A/N: Thank you, as always, for the thorough and helpful beta, Lisa!
Warning: this is not exactly light and fluffy in sections.
Lies
"I do believe I see some red in your hair. Must be the light," Brin teased, leaning up on one elbow and grinning.
"Lies. Spurious, scurrilous lies. I don't have any re…ouch!" Joss yelped, clutching at the spot on her head where he'd just removed several strands of hair.
"Would you two be quiet already? Some of us actually go to bed to sleep!" Niall complained, his voice loud even through the stone divider that separated them.
"Stop listening then!" Joss shot back. "Brin, don't you have a special hedge mage type of spell you can use on him?"
"Sure, but it hasn't worked on you yet so why would it work on him?"
The feisty mage tossed a small bolt of lightning at him and he rolled over, pinning her to the bed, grinning down at her. She was unlike anyone he'd ever met, and even though he'd sworn to himself that he would not fall in love with her, he'd done precisely that.
"Oomph, get off me, you barbaric scapegrace," she grunted, holding on to him with both hands.
"I should leave now anyway," he said reluctantly. He hated skulking around at night, sneaking into her room and then sneaking out again. He hated the thought of not being with her even more, so skulking it was. He was so adept at slipping past the templars on night duty, he was confident he could find Joss's room blindfolded.
He was still surprised by how confined mages were outside the clans and tribes of the Chasind. In his culture, mages were both revered and feared, given support and training as soon as magical talent manifested in a child. Their abilities were actively sought, used as a bartering tool at times, and mages were fiercely protected by the members of their clans.
He wondered what his life would have been like had Joss been raised by his clan. Not that it mattered. Their paths had already been decided and it was just a matter of following the trail markers. Or so it felt.
"There you go again, fading away. I must be even more boring than I thought," Joss complained, fingers pulling gently at his hair. "You realize women everywhere would die to have your hair," she added, wriggling out from beneath him and sitting up.
"Really? You don't seem to be dying," he replied, swinging his legs off the bed and reaching for his robes. He felt the shiver of premonition whisper along his spine. Silently, he moved to kneel in front of her. Resting his hands lightly on the soft skin of her thighs, he looked up at her. "In fact, you look disgustingly healthy to me. How you do that without the benefit of fresh air and sunshine I'll never understand."
"Magic, of course."
Laughter gusted out of them and they collapsed against each other.
"Maker's breath! Shut! Up!" Niall demanded.
"Go soak your head, Melon!"
~~~oOo~~~
"Can you manipulate any dream?" Brin asked, standing in a meadow of purple star-shaped flowers that Joss had created for them. The angle of the sun was off, and he'd never seen flowers quite that color, but he could feel the lilac-scented wind sifting through his hair and the heat of the sun warming his skin. She was a much better Rasui Balari than the clan elders had believed. No wonder Flemeth was so interested in her.
"I suppose. I've never had a problem, but…" Joss answered, trailing off with a slight shrug. She looked out across the meadow, gnawing on her lower lip.
"Can you manipulate a dreamer?"
He watched as Joss, looking unnaturally solemn, nodded. "I promised Joey I wouldn't do that again, so don't ask me to."
He hadn't expected that answer, and disappointment, as bright and brief as a lightning flash, ran through him. He nodded and took her hand, squeezing it gently. "Let's go and enjoy that magical sunshine that keeps you so healthy," he said.
Instead, the scene blurred and when it cleared they were sitting in a rust-colored field of rye grass, the wind cold and sharp as it howled through the dry stalks of grain. A large woman, moving through the fields singing, came into view, and he recognized Cook Killdare.
"What do you want for breakfast tomorrow morning?" Joss asked quietly, her voice oddly flat.
For a moment he was too confused to speak. Comprehension came slowly and with it, guilt. He hadn't intended to push her, and he especially hadn't meant to hurt her. "No, Joss, I do understand. Don't do anything you don't want to."
