To Bind in Blood

Chapter 32

Cold. She was so cold.

Her nose and eyes burned, and she coughed up some water, glad she could finally breathe. She was back on shore, compacted snow beneath her instead of ice, and there were people kneeling over her, saying her name. Ordering her to stay with them.

A hand patted Wrell's cheek, touch insistent while gentle. "Wrell, you must stay with us." Nirsan's voice. "We must get her to the estate, Great Lord. She is likely to suffer hypothermia and must be warmed up."

"We will hurry."

The empress leaned over her. "A little while longer, Wrell Draekon. Then you may rest."

For some reason she found that comforting.

They wrapped her in cloaks and lifted her onto a horse in front of someone. An unmistakable feeling filled her, pulsed through her veins at the person's proximity and the arm wrapped around her to hold her in place. She knew Jurion. Knew him by the bind. Of all the people to carry her back-him?

His presence soothed her, though, the bind responsible. She allowed that and the rhythm of Issar's canter to lull her into a near-sleep.

"Resi?" she croaked out, the prospect that her horse had run off jolting her out of her haze.

"She is with us." The Great Lord glanced down at her, and it occurred to her that this was not the first time they had shared a horse. Not the first time that he had held her close so she could live.

Shrugging the thought off, as well as the guilt for her inability to do her duty as his servant right now, she allowed herself to be pulled into darkness, only to be woken when they took her down from the horse and hurried her inside. The Great Lord himself carried her, to her horror, but at least she was warmer. She could not tell if the heat was from him or the house.

He set her down on a couch and was promptly shooed out of the room. Wrell was barely conscious as servants stripped her of her wet leathers and dressed her in clean clothes, then wrapped her in blankets and put her to bed. The covers drawn to her neck, she laid there as several voices faded in and out of her hearing-the servants', Nirsan's, the physician's.

Then the Great Lord's. "How is she?" A hand rested on her forehead, its heat spreading through her body, stilling her shivering for only a moment. She sensed distress. Fear. Worry. Relief. For her?

"The water is never forgiving, my lord," came the physician's voice. "I have hope she will make a full recovery. She has come to consciousness, which is a relief."

"Is there anything you can do?"

"She must be kept warm, and she must rest."

Fingertips skimmed her forehead, feather light, then her cheek, stealing her breath. "I should leave, then." The hand pulled away. "Sleep well," he said, his voice low, and she knew he meant it as a request and not an order. "Do not worry about me. I am well taken care of."

The door shut, and the silence that followed made her realize the room was empty. Servants came in and out, adjusting her blankets and placing heated stones at the foot of the bed as well as at her sides. Her shivering began to cease, and she let her eyes close, trying not to dwell on the memory of his fingers brushing her skin. Jurion had told her to sleep and not worry about him, as if he had known that was the opposite of what she would try to do.

Well, it wasn't exactly hard for him to guess, based on their history.

She slept. Slept hard, and when she woke the door was opening again. Someone took a seat next to her bed, and when she cracked her eyes open, she saw Nadeina sitting there, clothes changed and damp hair loose from its braid. "Wrell Draekon. You are alive."