Shana Abe (25 page)

Marla appeared from nowhere, running beside him, opening the door for him. The watch was trying to explain what had happened to everyone as they followed. Roland only heard snatches of his words.

Facedown in the water … Siren’s Cove … Saw her horse, couldn’t find her, had only just arrived … Footsteps in the sand …

None of it registered at the time. All that mattered was helping her somehow, wondering how much water she had swallowed, wondering if she was even still breathing.

Marla had been through this before, as well. When he laid Kyla down Marla took over, turning her on her side, pressing on her stomach.

Nothing happened. The watch was now telling them he had pulled her from the water and she had coughed, and when he had laid her across his horse she had coughed some more, the water leaving her.

Marla listened and nodded, her hands busy on Kyla, touching her skin, checking her eyes, rubbing her hands.

Now Roland hung back, allowing Marla to work, but his gaze was focused on Kyla’s parted lips, the terrible pallor that had taken over her skin. She was stark colors, blue and white, only the red of her hair untainted. People moved in front of
him, blocking his view, so he went to the side of the bed and stayed there, kneeling beside her, his thoughts running in circles.

Why? What had happened to Kyla between the last time he had seen her and now? Why was she at Siren’s Cove? What was she doing in the water?

He rejected the first, most obvious thing that came to him. Rejected it soundly. Yes, she had been upset. Yes, she had been through so much. But there was no reason now for her to do anything drastic to herself. He could not, would not believe that she would harm herself after this morning, after last night.

It was the blackness in him, making him think of such a thing. It was the blackness throwing back the idea of something that had not seemed that impossible for he himself to do, six years ago. Kyla wasn’t like that. Kyla was stronger than that.

Marla was the closest thing Lorlmar had to a doctor. She was midwife and dentist and healer wrapped in one, and Roland had seen her take care of countless people during their years together. He trusted her as he would never have trusted some supposed physician from the mainland. When she called for herbs and broth people instantly scrambled to get them.

When she began to lift Kyla’s head, looking for wounds, Roland watched her pause and frown, fingers exploring beneath the mass of hair. She then let Kyla’s head back down gently, throwing a warning look to him.

He didn’t know what it meant but he knew that it was important. Marla ordered the room cleared when her supplies were brought, ordered everyone out, except Roland, of course, who would have refused to go anyway.

She showed him the lump on the back of Kyla’s head; together they cleaned the cut that had broken her skin, leaving a thin, straight welt lined with blood. No accidental fall would have produced such a mark.

Marla didn’t have to say what she was thinking. He knew
why she had ordered everyone from the room. But it sickened him to even consider it.

Someone had attacked Kyla. Someone had bludgeoned her from behind and then left her to drown in the waves.

Someone from Lorlreau.

Ah, yes, the blackness was coming alive once more. The anger. The fury, that someone—anyone—would dare to harm his wife.

And Marla, who had witnessed the blackness in him before, said nothing still, just handed him the bowl of broth to feed to Kyla.

So he crouched by the head of the bed and methodically began to spoon it past her lips, taking care that she swallowed each mouthful. A good sign, that she swallowed. He knew this. He concentrated on that, willing himself to think of nothing else.

And now, hours and hours later, the sun was gone, the room was glowing with candlelight, and he was still with her, taking care with the wound on her head as he supported her cough, anxiously noting every little thing she did. A platter of cold food someone had brought up was pushed to the side of the room, ignored.

When her eyes opened he almost did not believe it was true, he had been willing it for so long now. He was imagining it.

But then the silver and black settled on him, the haze of confusion disappearing as she blinked once, then again, and Roland knew this was not the creation of his mind. Kyla was awake.

Curious, the numbness that immediately took over his hands and legs. A new weakness, he supposed, preceding the overwhelming sense of thankfulness that left him swimming for words, fumbling to touch her, to confirm her awareness of him.

She was going to be all right. She had to be.

