Hazel
The soft scent of leather and fresh hay reaches my nostrils, forcing me to open my eyes, even when I don’t want to because I know it’s going to hurt.
It hurts. A groan passes my lips as the light, far too bright, hits the back of my eyeballs. It’s a moment before I can actually see anything.
Like the huge centaur standing in the middle of the room, his chestnut flanks gleaming in the light filtering from the great arched windows, thick stone holding the myriad diamond panes edged in lead, causing rainbows to luminesce as he shifts his weight from one huge hoof to the other.
Warden’s arms are folded over his chest as he gazes out the wide, arched doorway into whatever is beyond.
Half predator, half guard, all glistening muscle and hide.
As I watch him, feeling as weak as a kitten, he dips his head, his chin, the scruff even more in evidence than I remember, hitting his chest, and he unfolds his arms to grip at one of his horns before looking in my direction.
For a moment, he is entirely still, like a bronze statue, frozen at the moment of moulding. Until, finally, he blinks, and in an explosion of hooves and flanks, he closes the gap between us, swirling into his human shape and landing on his knees next to me.
“Little mare,” he says, grasping my hand.
I hiss with pain because every single one of my joints appears to have needles stuck in them, although when I check, there are no needles.
Warden withdraws his hand, his eyes flaring with fire as he gazes down on me.
“It’s okay,” I respond, my voice hoarse with lack of use. “It hurts, that’s all.”
Warden continues to stare at me, then, from under my bed, he draws out a sword. Not my sword, that is beside me here, but it is another sword.
“Then I will kill the witch.”
“Don’t…” I reach out, catching his hand before he stands up.
“Hazel.” His eyes turn back to me. “I cannot stand you hurting, nor the fact that someone has hurt you.” His fist is clenched around the sword hilt until his knuckles are white. “I have to do violence.”
“Not for me,” I half-whisper. “Never for me.”
“Only for you.” He puts down the sword, and his hand is on my face, cupping my cheek as light as light can be. “I watched you, wanting to give you my interminable life force, to do anything as long as you lived. I cannot do it again. Anything which threatens you has to die.”
“How long…?” I clear my throat weakly. “How long have I been here?”
“It has been a week,” Warden says, and his eyes are filled with pain. “A week of moon rises and sun sets.”
“Ah,” a female voice booms into the cavernous space. “Hazel is awake?”
A muscle jumps in Warden’s jaw.
“Yes, witch,” he responds, not turning around.
I crane my neck as far as I dare to get a glimpse of the witch who a second ago was going to die because of me.
A stunning woman, long blond hair flowing down her back, poker straight, and a set of brilliant aqua-blue eyes gives me a brief glance before going over to a table covered in bunches of foliage and thick granite bowls.
She mashes something into one, pours in some hot water, and then strains the concoction into a horn beaker.
“How does she…how do you know my name?” I query.
“You told me your name, after the Shellycoat…hurt you,” Warden says through gritted teeth, and I have a feeling the Shellycoat’s days might be numbered.
“I shouldn’t have told you,” I say quietly.
“That’s what the Yeavering wants.” The witch hands Warden the beaker and nudges him with a sharp elbow. “Have your mate drink this.”
“Yes, Meg,” Warden says, his eyes not leaving my face.
“I am Meg of Maldon,” the witch says with a genuine smile at me. “Warden brought you here when you were injured by the Shellycoat. Those things have a nasty sting.”
“I was stung? By a fish-man?”
Warden hands me the beaker. I sniff at it, and it doesn’t smell horrible, so I risk a little taste. It’s sweet and refreshing. I drink it down in two gulps.
“Yes,” Warden growls. “You were stung by Beal. He will die in any case for violating you in that way.”
“I’d probably prefer for fewer things to be threatened with death today,” I say as a weariness comes over me.
“You still have much healing to do,” Meg says. “But you do not need to remain in my hall anymore. You can do the rest of your recovery with your mate.”
“My mate?”
“Warden, of course,” she says, as if I’ve been very silly. “Who else did you think? Me?”
She chuckles to herself as she picks up a wooden pail and walks out the door, followed by a deep growl from Warden, who immediately turns his attention to me.
“You don’t have to.” He rubs at his left horn again. “If you don’t want to.”
I’m feeling quite floaty, the pain in my joints dissipating nicely.
“I’d like to,” I hear myself say.
Before I can speak again, I’m lifted into his arms. Gently, firmly, and without any fuss, I’m pressed against his warm, hard, muscular chest, and he carefully carries me out the door and into the warm sun.
“It’s winter?” I say as a breeze filled with the scent of spring wafts over us.
“Not in the Yeavering,” Warden says. “The Night Lands have a different cycle to here.”
I close my eyes and enjoy the sun on my face, not wanting to say it always seems like winter in the Night Lands, something I can’t remember doing for a long time.
“Did I really tell you my name?” I say lazily.
“You did,” Warden rumbles his reply. “And Meg tells me you are not a witch. You are a human.”
I sit bolt upright, or at least as upright as I can, in his arms.
“I am!” I exclaim, as everything comes rushing back in a deluge I can’t process all at once. “And I need to find my sister. She’s the reason I’m here!”
There isn’t thunder and lightning, but there may as well be. I am not a witch and I have no magic. I am human.
“Kaitlyn,” I breathe. “I came here to find her.”
“Kaitlyn? She is a human too?” Warden asks, cocking his head on one side and studying me.
“Yes, she has red hair. My hair was the same colour.” I pull at the ends of my multi-coloured hair and look at them. “Not now.”
My brow furrows. It seems I remember so much…but not enough.
“There are humans in the Yeavering,” Warden says as we approach another, smaller arched doorway in the tumbledown castle walls. “I know where most of them are. We can visit and see if one is your sister.”
“You don’t know which one is Kaitlyn?” I study his face, even more confused. “If you know where they are, then you know their names, don’t you?”
Warden swallows and blinks at me. He tosses his head a little, the gold rings tinkling. He swallows again.
“My lady, I only have eyes for you. No other female could, or should, occupy my thoughts.”