Return (Lady of Toryn trilogy) (11 page)

And if she landed on her back . . . well, she didn't want to consider that option. Too often Suki had thrown her off and Ashlyn had been left sprawled face-up, bruised, battered and hardly able to move.

She didn't have time to decide which method would hurt less, so Ashlyn did what came naturally - she was falling headfirst, so she held out her hands, fingertips splayed. When she saw the scratchy dirt coming up to meet her, she kicked her legs back and started a somersault in mid-air. Her fingers barely brushed the dirt as she flipped, but her shoulders and upper back struck painfully as Ashlyn spun onto the ground, rolling over and over and over again in an attempt to lessen the force of impact.

She could feel the gritty sand biting into her skin and winced, picturing skinned elbows and knees and bruises and lacerations everywhere.

At last she collided with the mud wall of the gigantic dwelling, and Ashlyn's crazed rolling came to a crashing halt. One leg slammed hard against the wall and she screamed, hearing a crack, thinking
that little jerk Lysato, if I ever walk again I'm gonna -

"OW!" she yelped, suddenly aware of the intense pain in her lower leg as she shifted her weight.

Aaron appeared beside her, his stubbly face showing concern. "Are ya hurt?" he asked, out of breath from dashing down the stairs.

"YES," she yelled in his face, before belatedly realizing his close proximity and lowering her voice. "Yes, dammit. When I get my hands on that creep Lysato, I'm going to tear his frigging
-
OW!
Watch it, that hurts!" She swatted away his hand, and struggled to a sitting position. "Man, is he gonna get his ass kicked."

"Looks like ya may have done somethin' to it, kid. This ain't good."

She glanced down at her legs, noting no particular change in their appearance. "No, I think it's okay, no thanks to Skye and company." Frowning, she rotated her foot at the ankle, keeping her face carefully blank as a jolt of pain shot through her lower leg.

"Hey," Vargo exclaimed, coming up behind her, "are you okay?" Breathless, he crouched beside her, surveying her leg with a worried expression on his face.

"Beat it, jackass," Ashlyn snapped.

The redhead cocked an eyebrow. "Glad to see we're back on normal terms again." He moved to take her foot in his hands, slowly running his fingers down her shin.

"Yeah, well, what did you expect me to say? 'Oh,
so
glad you told Skye I was a spy, wanna share a jug of sake?' Dream on!" She inhaled sharply as he shifted her foot slightly, her aching joints protesting the hurtful motion.

"This is outta my league," Aaron said, holding up his hands when Vargo gave him a frustrated look.

"Look," Vargo said, his tone biting as his hands moved over her ankle, where most of the pain was centered, "Skye asked, I told. That's all there is to it. It's not like I pinned him down so I could spill all your dirty little secrets."

"I don't have dirty little secrets," she seethed. "And I don't know what you told him, but if it came from you, it was probably a totally perverted lie!"

"It involved whipped cream and handcuffs," Vargo admitted slyly. He set her foot back on the ground and braced both hands against his thighs, a smile playing around his lips. "Skye was quite surprised at your audacity."

"Why, you -" She tried to slap him, but he caught her hand smoothly in his and hooked it over his shoulder, standing and hauling her upright with him in one swift motion.

Ashlyn gritted her teeth when she slumped against him, unable to put any weight on her left leg. "Oh Gods, that hurts," she muttered, tears springing to her eyes. She wasn't the type to cry over pain, but then she wasn't sure that 'pain' was enough to describe the agonizing, throbbing, pulling-apart-at-the-tendon-and-shredding slowly sensation that was settling deep within her ankle.

"How's it feel?" Aaron asked, swapping his unlit cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other.

"Crappy," she mused, and stared harder at her foot, as if that was either gonna cure it or reveal what exactly was wrong with it. "Where's Skye?"

"Went after your friend," the old pilot grunted. "Took off that way." He jerked his chin in a spastic motion to some direction that Ashlyn couldn't identify.

She fumbled uncomfortably at Vargo's shoulder, trying to get a better grip. "He's not my friend!"

"Hey, I ain't passin no judgment," Aaron said, holding his hands up in front of him. "I really don't give a crap 'bout that anyway. I just don't want you joinin' your fr - uh, that ninja in the ship's holdin’ cells. Ain't too comfortable in there."

"Tell me about it." She shifted her gaze to Vargo, staring at his chin instead of his eyes, determined not to give him any more satisfaction from her predicament than necessary. "I need to get up to Aik's house, and I can't do it alone - and don't you dare try to pick me up!" she snarled when he reached to slide a hand behind her thighs. "Just help me hobble up there."

"Fine." Vargo grinned as he slid an arm around her waist, the other one holding the hand that was draped around his neck. "I think I like this way just fine."

Ugh. Ashlyn tried very diligently to minimize physical contact as the Spartan began half-carrying her over to the stairs. Climbing the ladder to reach Aik's house proved to be a problem, but finally (after some hand-slapping and death threats) Ashlyn conceded enough to let Vargo climb up behind her, leaning back against him and using him for support when she had to lift her uninjured ankle to the next rung.

Of course he insisted on carrying her the short distance into Aik's living room, but she didn't make it easy for him.

"Ow, ow, ow," Ashlyn chanted as Vargo settled her on the couch. "OW!"

