Breaking the Sword

The Rose Witch (III)

Tigraine woke the next morning, her head pounding with a hangover and the distinct early symptoms of a head cold, when an apple landed with a thump in the hay beside her head. Thinking groggily that she was under attack, Tigraine thrashed, groping for her sword. The she realized that her sword was, of course, still up where it belonged in the chest in their room. And the only thing attacking her was breakfast.

She frowned at the apple resting in the hay.

"You're supposed to eat those, I think," a familiar voice said helpfully.

Tigraine looked up at Tristram, who stood against the waist-high door of the stall, his own half-eaten apple poised for another bite. Potami sniffed hopefully at the apple that had found its way into her enclosure. Giving the horse an affectionate pat, Tigraine let her have it. She was beginning to feel a touch nauseous.

"I have water for you as well. Unless you think the horse would do better by it."

"Water would be lovely," she croaked.

"Well, come and get it then."

"I'm in my small clothes."

Tristram shrugged, a too-innocent look on his face. "It's not bothering me."

Tigraine rolled her eyes and commanded, "Turn around."

He did so cheerfully, crunching on his apple as Tigraine felt through her still-damp clothes of the night before. With longing, she thought of the socks she had laid out before the fire. Hopefully Dane had pulled them back before they singed. Though it seemed just as likely he had thrown them all into the fire.

Tigraine shrugged into the shirt and breeches, but carried her shoes and socks with her out into the main corridor of the stable. The tunic she left behind entirely; it was the worst of the lot.

As he handed her the waterskin, Tristram looked her up and down, from hay-filled red curls to bare feet. "Are you okay?"

Tigraine winced, having forgotten not to rest the waterskin against her bruised arm. Still, she answered, "Fine," and took a long drink of water, hoping it would soothe her throat.

"Mistress Allen wanted me to tell you that she can have a group of Imperial soldiers here from the fort in under an hour. And she is also willing to give you a safe place to stay for free."

Tigraine blinked at him and lowered the waterskin.

"Your man's got a bit of a violent streak, hasn't he?" the bard said by way of explanation.

"Last night was the first time he raised a hand to me, and I don't think he even realized he was gripping me so tightly."

"Forgive me, but first times like that have a way of becoming not-the-last-times."

"Dane has strong feelings about drink," she shrugged.

"I noticed," Tristram replied tartly. "So, I think, did everyone else in the inn."

"I can take care of myself," she said finally, in a mind-your-own-business sort of tone.

"Of course!" he replied, accepting the half-empty waterskin back from her. "Strong, capable hunter of manticores and ghosts like you– what was I thinking? Just... remember even the heroes of legend needed to ask for help from time to time."

Tigraine nodded more to placate this strange man than from any real agreement. Plenty of couples fought over philosophical differences; in this she and Dane were no different. She expected they would make up in a day, or two at the latest. In the meantime, she needed a healer to deal with this cold before it saw her laid up in bed for days.