As they rode, Fanya pondered the human’s request. She knew the rune to call light, of course—calya—and several others that created a small glamour, such as adding extra sparkle to gems or a sheen to her court gowns. Perhaps a combination of the two would work.
“I will attempt to enchant your vision,” she told Prince Kentry the next time they halted for a rest.
“Just to be clear,” he said, moving stiffly to perch on a nearby fallen log, “this is not my heart’s desire.”
“Understood.” She nodded gravely, pretending she actually had the power to perform such a life-changing magic as reading his heart and making that wish come true.
She started by quickly refreshing the healing rune on his arm, frowning at the reddened flesh surrounding the arrow hole. It was not mending at all, and she worried that he might develop wound-fever. She added a murmured rune of pain-ease over the injury, and he drew in a deep, relieved breath. Clearly, he’d been concealing the extent of his discomfort.
Once she was finished with his arm, she came to stand before him. He watched her calmly.
“Close your eyes,” she said.
He did, and she rested her fingertips gently over his eyebrows, trying to ignore how her pulse jumped. Truly, this wasn’t a difficult thing she was about to attempt. Why her breath should be trembling, she could not say.
“Calyagalad,” she said, drawing upon her wellspring and directing the power through her hands.
Blue light flared across her fingers, throwing his face into sharp relief, then fading. Slowly, she pulled her hands away.
“Open your eyes.”
He did, blinking. A hint of astonishment crossed his face as he turned his head, looking at the trees, the flowers, and then her.
“Astounding.” His gaze held hers. “Thank you, Fanya. I no longer feel as if I’m stumbling about in a dark room.”
“Good. If, once we reach Nightshade, the light becomes too bright, tell me. I should be able to remove the enchantment.” At least, she hoped so.
He nodded, and they mounted and recommenced their journey through the Erynvorn.
The palemoon had fled from the sky, and the brightmoon was dipping low when they finally reached a small clearing where they could make camp. As soon as Prince Kentry halted his horse, Fanya slipped lightly off and laid her hand against its warm back in gratitude for bearing her.
The prince dismounted more slowly, wincing in pain from the movement. A sluggish flow of blood had begun trickling from the arrow-hole in his arm, and she frowned in sympathy. Once she’d foraged for their dinner, she’d once again tend to the injury as best she could. It was her fault he was wounded, after all.
Though it was also his fault, for capturing her in the first place…
“This is where we’ll spend the night?” He turned in a slow circle, then glanced up at the star-specked sky.
“Yes.” She indicated the tumble of boulders on one side of the clearing. “We’ll sleep beneath the shelter of the rocks. Now, rest. I’ll fetch water.”
“Here.” He unslung an empty water skin from his belt and handed it to her.
Soft-footed, Fanya made her way to the stream that lay deeper in the Erynvorn. She filled his container and her own, with the clear sweet water. On the way back, she gathered a pouchful of tart red berries and the long, moist shelf of a tree-growing mushroom.
Those, plus the supplies she carried in her pack, should feed them well enough. She didn’t know if Kentry would have anything to contribute. He seemed rather ill-provisioned for a trip into the forest. Mortals were strange creatures.
Though not without their small charms.
He’d borne up stoically, though she knew his arm pained him with every movement. Despite that, he’d met her pointed words with jabs of own, which she couldn’t help but admire. In the Moonflower Court, she was often chided for her sharp tongue.
Though, if she were a warrior instead of the youngest daughter of the Moonflower Lord and Lady, such bluntness would be appreciated, not frowned upon.
The fact that this mortal prince didn’t feel any need to mince words with her made her like him all the better. Even if he thought she was an enchanted deer. He was clever, too. The suggestion that she enchant his vision had been a good one, and she was pleased she’d been able to create a rune to suit.
When she returned to the clearing, she found that Kentry had made the rudiments of their camp, despite his injury.
“You were supposed to rest,” she reminded him, glancing at the unsaddled horse that now browsed the clearing, the armfuls of long grasses he’d cut and laid at the foot of the stones to cushion their sleep.
“I did.” He lifted his uninjured shoulder in a shrug. “For a short time, anyway.”
She deposited the food she’d gathered on a flat stone and went to fetch the cheese and last bit of bread from her pack. The prince rummaged in his satchel and brought out dried fruit and a small piece of salted meat.
“I’m sorry I don’t have more,” he said. “I didn’t expect…this.” He looked at her, then the cedars towering above them.
“Do you have any bedding?” she asked, though she feared the answer was clear enough.
“Just my cloak. It won’t get too cold, will it?”
“No—perhaps a bit cooler than it is now, once the brightmoon sets.” She was reluctant to add her fear that he’d become feverish. Even with magical healing, wounds sometimes went bad.
But tomorrow they would reach Nightshade, and the healer there was certainly skilled enough to tend this stray human.
Then what?
Her mind shied from the question. Her current task was to bring Kentry safely out of the Erynvorn. Whatever happened after that was in the Oracle's hands.
