Disclaimer: Everything that's recognisable from the Tamora Pierce books belongs to her.
A/N: Wow, so many reviews and I appreciate them all! Ok, I seem to have accidentally caused a bit of confusion in the last chapter. Although it may sound like Daine's pregnant, I actually meant that Sir Tremain's wife is. One reviewer mentioned it (thank you, your reviews have been really encouraging!), and then two more people messaged me about it, so I re-read the end of Chapter 10, and I can see how it could be taken like that. So, sorry about that! I know a lot of people like fics about a DN baby! Numair would probably be having heart failure if pregnant Daine started throwing arrows around. Aindel S. Druida, I know, the last chapter was a bit confusing (in more ways than one apparently :)) but I've never really written battle scenes before, and everything came out kind of...frenzied! I hope it wasn't too hard to read. Mel, thank you for one of my nicest reviews. Nope, never studied writing, I'm actually an art history major. But I love reading other people's work, and I'd love to maybe be a writer some day, but in the meantime, I'm completely addicted to fanfiction! Thank you to everyone else who reviewed too!
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Daine wrenched free of a particularly gripping nightmare, moaning slightly as instant pain seized her. She cracked open one eye – only to discover that Lucia Marksham's hands were wrapped around her throat. Jerking back, she tried to escape the older woman's hold, but her admittedly feeble attempts were ignored.
"Shhh," Lucia murmured, almost soothingly. "You've got a nasty head injury. Try to keep still."
As gentle fingers moved around to the back of her head, Daine winced sharply, fighting the instinct to push them away. Memory flooded back in a rush – along with screams and the smell of blood, and other things that she wanted nothing more than to forget, she recalled that the blonde vamp was also an extremely gifted Healer. A comforting purple glow lit the corner of her vision and her discomfort eased. Briefly registering the fierce grip that someone had on her hand, she sunk back into the oblivious folds of sleep.
The next time Daine woke, her lashes parted tentatively. Breathing slowly in and out, she first appreciated that there was very little pain, and second, that no light assaulted her tired eyes. Her room was quiet and dusky, and she guessed it must be at least early evening. Swallowing hard, she reluctantly let reality take hold, remembering the battle, the Blazewings...Sir Tremain. The thought of that violent death – the butchering of a man she had come to consider a friend – caused fresh waves of misery to swamp her body. Trying to ignore the lump in her throat, she turned her head slightly on the pillow. Numair's face was close to hers, his eyes shut and breathing uneven. He was pressed as close to her as possible, one large hand curved possessively over her hip. The other firmly gripped the arm she had flung over her head.
Not trusting her voice to speak, she leaned forward and touched her face to his. His dark eyes opened at once, confirming what she had suspected, that he wasn't sleeping. She managed a faint smile. Once the mage fell asleep, a bugle-player could practise at his ear without fear of waking him. Numair rose up a little, serious gaze locked with hers. Lines of lingering worry were etched around his mouth, and he looked exhausted.
"Have you slept at all?" Daine asked hoarsely, finding words in her concern.
He smiled briefly, grimly. "No. Sleep hasn't been a high priority the past few hours." The hand at her waist moved to carefully capture her chin, turning her face for his anxious perusal. "How are you feeling?"
"Much better," she assured him. Her expression sobered. "Physically, anyway."
He nodded, rather heavily. "You...remember everything that happened, then?" he asked hesitantly.
Biting her lip to stop a sudden rush of tears, Daine looked down. Gods, she was sick of it. Sick of losing people, tired of grieving, of sorrow.
"How's Lady Madelyn doing?" she asked, avoiding the question directly, her voice thick with undisguised sadness.
Numair shook his head regretfully. "I don't know, sweet. I haven't heard. I...I didn't want to leave. I was worried that..." His voice cracked slightly.
Daine slipped her arm around his neck, pulling him down to her and hugging him tightly.
"I'm fine," she said firmly, ignoring the tiny twinge of protesting muscles. "Honest."
