Kamiskwa’s amber eyes narrowed. “It is probably best that you remain out here, Magehawk, away from civilization. That kind of animal cunning would make you dangerous in the cities. I think we should depart after we reach Fort Plentiful. We will go to Saint Luke. The Altashee will need to elect a new chief. Then we begin our hunt.”
Nathaniel nodded and jerked a thumb toward the southwest. “Start at the Antediluvian ruins?”
“In a practical sense, yes. First, however, we must visit the other tribes. We know what the Altashee know of the Noragah. We need to know more.” Kamiskwa’s lips pressed into a grim smile. “We learn everything we can, then we hunt, Magehawk, killing anything that would stop us along the way.”
Owen found Bethany wandering through the encampments on the southern edge of the battlefield. The combatants, exhilarated but exhausted, had grouped together in small meadows and hollows. Pickets had been set out in case any demons or trolls that had escaped decided to come back and raid. Most people believed they’d not stop running or flapping until they reached the far coast, and many were hoping they’d starve to death before they ever got there.
He looped around to approach her from the front. She was completely lost in thought and did not notice him. “Bethany, are you well?”
She looked up, momentarily startled, then smiled as she pressed a hand to her throat. “Oh, Owen, please forgive me.”
“What’s the matter?” Owen glanced back toward where the Prince had set up his pavilion. “I just saw Caleb. Aside from a couple of cuts, he was fine and happy.”
“Yes, I saw him.”
He looked around. “Clara wasn’t…?”
Bethany shook her head. “She’s fine as well. She killed five demons, but won’t stop talking about the fact that I shot two with a pistol.”
Owen started to comment, but thought better of it. Shooting a demon with a handgun meant Bethany was far closer to combat than she ever should have been. Her having been able to reload to shoot a second time meant she was in danger longer than he liked. Still, the expression on her face-a mix of embarrassment and anger-suggested Caleb had already given her a lecture and she didn’t want to hear any more.
“Something is bothering you.”
She nodded, her brows arrowing together. “When the Prince sent me back to the Stone House, Clara and I headed off as ordered. But not far back we found Count von Metternin and people, lots of people. We found everyone we’d left at Fort Plentiful, and many of those who had left after the battle. There were even more of those that Nathaniel had dismissed at Prince Haven and other volunteers who had joined along the way. They were just all there, waiting. When the cannons went off, they surged forward, just two wings of an army that I didn’t know was there and I’d swear Prince Vlad didn’t know was there either.”
“How did they come to be there?”
“Count von Metternin said it was on the Prince’s orders, but I never sent any messages.” Bethany looked up at him. “I thought, then, that the Prince had sent orders independent of me, because the Count said they were in the Prince’s hand. But Prince Vlad didn’t have a thaumagraph. Or I thought he didn’t, but maybe he did, and maybe he sent messages in secret.”
Owen reached out, resting his hands on her shoulders, stroking her upper arms. “He couldn’t have thought you were a spy.”
“No, I know. I didn’t think that.” She glanced back toward the east. “Before he met with Caleb and the other captains, he pulled me aside. He asked if I’d sent orders independent of him to bring the reinforcements up. I denied it, of course, because I didn’t. But he kept questioning me, asking me if I had gotten any messages or had seen anyone near the thaumagraph. I told him I hadn’t, and that I’d taken the precaution of removing the identification disk. The thaumagraph wouldn’t work without it.”
“That was a wise precaution.”
“Prince Vlad thought so, too. He thanked me for answering his questions, but I don’t think he felt good about my answers.” She shook her head, then raised her hands and held his. “But, here I am running off at the mouth about something which doesn’t matter. How are you, Owen?”
He smiled. “I can use some mending, but otherwise I’m fine.”
“What do you mean?” She stepped back, her expression sharpening. “Are you wounded, Captain Strake?”
“Only the little, tiniest bit.” He held his left arm out and cold air poured through the rent deerskin over his ribs. “Troll horn got me there and the one on my thigh was a tenacious demon.”
“Is that it?”
“Mostly.”
“Owen!”
He laughed, the exasperation in her voice a bit over done. “I’m banged up a bit. Got bashed into a tree or two, but these are the only spots where I’m bleeding.”
Bethany grabbed his right hand and immediately marched him toward a small circle of tents with a bright fire in the middle. A half-dozen men wore the green jackets of Northern Rangers. The rest looked to be some of the reinforcements who had joined up, including one family group with the grandmother and her beleaguered daughter-in-law doing some mending by firelight. She had Owen remove his tunic and hissed when she saw the three-inch long gash on his left side.
The old woman called to a boy of ten. She handed him a needle, thread, a cloth, and a crusty green bottle sealed with a cork. “You’ll be wanting those, Miss. The liniment, that’s mogiqua and grain alcohol, with just a bit of honey. Goes on the outside of him. Got the recipe from At Anvil Lake by Captain Owen Strake.”
Bethany laughed. “This is Captain Strake.”
“Cain’t be. Captain Strake is taller.” The old woman pointed a bony finger. “Now get on without foolishness, Miss. Sew him up good.”
Behind the old woman, her son shrugged, and the Rangers did their best to hide grins. For his part, Owen moaned a bit and groaned a bit-in a way Captain Strake of the book never would have done. The old woman snorted with satisfaction and went back to her mending.
Bethany wiped away blood and dirt, then scrubbed the wounds with mogiqua. It stung, but Owen said nothing. She threaded the needle, then sewed the cut over his ribs closed with neat, even stitching.
What Owen didn’t expect was his reaction when Bethany made that final knot, then leaned in to bite the thread off. Her lips brushed his flesh. Despite being in the middle of a crowd, in firelight, his flesh all goosebumps from the cold, a thrill ran through him at the intimacy of the contact. His mind fled back to the days when he lay in the Frost household, days when he had been in a deep slumber. She had tended his wounds then and though he imagined she’d cut thread with scissors, he could not help imagining her lips touching each of his wounds.
He became hyper-aware of her every move as she stitched up his leg. He borrowed a blanket and wrapped it around himself before stripping off his trousers. Bethany dropped to bended-knee to sew the cut closed. Again she cut the thread with her teeth and he could feel her warm breath against his leg. Her lips seemed to linger, not long enough for anyone to notice, but longer than was needed.
He dressed himself and returned the blanket to its owner. He thanked them all, then wandered into the darkened woods with Bethany. In the darkness he offered her his arm and she slid her hand through it.
“What are we going to do, Bethany?”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “We will do nothing, Owen, just as we have been doing. Do not ask me to be your mistress. I haven’t the strength to resist. I see what it does to Rachel, to love someone you cannot have. I do not know how she does it, but I know I could not.”
“I would not dishonor you, Bethany. And I would not cause you pain.” He kissed the top of her head. “I came to Mystria to find a way to create a life for my wife, for the two of us to share. And here I fell in love: with the land, the people, and with you.”