18 Maerryl #3
Then I’d realized—of course, Lightning. I knew by now how much she loved that damn horse, practically as much as a human.
I ran down the spiral staircase, taking the most direct route to the stables, and stopped abruptly just before the door.
Dove and her mother’s voices, in their most fake-pleasant tones that I despised.
Then suddenly, Lady Wistrallo was inquiring about me, and I had to enter and get dragged into it.
Though the undeniable look of relief—maybe almost happiness too?
—in Dove’s face when I appeared from the stairwell was worth it.
I swung my arms through the fighting sequence now, daggers loosely gripped, as I replayed that moment over and over in my mind.
Pushing my body harder, I ignored the pain at my collarbone and stabbed the air, slicing, turning, ducking low.
This never failed to recenter me, focus my mind away from my worry.
Doubt. Fear. I wasn’t an expert fighter by any means, but I’d learned enough over the years to hold my own against most opponents.
Unless they had powerful wild magic and anger issues, I thought fondly, remembering the encounter with Elikki in the woods many months ago.
I had been as desperate then as I was now, just a tad stupider. And morally self-righteous. I’d been so sure that the law was there for a reason—a guiding framework of how to act in a chaotic world. I knew better now, and it shouldn’t have taken me this long. We make our own moral laws.
The sequence ended, and my arms dropped to my sides. I’d built up a light sweat, and my collarbone ached. It was probably stupid of me to push this hard when I’d been injured just yesterday. But at least my mind felt slightly better.
I carefully pulled off my shirt with one arm and threw it on the bed.
Bluebell promptly padded over and curled up on top of it for a nap.
“I’m going to need that back in a minute, cat.
Don’t get comfortable,” I said, trying for stern and ending up somewhere closer to baby talk.
I gave her another quick pet, then cleaned up at the washbasin.
As I was finishing up and running a comb briskly through my short dark hair—I went downstairs like this? Dove saw my horrible bedhead??—a brisk knock sounded at the door.
“Ahh, just a minute!” I called, reaching for my shirt. Bluebell, the lazy little monster, covered it with her bulk.
“Maerryl? I think we should talk,” Dove’s voice came through the connecting door, and I scrambled faster. My spare shirt, where was my spare shirt?
Dammit, no, that one got sliced up by Stiv yesterday and was still in a bloody heap on the floor.
Fuck Stiv! Fuck me, for only owning two shirts!
“Right, one sec, I’m coming!” I said, trying not to sound as panicked as I felt.
I pulled at the corner of my shirt under Bluebell, then tried to move her off, but she swiped at me. “Ow!?”
“Did you say come in?” I heard the door unseal and frantically grabbed my washcloth from the dresser, holding it against my chest. This was not happening, oh fuck fuck fuck!
“Dove, wait! I—” But it was too late. She was there, frozen at the doorframe, mouth open in surprise. Staring. I shifted the small towel, trying to tuck it under my arms. That, unfortunately, pulled it tighter across my tits, the wet, cool fabric doing nothing to help my situation.
“Oh. Oh, I’m so sorry,” Dove babbled suddenly, her cheeks turning a deep beet red. “I thought you said—or I wouldn’t have—um, where’s your shirt?”
“The cat,” I said weakly, nodding at Bluebell. She opened one eye to size me up, then licked her fearsome paw as if to say try me again, lady. This is my shirt now.
“Are you… bleeding? Again??” Dove took a couple steps toward me before she seemed to remember our situation and froze once more. “What happened?”
Oh, right. That. In my panic, I’d barely registered Bluebell’s defensive swipe beyond a flash of pain. But now, yep, that was blood. Dripping down my forearm from three long scratches.
“Bluebell!” Dove gasped and marched right over to her cat.
I pressed against the dresser, keeping space between us.
“That is very bad! No fish treats for a solid week.” She meowed loudly, but she picked the beast right up and plopped her on the ground.
Sulkily, Bluebell walked over to my armchair and leapt up, settling herself in her new domain.
Dove, cheeks and neck somehow even more flushed, held the shirt out to me, eyes riveted to the floor. “Here. Sorry. Again, I mean.”
“Thank you,” I said quietly, taking it. Our fingers brushed.
“I—I don’t know if you should put it on just yet though,” she said.
My lips curled up. “Oh no?”
She let out a breathy laugh. “I just meant—your arm. You should clean that up first, dress it. Otherwise, you’ll ruin yet another shirt.”
I paused, took a slow breath. “Would you help me?”
Dove’s brown eyes flashed to mine for a second, then away again.
“Yes. I mean, if you want me to. I guess it’s my fault, really, because Bluebell…”
I held out my arm, letting her inspect it. A vein in her neck throbbed, pulse so quick. I suddenly felt hyperaware of the fact that I was basically naked from the waist up. Alone in my room. Next to my bed. With Dove.
“Let’s take care of it in your sitting room,” I shot out. “Get some distance from that beastie in case she decides to finish the job.” I nodded over to Bluebell, who was now placidly cleaning her nether regions on my chair.