Leaning back, he opened his mouth to say something, before hesitating. There was a brief silence and Daine waited, looking up at him. The suddenness with which he covered her lips in a hard kiss took her by surprise, her startled murmur captured in his mouth. Enthusiastically returning the gesture and sliding her arms about his waist, she gently rubbed Numair's back, worried by the perceptible shudders that wracked his long frame.
"Goddess," he gasped out, when they finally parted from a mutual need for breath. "I was out of my mind." He frowned fiercely down at her. "You, magelet, are going to have me old and grey long before my time. You're sure you're alright?"
"Well," she admitted ruefully, "My brain feels a little addled, but I don't think I can blame the Blazewings for that."
He smiled reluctantly.
"I should get Lucia back to check on you."
Daine's teasing expression swiftly disappeared. "Oh yes," she said, rather archly. "I suppose I should thank Lady Marksham. Where's Alanna anyhow? She's not hurt, is she?" she asked hurriedly, suddenly anxious.
Numair smoothed a calming hand over her hair, tucking back a loose curl. "She's perfectly well. Upset about Sir Tremain, of course, and raising a few blushes with some very inventive language, but not hurt. A young squire received a serious chest wound, and Alanna's been doing her best to help him. I imagine she'll be along here shortly. She was fretting about you like a mother hen."
Daine couldn't help giggling at that, unable to imagine the fearless Lioness fretting.
"I most certainly was not."
The indignant voice came from Daine's doorway.
Struggling to a sitting position, she focused on an incensed Alanna. The redhead planted a fist on each hip and glared at an unrepentant Numair.
"I'll have you know, Salmalin," she said pointedly, "That I am the epitome of self-control, and I have never fretted in my life." Then her gaze shifted to Daine, and softened. "Except maybe today," she conceded. "How are you feeling?"
"Good as new," Daine assured. "You weren't hurt then?"
The Lioness shrugged. "A few bruises, nothing spectacular. We were lucky. Most of us were lucky," she amended quietly.
"Have you seen his wife?" Numair questioned somberly, lacing his fingers through Daine's.
"Yes. Briefly." Alanna sighed deeply. "Healers are watching over her in her room. She's distraught. There's already been a problem with the baby. Bleeding."
"She hasn't lost it?" Daine asked, horrified that the woman might lose both her husband and their child in one day.
"No, but it was a possibility. She's keeping quiet now, at least. The poor creature can barely move, she's so devastated. Understandably."
Daine nodded, unconsciously clutching at Numair. He glanced down at her, and stroked a gentle hand over her back.
A polite knocking had them all looking at the door again.
Jardan stood there, one hand resting on the handle. He raised questioning eyebrows.
"Sorry to interrupt. Is it alright to come in?"
Daine was pretty sure she felt Numair's chest rise and fall in a sigh, but nodded nonetheless.
The wild mage's face was hard and set, bronzed skin stretched taut over bones. He paused at the end of her bed, studying her for a moment.
"You actually look better than the rest of us," he said finally, quirking a satirical brow. "Impressive, considering the mess you were before."
"Gee," Daine said flatly. "Thanks."
"Lady Marksham did a good job," Alanna approved. "I wanted to be here myself, but duty called downstairs."
Jardan nodded. "How is your patient now?"
"He'll pull through. The recovery will be painful, but he'll make it."
There was a brief, slightly awkward, silence.
"Where is the fair Lucia now?" Jardan asked, after a few minutes had passed.
"Monitoring Lady Madelyn, I think." Alanna folded her arms, head tilted to one side. "Her Gift is impressive. I've never come across a more able Healer. You're in very good hands here."
"Quite," said Jardan, an odd inflection in his tone. "She's something, that's for certain."
Daine's eyes narrowed as she watched him. There was something in his face. As if he knew, or suspected something, that other people did not...
He caught her gaze and held it squarely, that strange gleam vanishing.
Numair spoke up slowly. "I'm sorry," he said to Jardan, "About your friend."
Pain fleeted across the other man's expression. He nodded shortly. "Thank you."
