"No, Lady," Musa said, hand to her sword. "Do you sense something ahead?"
"No," Fire said miserably. "Only the commander." Come to fetch the wandering monster, who'd proven herself wild and irresponsible. He'd keep her on a chain from now on.
He came into view a few minutes later, climbing with a candle in his hand. When he reached them he stopped, nodded at the soldiers' formal greetings, spoke quietly to Musa. The scout unit had been recovered unharmed. They'd run into a nasty party of cave bandits twice their size, and after tearing up the bandits they'd got themselves turned around in the dark. Their injuries were minor. In ten minutes' time they would all be asleep.
"I hope you'll get some sleep as well, sir," Musa said. Suddenly Brigan smiled. He stepped aside to let them by and momentarily met Fire's glance. His eyes were exhausted. He had a day-old beard and he was drenched.
And apparently he had not come to fetch her after all. Once she and her attendants had passed him he turned away, and continued up the sloping corridor.
Chapter Eleven
She woke the next morning stiff and achy from yesterday's riding. Margo handed her bread and cheese, and a basin of water to wash her face. After this, Fire reached for her fiddle and played a single reel, slowly and then with increasing speed, to wake herself up. The effort of it crystallised her mind.
"The commander didn't mention this advantage of our guard duty," Mila said, smiling shyly. Musa stuck her head through the flap of the tent.
"Lady," Musa said, "the commander bade me tell you we'll be passing near Queen Roen's fortress around midday. He has business with the horsemaster. There'll be time for you to take a short meal with the lady queen, if you like."
"You've been on your horse since yesterday," Roen said, taking her hands, "so I'm guessing you don't feel as lovely as you look. There, that smile tells me I'm right."
"I'm tight as a bowstring," Fire admitted.
"Sit down, dear. Make yourself comfortable. Take off that scarf, I won't let any gaping no-heads in here for the next half-hour."
Such a relief to release her hair. The weight of it was great, and after a morning of riding, the scarf was sticky, and itchy. Fire sank gratefully into a chair, rubbed her scalp, and allowed Nax's queen to shovel vegetables and casserole onto her plate. "Haven't you ever considered cutting it short?" Roen asked.
Oh, cutting it short. Hacking it all off, throwing it once and for all on the fire. Dyeing it black, if only monster hair would take colour. When she and Archer had been very young, they'd gone so far as to shave it off once as an experiment. It had shown again on her scalp within the hour. "It grows extremely fast," Fire said wearily, "and I've found it's easier to control if it's long. Short pieces break loose and escape from my scarf."
"I suppose they would," Roen said. "Well. I'm glad to see you. How are Brocker and Archer?"
Fire told her that Brocker was splendid and Archer, as usual, was angry.
"Yes, I suppose it's what he would be," Roen said robustly, "but don't mind him. It's right for you to be doing this, going to King's City to help Nash. I believe you can handle his court. You're not a child anymore. How is your casserole?"
Fire took a bite, which was very nice, actually, and fought the disbelieving expression trying to rise to her face. Not a child anymore? Fire had not been a child for quite some time.
And then, of course, Brigan appeared in the doorway to say hello to his mother and to bring Fire back to her horse, and immediately Fire felt herself revert to a child. Some part of her brain went missing whenever this soldier came near. It froze from his coldness.
"Brigandell," Roen said, rising from her chair to embrace him. "You've come to steal my guest from me."
"In exchange for forty soldiers," Brigan said. "Twelve injured, so I've also left you a healer."
"We can manage without the healer, if you need him, Brigan."
"His family's in the Little Greys," Brigan said, "and I promised him a stay here when I could. We'll manage with our numbers until Fort Middle."
"Well then," Roen said briskly. "Are you sleeping?"
"Yes."
"Come now. A mother can tell when her son lies. Are you eating? "
"No," Brigan said gravely. "I've not eaten in two months. It's a hunger strike to protest the spring flooding in the south."
"Gracious," Roen said, reaching for the fruit bowl. "Have an apple, dear."
Fire and Brigan didn't speak as they exited the fortress together to continue the journey to King's City. But Brigan ate an apple, and Fire wound up her hair, and found herself a little more comfortable beside him.
Somehow it helped to know he could make a joke.
And then, three kindnesses.
Fire's guard waited with Small near the back of the column of troops. As Fire and Brigan moved toward the spot, Fire began to know that something was wrong. She tried to focus, which was difficult with so many people milling around. She waited for Brigan to stop speaking to a captain who'd appeared alongside them with a question about the day's schedule.
"I think my guards are holding a man," she told Brigan quietly, when the captain had gone.
His voice dropped. "Why? What man?"
She had only the basics, and the most important assurances. "I don't know anything except that he hates me, and he hasn't hurt my horse."
He nodded. "I hadn't thought of that. I'll have to do something to stop people targeting your horse."
They had picked up their pace at Fire's warning. Now, finally, they came upon a nasty scene: Fire's guards, two of them, holding back a soldier who shouted curses and spit out blood and teeth, while a third guard cracked him across the mouth again and again to shut him up. Horrified, Fire reached for the mind of the guard to stop his fist.
And then she absorbed the details that turned the scene into a story. Her fiddle case fallen open on the ground, smeared with mud. The remains of her fiddle beside it. The instrument was smashed, splintered almost beyond recognition, the bridge rammed into the belly as if by a cruel and hateful boot.
It was worse, somehow, than being hit by an arrow. Fire stumbled to Small and buried her face in his shoulder; she had no control over the tears running down her face, and she did not want Brigan to see them.
Behind her, Brigan swore sharply. Someone – Musa – laid a handkerchief on Fire's shoulder. The captive was still cursing, screaming now that he could see Fire, horrible things about her body, what he would do to her, intelligible even through his broken, swollen mouth. Brigan strode to him.
Don't hit him again, Fire thought desperately, Brigan, please; for the sound of bone scraping bone was not aiding her attempts to stop crying. Brigan uttered another oath, then a sharp command, and Fire understood from the sudden formlessness of the soldier's words that the man was being gagged. And then dragged away, back toward the fortress, Brigan and a number of Fire's guard accompanying him.
The scene was suddenly quiet. Fire became conscious of her own gasping breath and forced herself calm. Horrible man, she thought into Small's mane. Horrible, horrible man. Oh, Small. That man was horrible.
Small made a snorting noise and deposited some very comforting drool on her shoulder.
"I'm so sorry, Lady," Musa said behind her. "He took us in completely. From now on we'll let no one near us who wasn't sent by the commander."
Fire wiped her face with the handkerchief and turned sideways toward the captain of her guard. She couldn't quite look at the pile of tinder on the ground. "I don't blame you for it."