Page 111 of Tides of Shadows

“Are you afraid?”

I weighed the question.

“I don’t think so. Not any longer. I have made my peace with it. Besides, I have a certain debt to settle.”

I was not thinking of Dricus, nor even of the Dominium, but of the dark-haired man to whom I had promised death. Malric.

When we returned to the fortress, the sun was already slipping beneath the earth, leaving strokes of gold across the sky.

As I swung down from the saddle, Tristan came nearer and said suddenly, “You are bleeding.”

I looked at my arm. Blood ran down from my elbow, darkening the torn leather of my sleeve.

“I must have scratched myself on a branch or thorns.” I shrugged. “I didn’t feel it.”

He stepped closer and examined the cut, his fingers surprisingly gentle. He drew out a white handkerchief and bound my arm, staunching the blood.

He stood very near. Too near.

Then he began to study my face, not the wound. He was just like Aidenar. I knew exactly what women saw in him.

I was willing to bet he’d broken more than one heart with those eyes.

“Nerissa, are you alright?” came Aidenar’s voice behind us, full of concern.

Tristan didn’t move. He still stood close, as if he meant to provoke. I turned to Aidenar.

“It is only a scratch. Nothing serious,” I said.

“Tristan, step away.”

“Aiden?” I gave him a questioning look.

Tristan only glanced at him, and did not move, a faint smile on his lips.

“I said. Step. Away.” Now Aidenar spoke in his mother’s tone, that icy, lordly voice, his eyes hard as steel. I could feel the power in him crawling on the surface. He was always allowing it to show more than he should.

This was their conflict. I preferred not to get involved.

Tristan slowly took a step back, but his gaze remained fixed on me.

“It is easy to understand,” he said slowly, “why you fell head over heels.”

The tension between them thickened, almost something I could touch with my hand.

“Come, Nerissa.” Aidenar held out his hand. “I will take you to the infirmary. This needs to be treated.”

I gave Tristan a small nod in farewell and let Aidenar lead me away.

He did not speak on the way. His jaw was clenched, his steps sharp and sure. He was angry. At me, perhaps. At Tristan, without doubt.

When we entered the infirmary he told the healer to bring some medicine, bandages and leave us. The man obeyed at once, though he cast me a curious look as he departed.

Aidenar helped me out of the leather jacket and the torn shirt beneath. I sat in my thin undergarments, the air of the room cool upon my bare skin. He began to clean and dress the wound with careful hands.

I sat upon the table, he stood so close our legs touched. My face was level with his chest.

“You know how to tend wounds?” I asked, watching his sure movements.