"Apple tarts? It's not pie, granted, but tarts are nice," she continued, in the same wooden voice.
He pulled her close. "Stop it, Joss."
"Isn't that why you're with me? To see what the freak of nature can do?" she asked, pulling away from him. One minute she was there and the next she simply vanished, leaving him alone in the field of rye.
He woke up in his bed with a start. Disoriented, but determined, he pulled his robes over his head and made his way through the shadows to Josslyn's room, avoiding the alcove where he could hear Chipper mumbling in his sleep instead of standing watch.
Niall was snoring and Kinnon's breath whistled as he exhaled. But even with all the noise, he could hear Joss's muffled crying. Brin stood in the dark, unsure what to do.
He hated when she cried, not that she ever did so in front of anyone. There had been several times when he'd seen her looking wistfully at a small painting and then she'd disappeared for an hour or more. He'd followed her once, and when she'd entered a practice room, he'd stood outside the door, listening. Moments later he'd heard her trying to stifle her sobs, a strangled sound, muffled by something that he guessed were her hands pressed to her mouth. It was the saddest sound he'd ever heard and he wouldn't ignore her tears this time.
"No," he whispered, climbing into her bed and pulling her close. "No, that's not the reason. I love you. That's why I'm with you."
"Don't say that," she hissed, pulling away from him.
He would never understand her. He'd always been led to believe that love was a good thing, that expressing love and giving voice to the feelings were good things. She didn't seem to agree. But then she wasn't like anyone he'd ever known so he shouldn't be surprised.
"Have it your way. I lust after you. Better?"
She made a gurgling sound, damp laughter spilling from her. "Just as daft as saying you love me, but I can live with it."
Later, after they'd made love and she'd fallen asleep, curled up around him like a wild vine, he considered telling her the truth. He knew he wouldn't….couldn't. It would destroy her spirit, and whatever he'd felt when he'd arrived, whatever his reason for being captured, he was in love with her now, and he would stay as long as he was able, help her in any way he could.
He kissed her lightly before gently extricating himself.
~~~oOo~~~
"You can't, either."
"I can and I will," Brin argued, grinning at her.
Joss rolled her eyes at him. "You are such a braggart. I'll bet desserts for a week that you can't."
"Not only can I, Josslyn Winifred Amell, but I'll do it and make sure the blame falls on someone else. Prepare to pass your desserts my way for a week."
"Sure, sure. Be mindful of that puffed out chest…you'll pull a muscle," she warned, grinning. "Now, let's find some more mice. I think I've got the hang of the spell now."
He was teaching her how to transmogrify. He wanted to teach her shape-shifting as well, because she was fascinated with it, but he wouldn't break his oath to his clan and he wouldn't give Flemeth the satisfaction. He felt no loyalty to Flemeth, and as much as she demanded he obey her, he wouldn't. Not this time.
For most of his life, he'd believed that his parents had died when he was a baby and that he'd been taken in by the clan. That much was true, but his parents had pledged him to the Woman of Many Years before he was even born. It was the custom among many of the Chasind to offer up a child to her, in the hope of obtaining her favor, and also as a way to exchange knowledge of ancient forms of magic.
Flemeth was determined to build an army of sons and daughters, both natural and adopted, for a future war that she refused to say anything more about. The tribes and clans of the Wilds had no reason to doubt her. She had aided many of the tribes in the past, and the shamans of many clans acceded to her wishes in the hope that she would continue.
The Witch of the Wilds had visited him for the first time when he was five and his magic was just beginning to manifest. She'd terrified him then, and it wasn't until he'd learned more about her that his terror had given way to anger at the arrangement between her and his clan, and eventually he even began to feel pity for her.
She was powerful, more powerful than any mage he'd ever met. She was not a part of the natural world; he felt that, understood that. He also understood that she was a lonely, bitter woman, who was consumed with the future to the exclusion of everything else. Each spell she taught, each lesson she gave, each son or daughter she created or was given…all of it…was for one purpose and one purpose only: a future battle that would transform the world. Or so she claimed.
