Chapter Thirty-One Samira #2
“Why not?” I demanded, desperate for a single explanation. If not about my runes, then anything would do.
He didn’t bother responding. Just turned on his heel, boots tromping as he stalked away.
With a sigh of frustration, I slammed the door.
He had smelled something wrong with my runes, but he’d still called me Majesty, so he didn’t know what it meant. He didn’t know who I was—or, rather, wasn’t. But it didn’t explain how I could have runes that were not black.
In fact, for all his raving about my ignorance, he hadn’t offered a single thing to rectify that.
How could I know something if he wouldn’t tell me?
It was aggravating and infuriating, and the next time he decided to help himself to my apparently not horrible scent, I was going to smack him. Right across the face.
Just imagining his look of shock gave me immense delight.
The young healer arrived soon after, the same one who’d given me the sleeping draught.
She was younger than me by a couple of years, a plump girl with a full face and rosy cheeks.
She came to my side and unfurled a rolled-up leather pouch, revealing tools and vials.
Dipping her fingers into a jar, she scooped up a thick brown substance and rubbed it into my shins.
It tingled as soon as it hit my skin, and the relief was instant.
A numbing agent of some kind. I sighed and relaxed into the pillows. “Thank you.”
She smiled and scooped some more into her hand.
“What’s your name?”
“Siv of Netherridge.” Her eyes darted up to mine for a split second. “My aunt and uncle are in the Seven.”
Sillia and Cano were from Netherridge. She must mean them.
“I am sorry your home was lost, Siv.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.” She dabbed a little more ointment on her finger and then very gently blended it into my forehead. My lingering headache completely vanished. “And thank you for saving Milena.”
“You know her?”
“I know of her,” she corrected. “Both her parents died when the Shroud took the Pillars, where she’s originally from.
But she managed to outrun it and reach her grandfather in Netherridge.
He was all she had left. If you hadn’t grabbed her, she would’ve…
” She cleared her throat and pulled back, quickly replacing the lid and rolling up the pouch.
“I came to Frostguard to study healing under my mother when I was seven. I haven’t been back to Netherridge in ten years, so I don’t really know her.
But I’m grateful for any Kald who is spared. ”
Once again, my heart ached for the little girl. I hadn’t managed to find time to check on her since Netherridge was lost, but I would rectify that now. “Could you take me to see her?”
Her brows rose. “Of course, Your Majesty.”
Siv guided me to a tent that was cramped with cots and utterly freezing. Even through my thick tunic and fur cloak, I shivered.
A solitary girl sat on a cot, legs drawn up, spine hunched.
“Milena,” I said softly, unclasping my cloak and wrapping it around her, smiling faintly as she snuggled into the warmth.
Her big blue eyes gazed up at me with gratitude.
So small, so helpless, so alone, and left in this ice cave of a tent.
I joined her cross-legged on the cot. She didn’t talk at first, so I did.
I told her she’d be safe here, looked after.
That I was sorry for what she’d seen. That her grandfather was happy where he was.
I had no way of knowing if the last bit was a lie, but it was the first one I’d happily told these past couple of weeks.
Her shoulders relaxed as I jabbered on, and when she leaned her head against my shoulder, I smiled softly. “If you ever need me,” I told her, “I’m in the cabin across from the longhouse. You can always come find me. All right?”
She nodded. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”
I gave her a squeeze and left with the promise that I’d be back to check on her again. Just before I exited the tent, Milena called, “Wait, Queen Amunet, you forgot your cloak.”
“It’s yours. A gift.”
Milena looked down at it with wide eyes and happily squeezed her doll, which I could see now was a rudimentary rendering of Ketet.
As Siv helped me back to my cabin, I asked, “Isn’t there something that can be done for the people from Netherridge? A proper house to stay in? Or a fire, at the very least?”
Siv shook her head. “All the cots are made of straw, Your Majesty. It would be too dangerous for an open fire. But the king is working on finding them a permanent place to stay. They’ll probably be sent to Keenforge. I think they have space there.”
“But until then, they need warmth. Maybe one of the braziers from the longhouse?”
“I suppose you could ask the king.” Siv paused by my cabin door and gave me a considering look. “You’re not mean. Ashorans are supposed to be mean.”
I chuckled softly. “Thank you?”
Siv flushed. “I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay. Some Ashorans are mean.” I looked over and noticed Keir watching me by the longhouse’s entrance. Though he was speaking with one of the other Shifters, his eyes were locked on mine. “Just like some Kaldfolk are.”
He cocked a brow, bright eyes searing against the kohl, fixing me with a look that reached across the dozens of feet separating us to make my face burn and my heart give a powerful kick. I knew I shouldn’t antagonize him, but fear took second place to the deep satisfaction of knowing he’d heard me.
Sympathy and kindness hadn’t worked. Seduction was out of the question. I guess that only left fighting back. A thought that lit up my nerves with trepidation and the slightest inexplicable hint of a thrill.