“He went to Stonehollow to get help from Uncle Carlsruhe. We’re expecting them both back today. I thought you were…”

“I know,” Trasen said, anxious to depart. He saw Devin poke his head around the door. The two of them were always together. Devin rubbed his eyes blearily. “Listen, both of you. I need to take one of the horses. Fast, but sturdy. I’ll take Paden.”

“Master took her already,” Devin said.

Trasen cursed under his breath. “Willow then. I assume he didn’t take the wagon and the team?” They nodded in agreement. “Good. Fetch me some bread and another waterskin. Some food for the road. There is one way out of this valley and one road to Kenatos. I’m going after Phae.”

Tate looks horrified. “You lost her!”

Trasen nearly boxed him. “I shot a man at twenty spans in the chest and it didn’t hurt him so much as a bee sting.” He grunted and shook his head. “I…I did what I could, but he was better than a soldier.”

“Is that a bruise on your cheek?” Devin asked.

“Fetch the food, Devin. I’ll saddle Willow. We don’t have time to stand here and talk. Phae is in danger. Tell Master Winemiller I’m going after her. Tell him…I won’t come back without her.”

Phae awoke just before dawn. Her muscles were cramped, and her ear throbbed with soreness. As she blinked, she tried to remember where she was and realized she had cried herself asleep on the grass. Her eyes were swollen, her throat parched. She sat up slowly, shivering uncontrollably at the memories of the night. The sky was turning violet in the horizon and the stars were beginning to vanish, one by one. Pale dawn was coming.

“Are you cold?”

His voice came from behind her and she flinched. She nodded meekly, but what made her shiver wasn’t the bite of the morning air. She was terrified and wary of anything that might upset the Kishion now.

He shifted in the grass, rising, and then settled his tattered cloak over her shoulders. She could see his arms through the rips in his sleeves, all knotted muscles and dark hair. The smell of his cloak was musty and it did not provide any comfort.

“Thank you,” Phae whispered hoarsely.

He came around and squatted in front of her, offering her leather pack that she had left behind in the abandoned cottage. She touched it, stroking the edge with her fingers, and another shiver ran through her.

“Let me see your ear,” he said.

She shook her head and eased away from him. “It doesn’t hurt much,” she lied.

“Let me see it,” he insisted. The light was slowly improving, but it was not bright enough for her to fully see his eyes. She would not have dared to try stealing his memories, though.

Gingerly, she combed her fingers through her knotted strands and brushed the hair back from her ear, exposing the wound to him. She looked at her left hand and saw dried blood on her fingers. He saw it as well, his expression hardening subtly.

The Kishion pulled out his leather flask and unstoppered it. He motioned the lip of it toward her hands and she cupped them. He poured water there and then took her wrists and began rubbing her palms together, letting the water spill through her fingers. He ripped a torn segment of his cloak from off her shoulders and dabbed her hands dry. Afterward, he examined her hands, appraising them at different angles, and then folded up the fabric. He poured more water onto it and moved closer to her, so close she could feel his breath. It was frightening having him so close. The scars on his face were becoming more pronounced as the sunlight began to swell across the horizon.

He pressed the sodden fabric against her cheek and she flinched with the sting. The Kishion set down the wad and turned, picking up a sprig with green leaves that was near where he had been sitting. He snapped off one of the leaves and offered it to her.

“Chew this. It will ease the pain.”

She stared at the leaf curiously and smelled it first. The aroma was unfamiliar, and it tasted bitter but not disgusting. She worked it with her teeth as he took up the rag again and started cleaning the blood from her neck. In a few moments, he had cleaned up the stains and then blotted around the tender areas of her ear where it had torn. It stung fiercely, but she clenched her fists and was determined to brave it. He studied her closely, examining the wound, and then nodded with satisfaction.

“Thank you,” she murmured, uncertain as to his motives.

He snorted, looking away from her at the first blush of dawn. They watched the sky together in silence as it began to turn green, then yellow.

He turned back and looked at her, his eyes wary. “I’m sorry I frightened you so badly.” The words came out hesitantly. “I lost control of myself last night. That doesn’t happen very often. I regret it.”