"Are there any ideas about who might be responsible?" Alanna asked, instinctively touching her sheathed sword, face intense.
Jardan hesitated. "No," he said, eventually. "No. But they won't remain invisible forever. And they will pay."
There was a flatness, a promise, about the words that sent a small shiver snaking around Daine's spine. She didn't doubt his drive for vengeance, nor his ability to carry it out. Mithros help those who stood in his way.
"That reminds me." Alanna's sudden words broke the tension so sharply that everyone jumped. "King Benjamin asked me to inform you both that he's calling a meeting at dawn tomorrow, in his quarters. After everyone's rested."
"When he says dawn," Jardan added, "He really means a good hour before. His Highness prefers to meet while it's still dark. And if you can walk, you're expected to be there. In fact, as long as you're conscious, you're expected to be there, guest or no."
"We'll be there," Numair asserted calmly.
Daine hesitated; having only half-heard the others' discussion. "I'm sorry," she said unexpectedly, forcing her eyes to Jardan.
He frowned, arrested by her obvious guilt. "For what?" His voice was, for once, completely without sarcasm.
"It was my fault," she muttered. "I was useless in the battle again, and I...distracted everyone when that Blazewing, or whatever it was, hit me. If I hadn't been so careless, Sir Tremain would have been more focused, and he wouldn't have..."
Jardan was shaking his head. "No. It wasn't your fault." He looked at her soberly. "That piece of scum moved like lightning. No one was expecting it. Tremain is...was a trained warrior. He had the instincts of a hawk, and if it had been possible – with or without your...distraction – to avoid that attack, he would have. It wasn't your fault," he repeated.
Daine looked down at her blanket, unconvinced. Numair pulled her closer.
"He's right," he said firmly, in her ear.
She shook her head slightly, remembering the moment she'd been struck. The whole horrible scene played out in her mind; the sight of Tremain's shocked eyes and jerking limbs permanently lodged in her memory.
"Besides, it wasn't a Blazewing that hit you," said Jardan, his face and voice grim. "It was the village idiot."
Daine frowned. "What?"
"Nice way to talk about your future king," Numair commented wryly, but he looked equally irritated.
Jardan snorted. "Don't remind me. This kingdom's going to the midden as it is."
"Prince Braydon?" Daine clarified. "Why, in the name of the Goddess, would Braydon hit me on the head in the middle of a battle?"
"Why Braydon does anything is a mystery to me," replied the other wild mage, "But in this case, he claims to have been aiming at the last Blazewing."
"It was nowhere near Daine," Alanna pointed out, brows arched.
"I know. But Braydon is a complete sot, so who knows? Maybe he really was trying to protect king and country...and visiting wild mages."
His tone suggested that it wasn't likely.
Daine shrugged it off. She had more to think about than petulant princes.
"I'll leave you all to your rest," Jardan said, standing up straighter and starting to walk toward the door.
"Wait," she called out.
He paused, sending her a questioning glance.
"Thank you. For pulling me out of the way. Saving me yet again."
Jardan stood impassively for a moment. Then he smiled. "You can owe it to me," he told her vaguely.
He turned once more at the door. "I am glad you're alright," he said, and disappeared.
Daine let out a deep breath, and looked up at Numair. He was gazing at the empty doorway and frowning.
She rubbed his arm, and he started, meeting her gaze.
Alanna coughed.
"Right," she said. "I'm going to get some sleep, and leave you two to yours. If you need me, holler. Otherwise, I'll see you in the king's quarters tomorrow morning. While it's still dark," she added, grimacing.
They nodded, and she left, closing the door quietly behind her.
Daine, suddenly feeling completely drained, scooted down in Numair's embrace and pressed her face against the pillow. After a moment, he shifted to join her, body folding naturally behind hers.
They lay for a few minutes in silence, listening to each other breathing and drawing comfort from the sound.
Then Numair spoke quietly. "You're still blaming yourself, aren't you."
It wasn't a question, and Daine didn't bother to answer. His arms tightened around her.
