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Chapter Nineteen

Farrendel perched on the bench across the back wall of his workshop. The research books for his homework spread across the surface, but he had yet to write a sentence. His brain remained too weary, and it had taken all his motivation just to get himself down here, much less work on a paper.

He slumped against the wall and simply stared, as if staring at the paper would make it write itself eventually.

A knock lightly rapped against the outer door.

He froze, staring at the door. He did not want company, exactly. But he did not want to be alone either.

It might be Essie, coming to check on him after their rough night. Or perhaps her mother, Weylind, or Rheva. He did not want to see any of them right now, though hiding was unlikely to make them go away.

Farrendel gathered enough energy to call out, “Come in.”

The door opened, revealing the last person Farrendel expected.

His sister Melantha stood there, shifting from foot to foot. Her black hair remained short, arranged in some spiky style above the leather band around her forehead that served as a circlet. She wore a red shirt beneath a leather vest trimmed in white fur. Her skirt and boots were also made of fur. She looked more the warrior than he had ever seen her.

Melantha’s gaze flicked to him, then back to her feet. “May I come in?”

He was not sure what to say. He had to work for several moments before he could get out, “Yes.”

Melantha eased inside, leaving the door open behind her. On the other side of the open doorway, both Captain Merrick and Iyrinder took places near enough that they could step in if he called for them, but not so close that they would overhear if Farrendel and Melantha spoke at a normal volume. They were still being cautious with Melantha, treating her as if she would turn on him again.

“What are you doing here?” Farrendel winced. The words had come out harsher than he had intended, as if he were still suspicious of her.

Melantha halted in the center of the workshop, her hands in front of her as if to prove to him that she was unarmed. “Rharreth and Weylind are in a meeting, and I was told I would find you here.”

“No, no.” Farrendel shook his head, gesturing toward the open doorway. “What are you doing in Tarenhiel? Rharreth’s meeting about the bridge is not for a few more weeks.”

Melantha rolled her shoulders in a shrug, peering up at him with a hesitancy that he was not used to seeing from her. “We heard Elspetha had been shot, and we decided to come early. I wanted to make sure both of you were all right.”

Farrendel squeezed his eyes shut. Melantha had promised that if he were in trouble, she would come. And she had, even before he had a chance to ask for her help. “Linshi, isciena.”

Melantha’s shoulders eased from their tight posture. She gestured at the workshop. “This turned out well.”

Farrendel nodded and pointed toward the cold cupboard that she and Rharreth had sent as their contribution. It was heavy, created of stone filled with magic ice. “I use your cold cupboard all the time. It works far better than any cold cupboard created by elves or humans.”

“Trolls are good with the cold.” Melantha’s mouth twitched with the hint of a smile, but she remained in the center of the room, as if she did not dare approach.

Farrendel shoved aside a bunch of his books and papers, clearing a space on the workbench. “Feel free to sit. Or take one of the chairs.”

Melantha glanced from the table and two chairs tucked into a corner to the space on the workbench beside Farrendel. After a moment, she crossed the room and lightly hopped onto the workbench, swinging her legs against the shelves below. She glanced at Farrendel, studying him. “Are you truly all right?”

Right now, he was weary and empty. His nightmares had been particularly vivid last night. Before, when he had dreamed about Essie being hurt, he could assure himself when he woke up that his dreams were a lie.

But now, she had been shot. His nightmares had real images of her hurt and dying with which to torture him.

It turned out that hot chocolate in the middle of the night caused Essie’s stomach to churn. And her munching on soda crackers in the wee hours of the morning grated against Farrendel’s anxiety. All that added up to a very rough, tense night.

But he was not going to tell Melantha that. Besides, he was tired of everyone asking about him when it was Essie who had been hurt. “I am fine, isciena. I am not the one who was shot.”

Melantha pressed her mouth into a tight line, as if she did not believe him. “I am concerned for Elspetha as well, shashon.”

That eased Farrendel’s ire, and he slumped back against the wall. “She is resting. It was a long night.”

Melantha did not ask. She likely assumed it was merely the nightmares. She would not know it was nightmares plus pregnancy that had made the night especially long.

But enough about himself. He had spent all morning sitting here stewing.