“Hm.” She continues her examination. Checks the wound on his shoulder, the older scars beneath. Presses her palm flat against his chest, closes her eyes, stays there for a long time. Her brow furrows.
“Something's different.” She opens her eyes, looks between us. “Something's changed since I last saw you. The rage. It's still there but it's sitting differently. Quieter.”
My pulse picks up.
“When did you last see him?” I ask.
“Two years ago. He came through hunting the creature. The rage was worse then. Barely contained.” She's still studying him, head tilted, those sharp eyes narrowed. “Now it's still present, but muffled. Like there's something between him and it.” She looks at me. “What did you do?”
“I'm not sure.” I lean forward. “But I've noticed something. When I touch him, the rage settles. On the road today, after we'd been talking, I asked him about it and he said it was completelyquiet. And just now, in the street. The crowd was making it worse. I took his hand and the tension broke.”
Mother Sanque is very still.
“How long have you been traveling together?”
“Five days.”
“Five days.” She says it flatly. Turns back to Kovren. “And the rage responds to her touch.”
“Yes,” he says.
“Every time?”
“Every time I've noticed.”
She pulls her hand away from his chest. Shuffles to a shelf, pulls down a book so old the binding is crumbling. Flips through pages, muttering. Stops. Reads. Flips to another section.
“The texts you brought me.” She's not looking at us anymore. “From the stronghold. There were references. Fragments, mostly. Mentions of bonded pairs, of the rage responding to a chosen mate's presence.” She closes the book, opens another. “I assumed it was mythology. Bogatyr folklore. The records were incomplete and I had no living cases to study.”
“And now?”
“Now I have questions.” She sets the book down and fixes me with that glass-sharp gaze. “How did you meet? The exact circumstances.”
I tell her. The ditch. The blood. The oath that formed when I healed him, when his broken rib drove into his lung and the magic decided I'd saved his life and bound him to me.
Mother Sanque listens without interrupting. When I finish, she's quiet for a long time.
“I need the night,” she says finally. “I have texts to cross-reference. The stronghold records, and older sources. What you're describing, the touch response, the quieting. I've read about it. But the mechanism, the conditions that created it.” Shewaves a hand between us. “I need to understand what happened in that ditch before I can tell you what it means.”
“But you think it means something,” I say.
“I think it means a great deal.” She stands, stirs the broth, ladles it into two bowls. Sets one in front of me, hands the other to Kovren. “Eat. Sleep. I'll work tonight. The guest chamber is through that door. The bed is too small for you,” she adds, looking at Kovren. “It always is.”
“I'll manage.”
“You always do.” She's already turning back to her books, pulling volumes from shelves, spreading them across the table. Dismissed. We've been dismissed.
Kovren catches my eye. I see the question there.
I pick up both bowls and stand. “Thank you, Mother Sanque.”
“Don't thank me yet.” She doesn't look up. “I haven't told you anything, but…” A quick smile twists her lips. “The bond will strengthen with proximity. Physical contact especially.” She says it matter-of-factly, like she's discussing the weather. “If you want to accelerate the process, skin contact is most effective. You’ll find some oil on the table. For the wounds.”
The guest chamber is narrow, stone-walled, lit by a single candle. The bed is built for a normal person. Kovren has to turn sideways to fit through the doorway, and when he stands inside, his head nearly touches the ceiling.
We eat in silence. The broth is good. Hot, rich, with herbs I can taste but can't identify. It settles into my stomach and spreads warmth through my whole body, loosening muscles I didn't realize I was clenching.
On the table beside the candle, a small jar. I pick it up, uncap it. Oil. Herbal, something that smells like honey and sage. Healing oil, the kind I'd use on damaged skin.
