword down by his side and nodded.
Rufe unbarred the door.
A man stepped through, wearing a black cloak, a captain’s gold insignia on his shoulders. “Who are you?”
“We were with a merchant band and were attacked,” Draylon said, wincing. His Delletinian was worse than he'd realized.
The captain glanced around the room at the hastily cleaned weapons, still coated with flecks of blood. “You seem ill-equipped to remain here. You will come with me.”
“Where?”
“To see King Niam. Your lie isn’t convincing, and your accent gives you away. Merchants aren’t prone to wearing armor, and their escorts know to wear the sign of the white goat.” He turned to his men. “Arrest them.”
Before Draylon could lift his sword, Yarif staggered toward the door. “In the name of King Niam, I claim sanctuary.”
What? After all Draylon had done to get him back, Yarif planned to abandon him and Rufe?
The captain looked down his long nose. “Who makes such a claim?”
Though dressed in rags, Yarif stood tall, every inch a noble—if a wobbly one. “Yarif DiRici Aravaid of Renvalle.”
Draylon let out a moan. Why did Yarif tell them? They’d be hostages now for sure. Draylon opened his mouth, but what Yarif said next left him speechless.
“King Niam’s cousin.”
Draylon barely caught him when Yarif collapsed.
Chapter Twenty-four
Draylonwokeslowly,musclesprotesting and shoulder on fire. Tentative probing found a rebandaged shoulder.
He lay on softness—goose down, if he wasn’t mistaken. A fire crackled in the hearth across a darkened room. He definitely wasn’t in the hovel anymore. Where was Yarif? What about Rufe?
So much of the last day seemed hazy. Soldiers had come to the cabin. He’d woken up here. The in-between time worried him.
Trying to sit up made him moan and squeak the rope supports under the bed. Herbs scented the air. A healer’s cabin?
A door opened across from him, admitting a lithe form holding a lantern. Draylon caught a brief glimpse of a guard standing outside the door. “Oh, good, you’re awake. How are you feeling, Your Majesty?”
Your Majesty.Whoever had Draylon knew who he was. “Like I’ve been shot with an arrow.”
“That’s to be expected since you were shot with an arrow.” The lilting voice spoke Renvallian, with a distinct mountain dialect Draylon hadn’t heard in years. Humor laced the melodic tones. The figure’s cheerful mood vanished. “Bear in mind that the guard is a mere shout away, and though I may appear slight, I’ve been trained to defend myself.”
“You won’t need to defend against me,” Draylon promised. “Where are my… companions?”
“They are being cared for. Captain Rufe required stitching. Much swearing was involved, both his and the healer’s. Your consort is battling a fever, but his condition is improving. Not to worry, though. He’s in good hands. I’m told he won’t even lose any toes.”
Good hands? Whose? “May I see him?”
“In the morning. Let him rest, as you should be doing. Since I’m here, let me check your shoulder.” The figure approached and hung the lantern on a hook in the wall. Instead of a woman like Draylon expected, the figure proved to be a very young man.
“You’re too young to be a healer.”
The boy gave a laugh. “But not too young to be the healer’s apprentice assigned to watch the patients at night.” He rolled his eyes. “As if a healer would take on such a duty unless the situation grew dire.” His voice cracked in the way of a youth’s growing into maturity.