When he was ten, she'd come to see his progress. When he'd shown her his wolf form, she'd extracted a fang, some of his light brown fur and a drop of his blood. She'd refused to say why. He knew now, but not because she'd told him. He'd overheard the elders discussing his Arcae de Animus and he'd gone in search of it, found it, and quietly destroyed it. When he died, he would not be tethered to Flemeth.
"Brin? You faded out again. You missed the show."
Joss was proudly holding up a very unhappy green mouse by its even greener tail. "It almost worked," she boasted, laughing as she set the creature down. Brin whispered the spell and transformed the mouse into a toad and then back to its original state.
"Try again, Bright Eyes. This time concentrate on the form, not the color."
~~~oOo~~~
"What happened to Greagoir's beard?"
That was the question of the day in the Tower, three weeks later; whispered from one mage to another, from cook to scullery maid, from templar to templar. Greagoir's full, heavy beard was gone. Only a closely trimmed strip of grey from ear to ear along his surprisingly square jaw, remained. He looked years younger and pounds lighter, but very unhappy.
An assembly was called to discover who had put the ants in Greagoir's beard as he slept. There had been so many of them that he'd finally hacked away most of his beard to rid himself of their 'insidious infiltration' as he called it. Or so claimed the manservant assigned to the templar's floor.
"I want to know who's responsible for this outrage and I want to know now!" Greagoir thundered. A soft swell of murmuring ran through the assemblage, and most of the mages, and a fair amount of the templars, turned their eyes in Joss's direction.
"Andraste's flaming beard, I didn't do anything!" Brin mentally winced at her choice of words, but couldn't help the chuckle that escaped.
A wave of laughter broke over the gathering, and Greagoir glared fiercely at the congregation. "Rest assured, I will find the answer and when I do, there will be appropriate measures taken. Now get to your classrooms!"
"I thought you were going to put the ants in Irving's beard," Joss whispered, her voice quivering with repressed laughter and a hint of reproof.
"I couldn't. He – uh – had company. Ugh." Brin couldn't help the shudder that particular memory gave him. "Besides, I think I did Greagoir a favor. He looks much better, don't you think?"
"He looks almost human," Joseph piped in.
"Well, I wouldn't want to be the one who gets into trouble for it. He looks like he could easily and cheerfully put thumbscrews to the person responsible."
"Yes, about that…" Brin began but trailed off as a group of mages passed them. They were all whispering and laughing and several gave Brin, Joss and Joseph knowing looks.
"The terrors of the Tower strike again," Petra snickered, linking arms with Joss.
"Don't look at me, I'm as innocent as a…erm…someone help me out here…innocent as a what?" Joss asked, glancing at Joey.
"Hey! I'm not innocent. Uh, that's not what I meant. Stop looking at me that way, Petra."
They were all laughing as they made their way to their classes.
An hour later, Brin was told to report to Greagoir. Joss was just leaving the knight-commander's office, and he paused to talk to her before he met with the irate templar in charge. She was shaking her head and rolling her eyes as she came out of Greagoir's office, looking thoroughly disgusted and faintly hurt.
"He's convinced it was me," she muttered darkly. "He ought to know better."
"No worries, love. When I'm done he's going to believe it was Anders or my name's not Brinmar the Magnificent."
A smile poked through her gloom. "You mean Brinmar of Clan Cauliflower, right?"
He was still chuckling when he entered Greagoir's office. One look at Greagoir's expression put a halt to any desire to laugh.
"Tell me what you know about this incident!" Greagoir barked gruffly.
"I'm not sure what you mean, Ser Greagoir."
"Don't fob me off, boy. You and the twins are up to something, that much is obvious. I saw you slinking off to the practice room with them yesterday."
"They're helping me with my fire spells, ser. I did see…no, I shouldn't say anything. I'm sure it was nothing."
"Out with it!"
