Chapter Fifty-Two

Aravis came back to consciousness with a rush of terror. As disoriented as she was, it took her a long moment to realize she was sitting straight up in her tent, holding on to the bearskin beneath her with white knuckles. It was dark and quiet, the only sign of life being the flickering orange light of a campfire outside.

As her heart rate slowed, she slumped forward with her head in her hands, trying to stop the dizziness and remember what had happened and what hadn't. Her memories were clouded with things that seemed only half-real. What had Rhys given her? She breathed deeply a few times, clutching her blankets and pushing against the hard ground to remind herself that the world was steady. After a few minutes, she wrapped a woolen blanket around her shoulders and exited the tent, staggering through the shin-deep snow.

Suddenly, her vision warped and she lost her balance, but a pair of sturdy, hairy arms caught her before she fell and guided her to a solid seat by the fire. "Ram?" she breathed. "By the lion, it's really you—what's going on, Ram? Please, tell me—"

"Drink this," he hissed, pushing a tin cup containing a small amount of amber liquid into her hands. "Drink it quickly."

She obeyed unquestioningly and swallowed the whiskey, the strength of the liquor making her nose and throat burn. "Ugh."

"How do you feel?"

She cleared her throat a few times, blinked, and shook her head as the world came back into focus and heat rushed through her veins. "Oh. A little better, I think," she said, looking into his ruddy face.

"Do you think you can stomach some food?"

"A thousand times, yes."

He got up and bustled about for a few moments, then returned with a thick slice of bread and a hunk of cheese and some dried beef. Aravis could barely contain herself as she watched him sprinkle salt onto the cheese before handing it to her; the moment the food was in her hands, she was eating it, the sweet bread and thick cheese a marvelous improvement over gamey elk stew.

When she'd finished, Ram handed her a mug of tea that he added a small splash of whiskey to. "Why the whiskey?" she asked, sipping gingerly at the hot drink.

"It'll flush the hallucinogen out of your system faster," Ram replied, pouring himself one. "Rhys gave you a sedative this morning, a potent one."

She took another drink of the tea, letting it coat her throat as she swallowed. "Why?"

"He said you were a danger to us."

"I'll admit, I lost my temper."

"Enough to require a forced sedative?"

Ram looked furious, and she put her tea down for a moment. "Why did he give it to me, then? Ram? What is it you're not telling me?"

He looked at her, the orange light of the fire blending in with his red beard. "Plenty, milady."

She sighed. "Then tell me what happened. The last I remember, someone grabbed me from behind."

"That was Darrin," Ram answered. "He was afraid you would continue to beat Prince Corin."

"Oh, dear," she hissed, cringing with guilt. "I'd forgotten about that. Is he all right?"

"You gave him a spectacularly purple nose, but he's none the worse for wear."

"Good. What next? Was Hana sedated, too?"

"No. When you were quiet, Hana said she felt faint, so we helped her down from Inga. And in fact, we had more trouble from her than from you."

"Hana gave you trouble?"

"No—Inga did. She took a chunk out of Rhys's arm when he reached up to take her bridle, and she refused to let him get anywhere near you. Dor had to hobble her before we could get camp set up properly."

Aravis turned and looked where he was pointing; sure enough, there was Inga with the rest of her horses, her front legs tied close together with a length of leather. She looked as happy as Aravis felt, her ears so flat against her head they seemed nonexistent.

"To be safe, though," Ram continued, "I saw to your hand, not Rhys."

She looked down at her hand for the first time—it was clean, and the bandage around it was white as snow and pinned carefully. "Oh, Ram, thank you. Did you also help Hana? She had such a terrible bite—"

"Of course I did. Rhys said he was too busy with Prince Cor to worry about the two of you, so Prince Corin and I patched you up."

"Is she all right?"

"Just fine. Most of the damage was superficial—it looked much worse than it was."

Aravis fiddled with the bandage on her hand. "And Cor?" she said, trying to sound casual. "How is he?"

"Rhys said his shoulders are deeply infected. He isn't sure if…"

"If what?"

"If he can get them to heal. His words, not mine."

"That's pure stupidity," Aravis spat. Ram shushed her. "They're not that infected—they can't be. I kept them clean myself."

"I could tell."

She sighed and rubbed the space between her brows. "So what else happened after Rhys drugged me? Did Hana tell you everything that happened?"

Ram nodded slowly. "I think so. She described your tarkheena charade—"

"That technically wasn't a charade," Aravis interrupted quickly, "as I am a tarkheena."

"—And how you found Prince Cor in the cell—that he was shouting for you, milady—how you bought him and then got him out of Shadesport."

"I have a few of your coins left over, Ram. I'll give them back tomorrow."

He waved a massive hand. "She told us of your hunting, and the wolves, too—how you got the bite on your hand. Did she leave anything out?"

