Jonmarc stopped in his tracks. High winds whipped the gray flag. His throat tightened. I can't do this. I can't bury her. He would find where they had laid Carina's body to say goodbye, and then find oblivion in a bottle of brandy.
A new sound carried on the winter wind. In the distance, he heard the clash of steel. Dark Haven was under attack.
Grief became rage as Jonmarc urged his horse for as much speed as he could muster in the rutted snow. As he neared the gates, he saw his guards engaged against a mob armed with sickles, scythes and axes. With a roar, Jonmarc stood in his stirrups, brandishing swords in both hands. The mob heard him and turned as the beleaguered guards raised a cry in greeting.
"Drop your weapons and go home," Jonmarc shouted to the mob. "The war is over." Three men charged at him. One swung a sickle, while the others were armed with farm axes. Jonmarc's swords glinted in the sun. The sickle man fell back with a scream as the sickle and the hand holding it fell into the snow. The two axemen closed, but Jonmarc's horse reared, kicking its huge front hooves to fell one of the men as Jonmarc's sword finished the other. He stared down the remaining mob.
"Go home. The war is over. The Truce will stand. Leave now, or by the Crone, they'll carry you home in pieces."
Caught between the emboldened guards and Jonmarc's swords, the mob grumbled, and then man by man, began to disperse, straggling off in all directions.
Jonmarc rode through the cheering guards as the manor's gates opened for him. He slid from his saddle and absently handed his reins to the groomsman who ran to assist him.
Neirin was striding toward him.
"Where is she?"
Neirin pointed, and Jonmarc turned, frowning against the glare of the sun on the snow. A
cloaked figure was running down Dark Haven's broad steps. The hood fell back as the figure reached him, and Carina threw her arms around him.
Jonmarc gritted his teeth against the pain of his broken ribs as he caught her, stunned. It took a few seconds for it to register that she stood in full daylight and that her lips were warm. He could feel the warmth of her breath and the beating of her heart as she kissed him.
"How?" he whispered in a strangled voice as the crowd in the bailey began to cheer. Carina stepped back far enough to meet his eyes. "It's a long story. I didn't think you'd make it back." She seemed to take in his grimy cloak and the bloody tunic, as well as the newly healed punctures on the side of his neck. Her expression changed, and Jonmarc knew she had extended her healer's magic. "You're hurt."
"Nothing that won't heal. Now." He took her hand, amazed at its warmth, too overcome by this sudden reversal to think straight.
It suddenly registered with him that the courtyard was full of strangers. "Who are all these people and how did they get here?"
"They're refugees. Every spare room is full of them. They got caught in the crossfire of Malesh's war, or they came here because their neighbors were trying to kill them. Humans, vayash moru, vyrkin."
"And the flag?" He could see sorrow in Carina's eyes as she turned away.
"We thought we'd lost you. So many are dead. Not just the guards who went to fight for you, but the vyrkin and the villagers. And the families of the refugees." She shook her head. "I don't know how we'll know when it's safe to send the refugees home."
Jonmarc took her hand. "We'll figure that out tomorrow. I want to know everything that happened," he said as she walked with him into the manor house. "But first, I had better clean up or you'll put me out with the pigs." He gave her a wicked look. "And I have no intention of missing another night with you. Ever."
Carina called a servant to draw a hot bath for Jonmarc. She saw him wince as he shouldered out of his great cloak and she put a hand against his arm to gently press him into a chair.
"What are you doing? I've been in battle for a week. I smell."
Carina wrinkled her nose. "No worse than all those times we hid in barns and cellars for weeks at a time last year. Or did you forget?"
"At the time, we all smelled equally bad. Now, I suspect you'd notice."
"I do. But it bothers me more that you're in pain."
"It's not so bad."
Carina gave Jonmarc a look that let him know she knew he was lying. She swallowed hard when she looked at his blood-soaked tunic, remembering her vision of Malesh's attack. She touched him with her magic, moving her palm to the gashes and deep bruises of the battle, making them whole. The ribs would take longer, but she sped their healing, easing his pain. She lifted away his tunic, and caught her breath at the sight of the branded mark over his heart. Carina could feel a shadow of the Lady's touch. She had healed enough times with Tris to recognize it.
"How did you make the Bargain and live?"
Jonmarc met her eyes. "The Lady owns my soul. Maybe She always did. It seems I'm the Winter Kingdoms' best bet against some big, nasty badass we don't even know is out there.
Poor Winter Kingdoms. I guess even the Lady has to make do."
Carina let her magic fill her, healing the torn ligaments and pulled muscles that were evidence of a vicious battle. Enhanced by her encounter with the Flow, her magic went deeper than before, and Carina felt a raw wound that had nothing to do with blood or sinew.
She gasped as she touched the pain and realized it was mind and not body. Jonmarc reached out to steady her, a confused look on his face. His emotions overwhelmed her: grief, rage, vengeance and finally, in the Lady's temple, resignation. Carina felt the horror of the last days wash over her and she marshaled her nascent mind healing gift to blunt that pain, not erasing it but making it recede to a manageable memory.
"How did you do that?" Jonmarc asked raggedly as she bowed her head.
Carina looked up to meet his eyes. "Thank the Flow. I was in the middle of healing it when you and Malesh fought. Without the Flow and without Tris anchoring me, I probably wouldn't have survived. I healed the Flow. And since then, my magic is. different. Stronger. I can mind heal. Taru doesn't have an explanation, but she has a theory. She thinks the Flow gave me the power to mind heal out of gratitude."
"Gratitude? It thinks?"
"Something like that." She reached out to touch his cheek. "There's so much to tell you. But there's time."
Just then, a servant opened the door from the sitting room. "M'lord, your bath is drawn." Jonmarc grinned. "There are only two things I want right now: you, and a bath. But I'd better take the bath first."
Carina was waiting for him when he toweled off from his bath, and from the way she drew him to her, Jonmarc knew Carina had missed him as intensely as he had longed for her. They made love with a ferocity that rocked him to the core of his being, and Carina let her magic slip against his mind, twining their thoughts. Afterward, they lay tangled together, and he ran his fingers through her short, dark hair, breathing in her scent. "I didn't think I'd see you again," he confessed. "Not this side of the Gray Sea."
She gently touched the newly healed puncture wounds on his throat. "I saw this," she said in a voice barely above a whisper. "I saw you fall. I felt him burn."
"It's not fair," Jonmarc said, kissing her forehead. "You can heal my memories, but I can't do the same for you."
Carina snuggled into his shoulder. "Taru can. Maybe I'll ask. But not today." She drew his arm around her. "You're here. That's enough to keep the bad dreams away." A knock at the door startled them. "M'lord?" It was Neirin's voice. "I'm sorry for the interruption, but it's not something that can wait."
Jonmarc frowned and disentangled himself from Carina with a quick kiss. He sat up, pulled on his clothes and belted on his sword as Carina reluctantly dressed in a shift and her healer's robes. Jonmarc was quite sure Neirin could guess what he'd interrupted, although his grounds manager was discreet enough to pretend otherwise.