Brin shuffled his feet and stared at the ground. "I really couldn't. I don't want to get anyone into trouble. But, well, you've been really good to me since I arrived, so I…really, Ser Greagoir, I'm not sure it's even important."
"Speak up, Brinmar."
Brin looked up and met Greagoir's gaze. "If I tell you, please don't punish him too severely. I'm sure he didn't mean any harm."
"He? He who?"
"Well, I can't be sure he did it, ser. I'd hate to falsely accuse anyone."
"It was Anders, wasn't it?"
Brin dropped his eyes and shrugged, wondering if he was laying it on too thick. "Can't say for sure, ser, but last week when you sent several of us to help with the ant infestation in the dining hall…well…it's probably nothing." Brin paused, thinking he was probably overdoing it, but Greagoir was rubbing his newly shaped beard thoughtfully.
"Yes, it must have been Anders. I remember him muttering something about the oppression of the ants being just like the oppression suffered by mages. Utter rubbish, of course. Thank you, Brinmar. That will be all."
That night at dinner, Brin tried not to gloat. It wasn't easy. Anders was clearing the tables by himself, wearing the look of a true martyr. While Brin would never admit it, he was happy to see Anders getting a bit of his own back. He'd been an absolute lout to Joseph, and hadn't treated Joss much better. If she'd found out that Anders had tried to get Brin into bed as well, she'd probably roast Anders's nuts. He ducked his head, hiding his grin at that thought.
Joss glared as she slid her egg custard across the table to him. "I hate you," she hissed.
"You know that's not true. You love me."
"Don't push your luck, Barbarian."
~~~oOo~~~
She was running along the curved hall, hair falling down from its knot in auburn wisps when he spied her. He'd remembered the first time he'd teased her about being a redhead. That had been a painful experience. He rubbed his shoulder where the first bolt had knocked him clear off his feet and smiled. She had no fear of her magic, which was a refreshing change from most of the other mages in the Tower. They appeared terrified of the templars, their magic and their very existence. There were a few who seemed seriously deranged, viewing themselves and all mages as cursed by a vindictive god. He would never understand people like Keili.
"I'll wager she'll smack right into Greagoir," he commented, grinning at Joseph.
"No, Greagoir's meeting with some buckethead. I did see Wynne leaving the library a few minutes ago."
"Even better," Brin said, rubbing his hands together gleefully. "That busybody really needs a good set-down."
A set-down was exactly what Wynne got as Joss ran full-tilt into the senior mage and sent her reeling backwards, to sit down heavily with an undignified yelp. Joss's smile was positively beatific as she tossed out an apology before picking herself and her spellbook up and continuing on her way.
"There's no running!" Wynne shouted breathlessly.
"Really? Good to know, thanks!" Joss called over her shoulder before she disappeared into the laboratory.
Wynne shook her head and glared at Brin, who continued to lounge against the wall where he'd witnessed her downfall. Or was that her fall-down? He allowed himself a quiet snicker. Joss was definitely rubbing off on him. The nine months he'd spent in the Tower had been the some of the happiest he'd ever experienced.
Joseph offered a hand to the elderly mage, who thanked him and made as dignified an exit as possible.
"That woman is dangerous," Brin remarked quietly.
"She's not so bad."
"You're joking, right? She has much too narrow a view to be anything but dangerous. Especially to other mages who don't fit into her preconception of what a mage should be. Like me. And Joss. And probably you, although she seems to be fond of you."
Joseph shifted, looking uncomfortable with the conversation. Brin opened his mouth to explain precisely how dangerous Wynne was, but bells began to ring, announcing the end of lessons for the day.
Later, clasping Joss to his side, he drifted in a drowsy euphoria. Joss's fingers were skimming along his skin, as light as a breeze, and he hummed his pleasure. In those moments, he wasn't a mage sent to help Joss with her rare gift or guard her against Flemeth. He wasn't a son of Flemeth sent to influence Joss, or gather the items necessary for her Arcae de Animus. He was just Brin, who loved Joss beyond reason.
