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A Stroke Of Midnight :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 137 из 293The sidhe can take a lot of wounds, a lot of blood loss, but there has to be enough blood left to keep the body running, the heart pumping.
Frost had remained standing in front of me during all of it, guarding me. I couldn’t argue with his division of labor, not with Galen lying limp and pale on the floor. I was a great deal easier to kill than Galen.
But Frost had watched as we found the wounds. “Where is the healer that you sent for?”
Adair shook his head. “I do not know.”
“We’re running out of time,” I said. “We have to close the wounds and keep what little blood he has left inside him.”
“I can close his wounds,” a woman’s voice said. We looked to find one of the kneeling prisoners smiling at us. Her hair was the color of yellow corn silk, her eyes triple colors of blue, silver, with an inner circle of light, if light had a single color. I’d never known what to call the final color of Hafwyn’s eyes.
The other women said, “No… You cannot help them. You betray our master…” and other less complimentary things.
Hafwyn shrugged with her hands still bound behind her. “We are captured, and our master is still imprisoned. I think it would not be a mistake to have some favor on other shores.”
She raised one of her dark eyebrows. With her very blond hair, in a human I would have thought dye, but in a race where your eyes could be three different colors, what was black eyebrows and blond hair?
“You are a traitor to your oath if you do this,” Melangell said. There was blood running down her face from a wound that had split the side of her helmet. If she’d been human, her brains would have spilled out, but she was barely bleeding.
“I never made an oath to Prince Cel,” Hafwyn said. “It was Prince Essus I vowed to serve. When he died, no one asked if we would serve Cel, we were simply given to him. No one living has my oath of loyalty.” She looked at me as she said it, and there was something in her face, some need, some message.
“Can she really heal him?” I asked.
“She can close his wounds,” Adair said, “but that’s all.”
“It is more than any of the rest of us can do for him,” said Hawthorne. “Though, in truth, it never occurred to me to ask Galen’s assassins if they could help heal him.” I searched his face for the irony that should have gone with those words, but he simply looked as if he were stating a fact.
“Do we trust her?” Nicca asked.
I laid a hand against Galen’s cooling skin. “No,” I said, “but untie her anyway.” Earlier that day I had been ready to give Galen up to an unknown lover.
Frost had remained standing in front of me during all of it, guarding me. I couldn’t argue with his division of labor, not with Galen lying limp and pale on the floor. I was a great deal easier to kill than Galen.
But Frost had watched as we found the wounds. “Where is the healer that you sent for?”
Adair shook his head. “I do not know.”
“We’re running out of time,” I said. “We have to close the wounds and keep what little blood he has left inside him.”
“I can close his wounds,” a woman’s voice said. We looked to find one of the kneeling prisoners smiling at us. Her hair was the color of yellow corn silk, her eyes triple colors of blue, silver, with an inner circle of light, if light had a single color. I’d never known what to call the final color of Hafwyn’s eyes.
The other women said, “No… You cannot help them. You betray our master…” and other less complimentary things.
Hafwyn shrugged with her hands still bound behind her. “We are captured, and our master is still imprisoned. I think it would not be a mistake to have some favor on other shores.”
She raised one of her dark eyebrows. With her very blond hair, in a human I would have thought dye, but in a race where your eyes could be three different colors, what was black eyebrows and blond hair?
“You are a traitor to your oath if you do this,” Melangell said. There was blood running down her face from a wound that had split the side of her helmet. If she’d been human, her brains would have spilled out, but she was barely bleeding.
“I never made an oath to Prince Cel,” Hafwyn said. “It was Prince Essus I vowed to serve. When he died, no one asked if we would serve Cel, we were simply given to him. No one living has my oath of loyalty.” She looked at me as she said it, and there was something in her face, some need, some message.
“Can she really heal him?” I asked.
“She can close his wounds,” Adair said, “but that’s all.”
“It is more than any of the rest of us can do for him,” said Hawthorne. “Though, in truth, it never occurred to me to ask Galen’s assassins if they could help heal him.” I searched his face for the irony that should have gone with those words, but he simply looked as if he were stating a fact.
“Do we trust her?” Nicca asked.
I laid a hand against Galen’s cooling skin. “No,” I said, “but untie her anyway.” Earlier that day I had been ready to give Galen up to an unknown lover.