One of her hands stirred; he found his own clenching it, holding tight to her fingers, looking down in wonderment at
their locked hands. He wanted to say her name. He had been saying it for hours now, a sort of chant of late, under his breath, feeding the vague notion in him that somehow if he said it enough she would have to respond. She would have to come back to him.

And so she had.

She was looking at him, really looking at him, and Roland could see she was struggling to say something.

“Relax,” he said, leaning over her. “You’re going to be fine.” Amazing how calm his voice sounded.

She frowned up at him, not so pale as before. Not so pale, her lips now the faintest pink against the whiteness of her skin. She took a deep breath, grimacing only slightly as she slowly released it.

“Starfish,” she said. And then, as if the word itself exhausted her, she closed her eyes again.

A woman’s hand came down upon Kyla’s forehead. It was Marla, slipping into the room unnoticed, now smiling down at him.

“She’s better.”

“She’s feverish. Did you hear what she said?”

“I heard.” Marla took a cloth and dipped it in the basin of water by the bed, wringing the excess out. “She’s not feverish, my lord, rest assured on that. She has awakened, she has spoken. All will be well now.”

Marla took the cloth and, to his surprise, placed it upon his forehead, taking one of his hands and making him hold it there. “You are the one who needs to sleep. You’ll do no one any good by falling ill yourself.”

“No.” He pulled his hand away, letting the cloth drop. “I won’t leave her.”

Marla shook her head. “I am not suggesting that you leave her. But I am ordering you to rest.” She picked up the cloth again and beat it against her hand impatiently. “Stay here beside her. There is room enough for both of you in this monster of a bed. Lie down.”

She stood there, stubborn as he knew she could be, tapping her foot.

Rest was not such a bad idea, Roland thought reluctantly. With a sigh he kicked off his boots and carefully laid himself down on the covers beside his wife, taking her hand again.

“Good.” Marla slapped the cloth on his forehead. “Duncan is outside the door, standing watch. You needn’t worry about anything. If you want me, just call. I am staying in the chamber next to this tonight.”

Roland lay back against the pillow, watching Marla with half-closed eyes. The gratitude in him was still alive; he needed to share it with her before she left, she had earned it. “You are a good woman,” he said as she was exiting.

Inadequate words, and she merely waved a hand of dismissal without turning around, leaving the door open slightly behind her.

Beside him, Kyla’s profile was etched clearly against the flickering shadows on the walls. Was it his imagination, or did she look more peaceful now? Her chest rose and fell with deep, regular breaths, steady. And her lips, were they not a deeper pink than before? More of a sort of rose color now … petals …

Kyla opened her eyes again, momentarily disoriented.

Roland was beside her, sound asleep, fully clothed. How odd. Why were all the candles still lit? Plainly it was nighttime, what extravagance to waste all those candles for two sleeping people.

The sense of displacement vanished as soon as she moved, however, replaced by a stabbing pain in the back of her head running all the way down her spine.

Roland began to snore.

She remembered the cove. That strange cove with the skeleton ships, the lurid orange of the starfish. The gull, screaming at her.

Or was it her who had screamed? No, she had tried, but nothing more came after that memory. She didn’t know what had happened next. How did she end up here? Why did her head hurt so horribly?

Tentatively, she reached up with one arm and felt for the source of the pain but encountered only a great deal of
material bound to the back of her head. She was bandaged. She must have an injury of some sort.

She remembered the gull again, bright black eyes, smooth white-and-gray feathers, darting in front of her, she had backed up, that’s right, and then …

Roland turned to his side in his sleep, threw one heavy arm around her waist before settling down again.

He looked scruffy and ill-kempt. Even with his eyes closed she could make out the dark circles beneath them; the lines in his face seemed deeper.

With great care Kyla began to sit up, sliding under Roland’s arm very slowly until she was able to lean back against the headboard of the bed and the room stopped spinning.

The window showed her a moonless night, a field of stars winking with diamond brightness. How long had she been asleep?

A connecting door swung open soundlessly, Marla’s head peeked out. Her eyes widened when she saw Kyla sitting up, staring back at her.

Marla approached, looking over at Roland and then placing the back of her hand on Kyla’s forehead.