"How were you captured, anyway? It's not like you're stupid. Or careless."
Joss had asked that question so many times that he'd lost count, and every time he gave a different answer. "Tripped over my own feet. Not unlike a certain mage I love," he teased, eyes still closed, body still floating, boneless and weightless.
"You couldn't trip over your own feet to win a bet. You're the most disgustingly graceful person I've ever met."
He opened his eyes to find himself staring into Joss's serious gaze. "Is that a compliment? By the Goddesses!"
She chuckled, rolling over and facing away from him. "Brat," she said, glancing over her shoulder. "I don't know why I put up with you. You're a conceited brat at that. Hmmm, what's not to love about that?"
"Wait…wait…did you just admit that you love me?"
"What? No! I – I did no such thing."
His fingers found the ticklish place below her ribs and she let out a howl of laughter. "Stop, you wretched barbarian!"
"She loves me! Hey, Niall, tell me you heard her confess her love."
"If it means you two will shut up, I'll say anything you want," Niall replied morosely.
"Right. Sorry about that, Melon."
"I heard it!" Kinnon called cheerfully from the other room.
"Ah ha! Josslyn Amell, what do you say to that?"
"You bribed him, no doubt. Offered to give him your dessert for a week since you're getting mine. Am I right?"
Goddesses above, he loved her. Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her close. "I see you are much too clever for me."
Later, as she watched him grabbing up his robes, she said, "If I was truly too clever for you, I'd have made you tell me the truth about how you were captured." There was a wry, wistful note in her voice that made him want to confess the truth, but no good would come of that.
"Mystery men are all the fashion this year, hadn't you heard? You're the only one in the Tower with one, how come you aren't crowing from the rafters about it?"
She laughed, leaning in to kiss him and he pulled her closer. "Tell you what, you confess your love for me and then I'll confess my stupidity in being caught by a pair of bumbling templars."
"Liar," she whispered against his lips.
~~~oOo~~~
The next morning Greagoir announced he was leaving the Tower for several weeks. He was wanted in Denerim for a conclave of some kind. A grim-faced knight-captain from Redcliffe would be in charge until his return. Ser Brumbley scanned the gathering, and his dark eyes narrowed as they paused on Joss and Joseph.
"I expect the rules to be obeyed without question. Infractions will be dealt with quickly and harshly."
There was a rumbling of discontent and unease at the news. Disquiet seemed the mood of the day after that. Mages and templars alike talked in hushed voices. Joss was nervous and when the time came for their transmogrification lesson, she shook her head, refusing.
"I don't trust that knight-captain."
"Never thought I'd see the day when you'd fear a templar," Joseph said, joining them in the common room.
"Never thought I'd be afraid of one," Joss replied seriously.
Only then did Brin wonder if she'd had a premonition of some kind. For a wild moment he wondered if he could escape, just grab her and keep running. Of course he couldn't. That was exactly what Flemeth had wanted him to do: teach Joss shape-shifting and use the ability to escape the Tower. Flemeth wanted Josslyn's talents, wanted to control her. Or worse. And for all that Joss was smart and strong and sassy, she was also naïve about life outside the Tower's curved walls and entirely too trusting. And she would never go without Joseph.
"But leave the brother. He is weak and his own future has already been set in motion by that weakness."
For the first time since they'd become lovers, he didn't sneak into her room that night. Nor the next. She finally slipped into his room on the third night. Her feet were cold and she was shivering as she rested in his arms.
"You all right?" he asked, concerned. He formed a small wisp of pale golden light that hovered above them.
"Just hungry, I think. I was starving all day but the minute I saw the lamb stew my appetite ran for the hills."
"You sure that's all?"
She rolled her eyes. "Now you sound like Senior Enchanter Hobbes fussing over his mouser, Calvin. Really, there's heaps better things you can do with that mouth of yours, Barbarian," she added, wriggling against him.