“Come, sit by me and let me tend to that,” she said, nodding to his arm.
He dabbed at the ooze of blood on his upper arm, then looked at his fingers, smeared faintly with red. “It doesn’t hurt.”
“Whether or not it does, it’s never a good idea to bleed in the middle of the Erynvorn.” She patted the grass covered ground beside her.
“The Erynvorn.” He glanced at the trees surrounding their small clearing. “In my land, we call this forest the Darkwood.”
“It is the same meaning,” she said.
“I like your language better.” He sent her a quick grin, then held out his arm. “Do your magic.”
She poured a little water over the wound, wiping the liquid gently away with a torn-off strip of her undertunic and taking care not to touch the injury itself. Then she held her hand just above his arm and closed her eyes, reaching within herself for her wellspring of power.
As she’d not been healer-trained, she only knew those two runes; one to ease pain and the other to staunch blood and knit together small wounds. The hole in Kentry’s arm could not be called small, of course, but her meager efforts would have to suffice until they reached the Nightshade Court.
She spoke both runes, infusing them with as much power as she could, conscious of his intent gaze as she worked. When she finished, she glanced into his face, glad to see that the lines of pain creasing his forehead had eased once more.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Since I caused your injury, it’s only fair that I tend it. But soon enough you’ll be healed entirely, and free to return to your own land.”
“With my wish granted,” he reminded her.
Since she had no idea how to do such a thing, she made no reply. Instead, she turned to the flat stone and busied herself with portioning out their food.
They took their meal, though the prince was clearly distrustful of the mushroom, and only ate sparingly of the berries.
“I’m not trying to poison you,” she said. “Eat. Your body needs fuel.”
Slowly, he picked up a slice of mushroom and sniffed it. “It’s unfamiliar.”
“This whole realm is unfamiliar to you,” she pointed out, a bit tartly. “That doesn’t mean you must starve to death.”
He shook his head, then took a bite of the mushroom and chewed it slowly. “I hope you have better food at your courts.”
“I didn’t think it wise to light a cooking fire. But I assure you, my people don’t subsist on raw foods gleaned from the forest.”
His eyebrows twitched, but he finished the piece of mushroom. She noticed he didn’t reach for any more.
The last golden radiance faded as the brightmoon slipped away behind the trees, chasing the absent palemoon. A bird chirped sleepily from a nearby thicket, and the glowing blossoms of the quille furled themselves into shadow. Fanya tidied up the remains of their meal, then took her spidersilk blanket from her pack.
Normally she bound the two edges together with a simple rune, creating an envelope to sleep within—but it was large enough to spread over two, if they settled next to one another. She didn’t welcome the thought of lying beside Kentry all night, but he was her responsibility, and she would let no harm come to him.
Speaking of which, she needed to set the wards about their camp before the darkness brought anything unpleasant their way.
“If you need a moment,” she said to the prince, “best take it now. I will be warding the clearing, and once the protections are in place, you cannot cross them.”
“Why not?” He gave her a keen glance, curiosity glinting in his dark brown eyes. “Will the enchantment hurt me?”
“No. It will simply dispel, leaving us vulnerable.”
“Can I watch you cast them?”
“I suppose there’s no harm in it, but I doubt you’ll be able to see anything.”
He nodded, then rose to tend to his needs. In his absence, Fanya spread her silken blanket over the mounded grass he’d gathered for their simple bed. She did not like it, but there was no other option.
When the prince returned, he rinsed his hands and splashed water on his face, leaving a small amount in his waterskin. He glanced at the bed, then back to her.
“Where will I sleep?”
She shot him a look. “Do you think I mean to take all the comfort for myself and leave you on the hard ground?”
Color reddened his face and he glanced away. “I didn’t want to presume. But if you’re inviting me to share your bed—”
“I am not. We will simply sleep next to one another, for warmth.” And so that, if he took a turn for the worse in the dark hours, she would sense it and be able to tend him.
“Ah.” He nodded sagely. “For warmth.”
Now it was her turn to blush.
“You’re wounded,” she said. “And even if you were not, I do not find you appealing in that manner.”
Which, she had to privately admit, was an untruth. Though his features were not as sharp as those of her people, she found his full mouth and the soft planes of his cheeks appealing. The warmth in his eyes reminded her of the taste of dark honey, and for a fleeting moment she wondered how his hair would look, grown long and braided in the fashion of the warriors of Elfhame.
He raised a clenched fist to his heart. “You wound me! I am considered one of the most handsome men in Raine.”
“I have wounded you, yes.” She gave his injured arm a significant glance. “And as for what passes as comeliness among humans, I cannot say.”
“You would be thought quite beautiful.” There was no mockery in his voice. “By mortal standards, at least.”
She ducked her head, letting her hair cover her blush with a silvery veil. By the moons, this human had a surprising ability to discomfit her.
Well, he would be gone soon enough, and then she wouldn’t have to worry about how uncomfortable he made her. Strangely, she did not welcome the thought.