“Headache?” she asked, and then nodded before Kyla could respond. “I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared behind the door, leaving Kyla to once again contemplate the room, the sky outside, her sleeping husband.

A thin ribbon of melted wax coursed down the side of a candle near the bed, joining a growing pool of droplets on the stone floor.

Roland’s hand was a clenched fist in her lap, a frown creased his forehead. He seemed disturbed. Bad dreams, no doubt, and without thought Kyla touched her fingers to his face, tracing the lines until they vanished, leaving his expression peaceful once more. His hand relaxed slowly. She moved her own to cover it, noting the difference in the color of their skin, how much bigger his hand was than hers.

It was a man’s hand, toughened and callused, tanned with
a life led outdoors, away from the shadows of domestic life. Her own was actually not much better. The months outside had darkened her skin only slightly, but her nails were still short, useful.

Experimentally she spread her fingers out over his, matching the curve of his palm, interested in how much longer his reach was, how much thicker his wrist. Her head tilted for a better view. What she saw pleased her in some indefinable way, the contrast between them that still suited their symmetry.

Marla was back. She entered the room with uncanny silence, a trait Kyla had noticed in her before. In her hands was a mug of something, coils of steam escaping from the top. She gave the mug to Kyla, who took it gingerly.

“
Drink
,” she said. “It’s a tisane of willowbark. It will help with the pain.”

The hot liquid was bitter, and she sipped it slowly while Marla looked on, sitting down on the stool by the bed, silent and calm.

The moment stretched on, companionable, both of the women lost in their own thoughts, the candle steadily dripping in languid plops to the floor, Roland lax on the bed. Her left leg was growing numb from the weight of her husband’s arm but Kyla didn’t move it, preferring to know the feel of him even as he slept.

“Did you see who hit you?”

Marla let the question float out softly into the room, unaccusing, almost serene, and so Kyla just shook her head without surprise.

“No. It happened too quickly.” Her voice was scratchy and thin; she cleared her throat lightly before saying again, “No.”

“I thought not. From the mark on you, I thought your back would be completely to him.”

Or her, Kyla thought, but didn’t say.

“What were you doing at Siren’s Cove?”

“Siren’s Cove? Is that the name of it?”

Marla nodded. “It’s said that from a certain angle at a certain distance, the rocks appear to hold the shape of two
mermaids. One of them combs her hair, the other beckons you close with her hand.” She shrugged. “I’ve never seen it, but I’ve heard men bet their lives on those two sirens, always the same, combing and beckoning. Once the ships come close enough, of course, the current takes them in. There is nothing to be done about it.”

Kyla thought about that, the black and gold of the rocks, trying to twist them in her mind into the shape of anything even remotely favoring a mermaid. All she remembered was the rough outline of them against a hard blue sky. Nothing resembling either a woman or a fish creature there, real or mythical.

Another memory surfaced, the strange sounds she had heard before at the top of the cliff, the haunting echo of feminine voices. Had that really happened? Probably not. Probably it was either her imagination or her attackers. No reason for those goose bumps to come back, though they had.

“All those ships,” said Kyla. “All those people.”

“They were mostly pirates, anyway,” Marla answered indifferently. “Pirates or smugglers.”

The candlelight picked out the silver in Marla’s hair and burnished the brown, creating an interesting effect that reminded Kyla, for some reason, of fairy dust. Another silly idea to go with her already fanciful thoughts. Kyla shook her head, then winced at the pain that shot through it.

“I had no intention of going anywhere,” she said after a while. “I was simply taking my horse out for a ride. That was where we ended up, that little cove.” She took another sip of the tea, wetting her lips. “I saw the tower and dismounted, then I saw the beach and went down the path. There was a ship’s hull there, close to shore. Inside it was dark. I saw …” She frowned, trying to remember.

“Starfish?” suggested Marla gently.

“Yes. And a bird, a gull. It flew in front of me, I stepped back. And then …” She frowned again, squinting into the bottom of the tea, at the swirl of leaves and curled bark.