He'd been so sure. "Then . . . where are we?"
"We're in Askavi. In Kaeleer." She watched him anxiously.
"The Shadow Realm?" Lucivar whistled softly. Two tunnels. One a lightening twilight, the other a soft dawn. The Dark Realm and the Shadow. He grinned at her. "Since we're not dead, can we go exploring?"
He watched, intrigued, as she tried to force her answering grin into a sober, professional expression.
"When you're fully healed," she said sternly, then spoiled it with a silvery, velvet-coated laugh. "Oh, Lucivar, the dragons who live on the Fyreborn Islands are going to love you. You not only have wings, you're big enough to wave whomp."
"Wave what?"
Her eyes widened and her teeth caught her lower lip. "Umm. Never mind," she said too brightly, bouncing off her chair.
He caught the back of her shirt. After a brief tussle that left him breathing hard and left her looking more than a little rumpled, she was once again slumped in the chair.
"Why are you living here, Cat?"
"What's wrong with it?" she said defensively. "It's a good place."
Lucivar narrowed his eyes. "I didn't say it wasn't."
She leaned forward, studying his face. "You're not one of those males who gets hysterical about every little thing, are you?"
He leaned forward, forearms braced on thighs, and smiled his lazy, arrogant smile. "I never get hysterical."
"Uh-huh."
The smile showed a hint of teeth. "Why, Cat?"
"Wolves can be real tattletales, did you know that?" She looked at him hopefully. When he didn't say anything, she fluffed her hair and sighed. "You see, there are times when I need to get away from everyone and just be with the land, and I used to come and camp out here for a few days, but during one of those trips it rained and I was sleeping on the wet ground and got chilled and the wolves went running off to tell Papa and he said he appreciated my need to spend some time with the land but he saw no reason why
I couldn't have the option of some shelter and I said that a lean-to would probably be a reasonable idea so he had this cabin built." She paused and gave him an apprehensive smile. "Papa and I have rather different definitions of 'lean-to.''
Looking at the large stone hearth and the solid walls and ceiling, and then at the woman-child sitting in front of him with her hands pressed between her knees, Lucivar reluctantly let go of the knot of anger he'd felt for this unknown father of hers. "Frankly, Cat, I like your papa's definition better."
She scowled at him.
Black Widow and Healer she might be, but she was also almost grown, with enough of the endearing awkwardness of the young to still remind him of a kitten trying to pounce on a large, hoppy bug.
"So you don't live here all the time?" he asked carefully. Jaenelle shook her head. "The family has several residences in Dhemlan. Most of the time I live at the family seat." She gave him a look he couldn't read. "My father is the Warlord Prince of Dhemlan—among other things."
A man of wealth and position then. Probably not the
sort who'd want a half-breed bastard as a companion for
his daughter. Well, he'd deal with that when the time came.
"Lucivar." She fixed her eyes on the open door and
chewed her lip.
He sympathized with her. This was sometimes the hardest part of the healing, telling the patient honestly what could—and could not—be mended. "The wings are just decorative, aren't they?"
"No!" She took a deep breath. "The injuries were severe. All of them, not just the wings. I've done the healing, but what happens now depends, in large part, on you. I estimate it will take another three months for your back and wings to heal completely." She chewed her lip. "But, Lucivar, there's no margin for error in this. I had to pull everything you had to give for this healing. If you reinjureanything, the damage may be permanent." He reached for her hand, caressed her fingers with his
thumb. "And if I do it your way?" He watched her carefully. There were no false promises in those sapphire eyes.
"If you do it my way, three months from now we'll make the Run."
He lowered his head. Not because he didn't want her to see the tears, but because he needed a private moment to savor the hope.
When he had himself under control again, he smiled at her.
She smiled back, understanding. "Would you like a cup of tea?" When he nodded, she bounced out of the chair and went through the door to the right of the stone hearth.
"Any chance of persuading my Healer to add a bit of food to that?"
Jaenelle's head popped out of the kitchen doorway. "How does a large slice of fresh bread soaked in beef broth sound?"
About as edible as the table leg. "Do I have any choices?"
"No."
"Sounds wonderful."
She returned a few minutes later, helped him shift from the stool to a straight-backed chair that supported his back, then placed a large mug on the pine table. "It's a healing brew."
His lip curled in a silent snarl. Every healing brew he'd ever had forced down his throat had always tasted like brambles and piss, and he'd reached the opinion that Healers made them that way as a penalty for being hurt or ill.
"You don't get anything else until you drink it," Jaenelle added with a distasteful lack of sympathy.
Lucivar lifted the cup and sniffed cautiously. It smelled . . . different. He took a sip, held it in his mouth for a moment, then closed his eyes and swallowed. And wondered how she'd distilled into a healing brew the solid strength of the Askavi mountains, the trees and grasses and flowers that fleshed out the earth beneath, the rivers that flowed through the land.
"This is wonderful," he murmured. "I'm pleased you approve."
"Really, it is," he insisted, responding to the laughter in her voice. "These things usually taste awful, and this tastes good."
Her laughter turned to puzzlement. "They're supposed to taste good, Lucivar. Otherwise, no one would want to drink them."
Not being able to argue with that, he said nothing, content to sip the brew. He was even content enough to feel a mild tolerance for the bowl of broth-soaked bread that Jaenelle placed in front of him, a tolerance that sharpened considerably when he noticed the slivers of beef sprinkled over the bread.
Then he noticed she was going to eat the same thing.
"I'm not the only one you drained to the limit in order to do this healing, am I, Cat?" he said quietly, unable to completely mask the anger underneath. How dare she risk herself this way, when there was no one to look after her?