Aravis rubbed her temples. "No, I don't think so. She mentioned how Cor was delirious most of the time?"

"Yes."

"Then that's all that matters, really."

"She also mentioned that throughout the ordeal, you had the bearing of a queen."

Aravis felt her face grow hot. "A strange way of putting it, don't you think?"

"No, I don't, really. Aside from your unfortunate slip this morning—and I think we can safely attribute that oversight to fatigue and the effects of snow on the mind—you have been calm and collected about the whole thing. I doubt Hana's estimation of your comportment is very far off."

"It is," Aravis replied grimly. "I was on the verge of panicking the whole bloody time—and I made some blindingly stupid decisions along the way. Dressing game mere feet from my campsite? What did I expect?"

"Royal comportment has nothing to do with being perfect, milady, as you well know. You made quick decisions as best as you could and then saw them through. That is noble bearing."

Aravis smiled blandly, humoring him.

He stretched. "You might want to look in on His Highness before you go back to bed. He was asking for you earlier."

"Yes, he was telling me all about his romps with Aravis the dragon slayer of Tashbaan." She laughed humorlessly.

Ram smiled. "That must have been when he was delirious. He told Rhys he remembers nothing about the experience."

Aravis's blood ran cold, then hot. "He—he told Rhys?" she stammered, almost dropping her tea. "He was lucid?"

"After a while, yes. His fever came down."

"And he was still…"

"Lucid? Yes, last I saw him. Only, Rhys doesn't want him to see any visitors. Cor was quite angry with him and spent the better part of an hour shouting for you, but you were still under the effects of the—oh, dear, you've tipped over your tea."

Aravis, who had sprung to her feet and seized a stubby candle in the middle of Ram's sentence, was already to Cor's tent. For a moment, she crouched outside with her hand on the flap, hesitating, but then she pulled it aside and poked her head in. Cor was sleeping quietly, stretched out under a few blankets; she didn't bring the candle in for fear of waking him up, but she watched him just long enough to reassure herself that he was doing well. At last, she drew back and was about to stand up when she heard him stir.

"Aravis?" he said groggily.

She didn't have a chance to answer. In a flash, he had thrown aside his blankets, seized her arm, and pulled her so hard against him that she gasped and dropped the candle. "I'm sorry, Aravis, I'm so sorry," he choked out, his arms like iron bands around her.

Aravis could barely breathe, but she didn't care; she clung to him like she was drowning, his skin warm against her cheek. For a long time, she couldn't speak—even if she'd been able to swallow her tears, there was nothing that would have been good enough to say—but it didn't matter to either of them.

"Rhys said—you were angry with me—because of everything I put you through," Cor gritted out, his breath tickling her ear.

She shook her head. "No, no, never, Cor."

"He said you didn't want to see me—"

"I did! I tried—Rhys sedated me, he gave me something and I only just woke up—"

He buried his face in her shoulder, a gentle tremor running through his arms. "I'm so sorry—for walking out on you like that—"

"Ssh," she said against his hair. "Let's not talk about that. We both said things we didn't mean, and that's that."

"But I am sorry."

"Then so am I. We're even now."

He nodded and gave a shuddering sigh that ruffled her hair. "Oh, Aravis. Thank you—thank you for everything you've done for me. I'm sorry I made you worry, made you steal—"

"Steal?" Aravis sat back, looking into his shadowy face. It was dark, but she could see that the bruising on his nose was down and that the cuts on his forehead and lips were puckered and scabbed over. "I didn't steal anything."

"You stole me. From that tarkheena. Wretched woman with her money…"

He spat the word 'tarkheena' out with such venom that it took Aravis aback for a moment before the absurdity of the whole situation made itself clear. She laughed a little and took Cor's face in her hands. "Cor—Cor," she said, stemming his flow of vitriol for a moment. "That was me. I was the tarkheena."

He gaped at her. "But I was—"

"I purchased you, Cor. And I free you now. See?"

"But what about—you are—"

"Well, I guess I am fire and ice and rage."

He was silent for a long moment. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you—why did you do that for me?"

The fact that he needed to ask broke Aravis's heart, and she stalled for a moment by setting the guttering candle up properly. Light flooded the tent. This was a bad idea; now she could see that Cor's brilliant blue eyes, the ones she had been so desperate to catch a glimpse of, were directed at her, full of confusion and pain and fear. "Because," she said lightly, fixing his collar, "I can never bear to let you have the last word."

He laughed, squeezing her arm, and relief flooded her with warmth. "I should have known."

"Besides," she went on, "you know what Corin says. Love is being fond of someone even when they do everything they can to not deserve it."

"Wise bastard," he mumbled, and Aravis had to laugh, smoothing his unshaven cheek with the back of her hand. All the fear, all the pain, all the heartache she had endured to get him out of Shadesport seemed suddenly worth it, now that he was sitting with her, smiling.