"I'll show you a barbarian, Bright Eyes," he growled. Her laughter tickled his skin and he found himself laughing with her.
~~~oOo~~~
Joss glanced up from her book and then tossed it aside, dread coiling in her stomach. "What's wrong, Joey?"
Panting,and as pale as bleached muslin, he gasped, "Practice room…Wynne…Brin…"
She was up and running before he finished, her stocking-clad feet slipping on the slick stone floor, hair tumbling down from its knot. She could hear Joey's labored breathing as he caught up to her.
"You were warned about practicing any forbidden magic when you first arrived, young man!"
Joss felt her heart slam into her ribs and for a moment she thought she might faint. The hall dipped and then seemed to dim, the hum of voices falling into silence. She blinked and looked around. Templars and mages were gathering in a semi-circle and that meant Ser Brumbley would arrive to see what the commotion was about.
"I'm sure you don't mean for everyone to hear your discussion," Ser Bran said quietly, stepping into the fray.
Joss pushed her way through the small knot of people and stood beside Brin, her magic stirring. "What's up, Brin? You were supposed to meet me in the library," she lied, trying not to look as nervous as she felt. Butterflies the size of mabaris were dancing in her stomach.
"Sorry, I just wanted to practice that fire spell I've been having trouble with and -"
"Do not lie to me, Brinmar! I know what I saw and heard," Wynne admonished, her indignant tone setting Joss's teeth on edge.
Bran and Stoker began to disperse the crowd. Joss spoke, hating the fear that shook her voice. "Please, Senior Enchanter Wynne, if you think Brin did something wrong, I ask you to wait until Knight-Commander Greagoir is back so you can discuss it with him."
"His magic poses a threat to every mage in here, Josslyn Amell, and my duty in this matter is clear."
"Please, please wait. Ser Brumbley doesn't –"
"Doesn't what, Mage Josslyn?" the knight-captain asked.
Her mouth and brain froze, unable to think of anything even remotely funny or intelligent. Panic woke up and started running around in her blood like ants to honey. She gulped, glancing at Brin, who was staring straight ahead, his face locked in a grim expression.
And then, the world tilted and dipped again because Ser Brumbley was ordering Brin to accompany him. "Ser Bran, Ser Stoker, ensure the mages return to their rooms. Immediately."
Joss felt her magic leaping along her nerves as she watched Brin walking away. "Do something, Ser Bran, please," she begged, her voice barely a whisper.
"I'll see what I can do for him, but I suspect they'll put him in isolation until the knight-commander returns. Don't worry, Joss," he said, patting her shoulder awkwardly. Don't worry? Sure, might as well stop breathing while I'm at it.
She felt Joey's arm around her shoulder as he led her back to her room. "He'll be fine…too smart not to be," he reassured.
"Well, sure, because Ser Brumbley is such a nice, jovial old coot," she snapped, unreasonably angry at all the meaningless platitudes people seemed intent on spewing.
The punishment for using forbidden magic could be severe, and every mage was instructed in what those punishments were...solitary confinement, tranquillity or death. There had been only one case of a mage caught using forbidden magic in all her years in the Tower, and Greagoir had isolated the mage until he was confident that he posed no threat to the other mages, sending him to work with the Tranquils but stopping short of subjecting the mage to the Rite of Tranquility.
Pacing back and forth in the confines of her small room she tried to stay calm. "What happened?" she asked Joey finally, refusing to believe the worst. She had to think. She had to stay focused. She had to do something, anything, to save Brin.
"He was showing me his eagle form in the practice room and Wynne barged in to see what was going on. It's – it's my fault. I asked him to show me! I'm such an...please, Joss, I'm so sorry," Joey choked, head bowed.
"It's not your fault, Joey. It's all right," she consoled, but it wasn't and they both knew it. There was nothing either of them could do, so she did the only sensible thing she could think of. She curled up on her bed and cried herself right into a restless sleep.
