Blood-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book I ]

50

The effect of the orders on the encampment were immediate and intense. As soon as Matei turned from them, indicating that his speech was at an end, folk began streaming back out of the longhouse. Voices rose again until the sound of the mingled conversations put Mhera in mind of the sea: restless, agitated.

Aun turned to her. "Mhera, I must go speak with Macon. You may go back to the infirmary if you wish."

"I need to speak to Matei," Mhera said. She herself felt agitated; Matei's plan had wakened in her a deep sense of foreboding. She was uneasy, and she could not focus her thoughts.

"Very well. I'll look for you back at the infirmary."

Mhera felt at first like she couldn't move. She reached out to place a hand on the wall. Four rebel camps, all of them kept secret from one another. Each of them likely to pick up new folk on the way. Growing. A disease in her uncle's empire. And she? Where would she go? Matei had not said what he would do.

Matei was still standing with the other rebel leaders. He was listening to something Tryn was saying. Farra had come up to the group, and he was absently stroking her ears, an attention she appeared to receive grudgingly. Finally, Matei spoke a few words and clapped each of his council members on the shoulder. They parted, the four others moving toward the door, weaving their ways through the press of people still waiting for their turn to pass out of the longhouse. Farra padded at Uachi's side.

Matei raked a hand back through his loose hair, watching them go with a grim expression.

Mhera went to him. "And us? Where do we go?" she asked.

The rebel turned to her; he did not smile. "We will go where we're needed most," he said. "I haven't yet decided."

She twisted her hands together tightly. Anxiety quickened her pulse; she was aware of it, the beat of it, in her fingertips. "Matei ... this morning ... this morning we parted in peace."

He raised his brows, waiting for her to go on.

"Take me home. Take me to Karelin." Mhera looked up at him. In that moment, it seemed to be the most important thing she would ever do, would ever ask: to leave Hanpe. Her mind was foggy with the fear that something was terribly wrong—something beyond her presence there, something beyond all she had suffered. "Please. Please don't make me go with you."

Matei looked down at her for a moment. She saw his shoulders rise and fall with his breath; she saw his eyes flick over her face, lingering as they had before on the healing bruise, then glancing down to her nervous hands, then away. She saw his hand tighten into a fist at his side and relax again.

"Mhera, don't," he said. There was a warning in his voice.

She did not heed it. "Please, Matei, please don't take me with you, please send me home. Please, show me this kindness. Let me go." She willed herself to stay calm.

"Mhera, let this be the only time you ask this of me," he said, "and the only time I must tell you no."

She watched his fingers curl into a fist again and felt as if he were crushing her living heart in his hand. "Please," she whispered.

"Mhera, I told you before."

She closed her eyes against the burning tears, swallowing. Goddess, let me keep a hold on myself. Let me not cry in front of this man again. "You said we could be parted in peace."

"But still, we are bound. Look at me."

She opened her eyes and looked up at his face, not wanting to see the truth there. She could see that he was reining in his emotions, his anger.