"I'm glad you're feeling better," she said softly. "You gave me quite a fright with your fever."

"Rhys said I was incoherent the whole time."

"You were, mostly. Except for the wolves. Do you remember?"

"Vaguely," he said, frowning.

"No matter. You're doing all right now, and that's all that I care about."

"You look a little worse for wear, though," he said, brushing the pad of his thumb across her lip. "What happened there?"

She automatically reached up to touch the spot and found it hot and swollen, a ridge of scab marring the otherwise smooth surface of her lower lip. "Ah. That's from this morning, when Rhys sedated me. I'm afraid I didn't go quietly."

"And this—"

Aravis realized a second too late that she had used her bandaged hand. As Cor reached for it, she instinctively recoiled, folding her arms so her hands would be hidden from his sight. The idea of him seeing them—her cracked fingertips, chapped knuckles, and callused palms—turned her stomach. "It's nothing," she said aloud. "From the wolves, that's all. I got off easy. You should see Hana's arm."

Cor ignored her protests and tried to draw her back against him, but she resisted his efforts. "Cor, please."

"Why can't I see your hands?"

"They're cold."

"Then I'll warm them up."

"I don't want you to."

"Why not?"

"Because."

"That's not an answer."

She shook her head. "They're—nothing."

He peeled her arms away from her body one at a time and held her hands in his. "The bandage looks clean. What are you trying to hide?"

"My hands," she burst out. "They're a—a laborer's hands. I don't look like a tarkheena anymore, Cor—Torial from the auction house nearly found me out because of them. They're—they're ugly and dirty and painful and—"

Gently, Cor turned her unbandaged hand over and carefully but firmly kissed her callused palm. The motion was so unexpectedly intimate that Aravis was stunned into silence. "Don't be ashamed of your hands, Aravis," he told her. "They've accomplished more and done better work than most people ever will."

She melted back into his arms. "Oh, I missed you, Cor."

"You have no idea," he sighed, pressing his forehead against hers. "When I realized I would be sold into slavery, my first thought…I was afraid…I thought I'd never see you again. And Aravis, there's so much we haven't said yet. So much we haven't done."

"Like what?" she asked.

"For instance, I owe you three stories, don't I?"

Guilt and regret settled into Aravis's stomach like a brick, and she pulled away from him a bit. "I suppose."

"Do you not want me to read to you?" he asked, the smile fading from his face. "Aravis, whatever I said, I'm sorry—"

"No, it's not you," she said hastily.

"What happened?"

She brushed a lock of golden hair off of his forehead. "I had to sell the book, Cor."

The sentence clearly did not register with him. "Sell it…?"

"I had to sell…quite a lot in order to scrape up enough gilds to…get you out," Aravis said softly. No tears this time, Aravis. None. "Without the book, I would never have been able to…"

"You sold…"

"Almost everything. I'm wearing the only frock I have left."

Cor sighed, shaking his head slowly. "Aravis, you…I…you are brilliant. Have I ever told you that? You are absolutely magnificent." He reached up and brushed a curl back from her cheek. "Sometimes I wonder what the hell you see in me that you're willing to stay for. You could be the Tisra someday."

"The weather here is nicer," she replied.

Cor's smile, a genuine one that crinkled the corners of his eyes, warmed Aravis's heart, and she took his face in her hands again. "Cor, you can't manage things on your own. No one can. Don't try to take everything on your own shoulders. Please, let me help you—give me some of the burden to carry." She rubbed her thumbs against the rough stubble on his unshaven cheeks. "Nim wouldn't have wanted you to carry guilt like you're doing. It's not healthy. That's why your father wants you to find a bride before you're king—it's hard to rule alone."

He nodded, his gaze abashed but unwavering.

Suddenly, the flap opened with a rush of cold air, and Aravis scuttled back a bit. "The watch is changing soon, milady," Ram said. "So unless you want to be caught in His Highness's tent—"

"Point taken, Ram," she said, blushing. "I'll be out in a moment."

Ram nodded and retreated, dropping the flap down again. Cor looked sheepish. "I wish you'd stay," he said quietly.

"I would, but Rhys is on the warpath. He didn't take kindly to me yesterday, so I doubt he would be too keen to find me in here, especially when he told Ram no visitors."

"What? No visitors?"

"You're lucky I consider myself above the law. Goodnight, Cor."

He dragged her in for one last embrace, and Aravis found it hard to let go of him after the appropriate time had passed. "You need to sleep," she said softly, kissing the scab on his forehead. "Break that fever for good. You're so terribly thin…"

"Christmas is coming," he replied with a grin.

"Go to sleep, Cor."

"Another kiss first."

She swooped down and kissed him soundly first on one cheek and then the other. "Goodnight." And she slipped from the tent before he could convince her to stay.

Ram inclined his head when she passed him. "How is he?"

"Much better," she said with a smile that refused to dissolve. "Much, much better."