When she woke, Lucian Caravel and Joseph were seated in chairs that had been pulled up beside her bed. Joey refused to meet her eyes when she looked at him.
"Josslyn, I want you to drink this potion," Lucian said firmly, handing her a small glass vial containing a foul-smelling liquid.
She sniffed it suspiciously. "Why would I drink this? It's purple and it stinks."
"Don't be stubborn, Amell. Drink it. Now," Lucian ordered, voice cold and uncompromising.
"Go on, Jo, it's okay," Joey urged. Maker, had he been crying? His eyes were puffy and red and his voice was wobbly.
Grimacing at the horrid taste, she handed the empty vial to her potions master and shuddered. She shook her head, sitting up and folding her arms across her chest.
"He ordered Brin to be made tranquil, didn't he?" she asked, the thought causing her chest to tighten and her breath to catch. The room shimmered and wavered oddly and she felt woozy.
"No, Josslyn, he did not. Ser Brumbley felt he posed too great a threat and he struck him down with his sword of mercy. I'm sorry, child."
At first she didn't believe him, but his voice was too warm and too kind for it to be anything but the truth, because Lucian Caravel was neither warm nor kind. Something inside her seemed to shatter, to break into shards that stung as they pierced her. Before they could stop her, she jumped off her bed and swept out of her room in search of Wynne, her magic gathering around her like a suit of armor.
"You murderous old crone! I'll kill you for this!" she screamed at the woman.
"Josslyn, I had no idea that Ser Brumbley would –"
"Don't! Don't you dare!" Joss howled, her magic now flowing from her in shimmering waves of energy.
The smite sent her flying across the room and when she landed, she felt a sharp pain in her lower abdomen, followed by cramping so intense it doubled her over. She cried out, clutching her stomach and sobbing, wanting the terrible pain to stop and wanting to hurt everyone around her, to make them feel her pain.
"Maker's breath, she's mis…"
The world stopped and she slumped to the floor, thankful for the darkness.
~~~oOo~~~
The world slowly intruded on her dreamless sleep. A stir of the air when someone moved near her, a gentle hand on her forehead, a whisper of love in her ear, a hand holding hers, all told her that she was still alive. The trouble was, she didn't want to be, and it bloody well figured that the bogus bastard of a god only morons would pray to wouldn't grant her even that much.
"Try to eat, dear, that's a good girl."
"Mama?"
Of course it's not mama, you idiot. She struggled to open her eyes and then when she finally managed, it was so dark she couldn't see anything anyway so she shrugged and closed them again.
Pain receded, days passed and still she slept; and when she wasn't sleeping, she was crying, and since she hated to cry, she slept more often than not. More days passed and then one day she overheard Lucian Caravel and Florabunda, the Tower's senior healer, talking in hushed tones.
"She wasn't that far along. I'd be surprised if she was even aware of it."
"She should have been using a potion. She certainly knows enough of them."
Yes, thanks much, Lucian. You can go now. And what potion? What wasn't she aware of? It sounded important. She struggled to wake up.
"Someone needs to stay with her at all times, at least until we're sure she won't try to hurt herself again."
"I'll arrange shifts, don't worry, Flora."
Joss drifted off because the tears were threatening once again. Maker's knobby knees! How many tears could one person possess? More days passed and then one morning she woke up to find her hand being held. She blinked and the hand holding hers squeezed gently.
"Good morning, Josslyn Winifred Amell. You are looking well this morning."
The tears came and this time she didn't go back to sleep. This time she let them come as they willed. Owain held her hand and watched without emotion, but with a calmness that crept into her and calmed her as well.
"Thank you for being here, Owain," she whispered through her tears.
"I am here because Lucian Caravel said you needed me. I promised I would stay."
Brin had made promises to her as well, but promises were just lies wrapped in hope.
"Are you feeling better, Josslyn?" Owain asked a few minutes later.
"Yes, thanks," she replied.
Maybe one day it wouldn't be a lie.