Eventually, they both fell into a troubled sleep.
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Daine shivered slightly against the early morning chill, and looked around. A select group was gathered in King Benjamin and Queen Lijana's rooms, their faces collectively bleak and rather bleary-eyed.
A knock sounded on the door, breaking the king from his pensive silence.
"Come in!" he called sharply.
Gone was the carefree, easy-going man of their arrival. In his place was a fierce warrior, haggard face lined with tension.
A knight of diminutive stature entered, and bowed tensely.
"Sir William," the ruler acknowledged, inclining his head in response. His question was succinct and abrupt. "How many losses?"
"Fifteen squires, sire, and two knights," the other man said heavily. "Including Sir Tremain."
King Benjamin closed his eyes briefly. Sir Tremain had been his boyhood friend and confidante, his most trusted ally. He nodded shortly.
"Thank you."
The thick silence fell again, and Daine shifted nervously.
Fists clenching and unclenching, the king was clearly on edge, yet his sudden explosion of temper shocked everyone in the room.
One hand hit a wooden desk with a resounding thud.
"Enough is enough!" he bit out. "Good people are dying and the kingdom is terrified. May the gods have mercy on the soulless bastards responsible for this, because I sure as Mithros won't."
Queen Lijana caught his arm, and clenched it. "We'll find them, love," she murmured, her face somber. "We will find them."
The Elder Lemerus spoke up, her lilting voice serious. "We need to be prepared for further attacks, Your Majesties. Unknown source aside, the power driving these creatures is...daunting. Four years ago, we were caught off-guard by only five Blazewings. Yesterday morning, we were attacked by at least thirty. The enemy's strength grows."
King Benjamin turned to a trio of powerfully-built warriors. "I want troops pulled out of Aronyll and brought here at once," he ordered. "And I'll expect the Riders back here within the week."
"Yes, milord."
"At once, sire."
The king turned to Thayet, and shook his head.
"I can only offer my apologies, your Highness," he said quietly. "Had I any idea that there was such a risk, I should never have invited you. We can have your ships ready for departure by luncheon. There is no need for you to be caught up in this."
Thayet met his eyes unflinchingly. "Never let it be said that Tortallians fled friends in need," she uttered. "We stay."
Daine nodded in agreement, noting that her friends did the same.
"This fight is no longer yours alone," Thayet spoke firmly. "And we will do whatever we can to assist you."
King Benjamin inhaled deeply, then nodded. "Thank you."
The door opened suddenly, and a tall figure entered, robes gently swishing the floor.
"Isorus," said the king, "You're late."
The Elder nodded. "My apologies, Majesty."
Daine looked at him curiously. His voice sounded...strange.
It was a fact that didn't escape King Benjamin either. He looked at the older man penetratingly.
"What is it?"
Isorus hesitated, apparently searching for the right words – or reluctant to speak them.
"Isorus?" Queen Lijana asked, her face concerned, "What's the matter?"
"There's been a development?" Daionarus questioned harshly, pushing forward.
"Of sorts," the Elder admitted finally. "Last night," he continued slowly, "About an hour past midnight, I had a...sense that something was amiss, and was unable to sleep. So I walked the grounds, looking for any potential danger."
"And?" The king's voice was intense.
"There was no sign of a disturbance, sire, but I was drawn to yesterday morn's battlefield. It was there that I felt a presence."
"A presence?"
"Yes...I discovered a figure there, kneeling by the corpse of a Blazewing. I watched, unobserved, as this person cut a sliver of the creature's flesh, and then proceeded to drain its blood."
Queen Lijana started. "Drain its blood...and then...?"
"My vision was obscured by his cloak, milady, but he appeared to...drink it."
"He?" the king asked quickly.
"Yes. It was a man. When he stood up, I was able to see his face. Your Majesties, I felt I must mention this, but I also must point out that it does not have certain connection to the Blazewings."
"Who was it, Isorus?" King Benjamin would not be swayed.
Isorus paused again, before speaking.
"Jardan. It was Jardan."