"Sorry," he said, not sounding sorry at all. His hands were contradictory to his careless tone, though, carefully arranging her with her back against the armrest and her legs stretched out in front. And as much as Ashlyn wanted to catch him trying to feel her up and give him a good solid slap, Vargo's hands on her skin were totally businesslike, lingering no longer than necessary as he tried to make her comfortable.

Ashlyn folded her arms across her chest and fixed him with a grumpy stare, determined to stay angry. Carrying her up two flights of stairs and a ladder didn't make up for blabbing to Skye.

He caught the look and raised an eyebrow. "Take a picture," he told her, choosing to interpret her loathing as some kind of come-on. "It'll last longer."

"The only way I'd do that would be if I could burn it afterwards," Ashlyn said darkly.

"After what?" he replied, and looked like he was going to continue, but then he hesitated, looking a little unsure of himself. Ashlyn allowed herself a moment of satisfaction - she'd insulted Vargo and he'd been unable to think of any kind of suitable comeback.

But then Skye walked into the room, slamming the door open so hard that it hit the wall and made the whole house rattle.

"Your friend is in the airship," he growled. "Restlyn's keeping an eye on him."

Ashlyn noticed that Skye's hair, which usually stood straight up on end, was slightly rumpled and dusty-looking. She wondered if he'd had to struggle with Lysato in his quest to catch the other man. Probably, she thought uneasily. It wasn't likely that the ninja had gone down without a fight.

Skye yanked a chair away from the wall, shoving an assortment of books and parchments out of the way as he did so, and straddled it backwards like she and her friends used to do in grade school. Even now, at the ripe old age of twenty-nine, he still sometimes looked like an overgrown kid to Ashlyn, but she kept that thought to herself. Telling Skye he looked like a child probably wouldn't earn her any points with the swordsman. She shifted on the couch, uncomfortable under his creepy glowing stare.

"Whose side are you on?" he asked bluntly.

Er. Not what she'd expected him to start out with, but it was good enough. "Yours," Ashlyn said automatically. "But - "

He held up a hand, silencing her. Ashlyn frowned; her sixteen-year old self would not have been happy at being hushed by a simple gesture. Her twenty-three year old self didn't like it much either.

"Did you know we were in Storim?" he said, gloved hands clenching the back of the chair tightly.

"No."

"Have you ever met Devlyn?"

"No."

"Then why did you - " Skye stopped, visibly trying to quell his temper, and took a deep breath. "If you've never met him," he started over, voice low, "then . . . why didn't you tell me when this Toryn contacted you? I've told you how ruthless Devlyn is. I've told you what he's done, what he wants to do."

"Yeah," Ashlyn muttered, suddenly feeling nauseous. She'd been completely distraught when she'd thought that maybe her friends were fighting for the wrong cause - she could only imagine how Skye felt now, thinking she might have betrayed him.

"Look, Skye," she began, but he cut her off again.

"I don't want to hear your excuses," he said, holding up a hand to silence her. "Just choose your battle and be done with it. If you're intent on going to Toryn, I'm not going to stop you as long as you don‘t hurt anyone. If you stay here, then we will continue with the plan as decided before."

He stood, not bothering to grab the chair before it fell on its side with a loud thunk, and glanced at her outstretched leg. "You'd better get someone to look at that," he said, and walked out of the room before Ashlyn could think to retort, his boots clunking angrily against the floor.

"Gee, thanks," Ashlyn said belatedly.

Vargo snickered from where he'd been standing, slouched against the wall with his usual graceless posture. "Be seein' you," he told Ashlyn, moving towards the doorway.

She didn't give him the satisfaction of answering, instead focusing her attention on her ankle. Slowly she unlaced her sneaker, being careful not to jostle her aching foot, and eased the shoe off. The agony that shot through her as she bent her ankle slightly was indescribable.

Ashlyn bit down on her lip, hard, the taste of metal on her tongue, and winced. A single tear squeezed out the corner of her eye, and for a long moment she seriously deliberated breaking down and sobbing. 'Cause…like…
ow.

Then Aaron stuck his head into the room, and all thoughts of crying fled from Ashlyn's mind as she unconsciously sat up straighter, fixing him with what she hoped was an annoyed look. Damned if she'd cry in front of him.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded.

Grinning, his cigarette preventing his teeth from actually meeting, Aaron stepped into the room and brandished a bright green
heal
stane. "I'm yer knight in shinin' armor," he said.

"Skye sent you?"

"Naw, but I told him I was comin'. I saw your ankle, doesn't take a doctor to figure out something like that. Sprained?" he asked amicably, pulling up Skye's chair so he could sit beside her outstretched foot.

"Something like that," Ashlyn repeated his words with no trace of humor. "What about the Cosmea healers? Couldn’t they fix me without using stanes?" She was thinking about the Conservation Act, but even as she said it she realized that Jackson was probably giving FLD free rein to use magic as needed.

Aaron shrugged. "You really wanna wait for one of 'em? Or should I just fix yer leg right now?"

"Fix me now. Please." Ashlyn gave her best polite smile and leaned her head back against the wall, sighing as Aaron put one hand on her shin, just above her ankle. The old man's touch was uncomplicated and platonic, a big relief from all the electricity she'd been feeling with Skye, Vargo and Drake in the last three days. Chewing thoughtfully on her lower lip, she watched as Aaron slid the stane into his armband, letting it settle in with a metallic clink before putting both hands back on her ankle.