Page 36 of Silverbow (The Godsung Saga #1)

eighteen

Oryn

“ W hy?” He asked.

She shrugged. “Should I meet another man with a cudgel.”

His gifts stirred at her words. They had gone mostly quiet since they’d found her, but when her temper flared or danger was hinted at, Mosphaera seemed to take an interest. He’d been hesitant to heal her in Trowbridge after how he seemed to lose control at Ryerson House, but to his surprise, when he released the damper and melded air, water, and spirit together for the healing, his gifts seemed to hum contentedly in time with hers.

“No man with a cudgel will trouble you now,” he answered.

She rolled her eyes. “And when you are not lording over me?”

“I intend to lord over you until we reach Drozia.”

“Are there no cudgels in Drozia?”

He blew a long breath out through his nose. “None you need be concerned about.”

“You will not teach me?” There was a determined squaring of her shoulders he’d come to recognize since Trowbridge.

He sighed. “You’re more likely to get hurt than learn anything useful.”

“So what am I supposed to do if I meet another brigand, play dead?”

“The bow serves you well enough. Play to your strengths. ”

She huffed as if the godsung gift was nothing at all and stomped to the horse line.

Enya Ryerson was as ill tempered as the big red mare tethered beside Kiawa.

She was stubborn as a mule, bristled at every common sense suggestion he made, and demanded to know the reason for everything.

With the hum that filled his ears, she was like a tiny, unruly bite-me buzzing around that he couldn’t bring himself to squash.

He had learned much of her temper along the road, but he’d gleaned no more of what Peytar Ralenet wanted with her.

In fact, the more he got to know the girl, the less he understood why she was worth a tidy fortune to the High Lord of Pavia.

She would never survive the Haarstrond Court, or perhaps, the Haarstrond Court would not survive her.

Perhaps for that reason alone he should deliver her to the Master of Coin.

Mosphaera rattled him even for the passing inclination.

The Silverbow seemed to take a shining to Aiden, which he found even more irksome.

The fire wielder’s endless bantering was bad enough, but now he had someone who bantered back.

Her barbs were sometimes playful, but sometimes the ever present rage got the better of her and they came out with a venom that took him aback.

Anger seemed to be the only emotion she ever allowed off a tight leash.

He could sense no more fear in her, but she often clung to that horse head carving in her pocket like some men clutched to their devotions.

It was often the only tell that something bothered her, that and the half-heard list she muttered under her breath when she thought no one was listening.

Unsurprisingly, she held to the Estryian ideas of propriety, which made for interesting camp life even if she was too stubborn to admit anything made her uncomfortable.

It had been long years since they had a woman in their midst, and longer still for a mortal woman, but it made little difference to Oryn or his companions.

She was a bounty to deliver to sanctuary, no more, no less, even if this particular bounty seemed to do unusual things to his gifts.

Unfortunately for her, Berdea Plain lacked any semblance of privacy.

Perhaps fortunately for her, there was only one bathing hole on the way to Windcross Wells.

“You can wash,” Colm told her, nodding to the pond. “No one will bother you.”

Spots of color bloomed in her cheeks. “I…” She eyed the water that lay bare to their camp .

He could see her grasping for a flimsy excuse. Oryn sighed. It would be a long ride to Drozia if she refused to bathe. “You will wash or I will drop that pond on your head,” he said coolly.

She snapped up straighter and opened her mouth to argue, but it was Aiden who cut her off. “Don’t worry, Lady Silverbow. We’ve all dandled prettier women over our knees, and less pretty too. Nothing of great interest to us here.” He waggled his eyebrows at her in challenge.

Colm rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger, shaking his head in silent admonition. Bade wore his usual scowl that could have meant anything at all, but Oryn watched the girl. He expected another flush of crimson, but she rose steadily to her feet and tossed her long braid over her shoulder.

“Tell me, wielder. How many cups of wine must you ply a girl with before she finds much of great interest here ?”

Emerald eyes raked over Bellas’s son from head to boot, examining him like she might a horse. By the thin press of her mouth, she found much left to be desired. Oryn hid his own grin by shear force of will. Perhaps the curious girl with the curious gift would give Aiden a run for his coin.

“What do you say we find out in the next tavern?” He shot her a wink.

She snorted and stalked to her saddle bags, muttering about men under her breath. Goading her seemed to work. Perhaps Aiden was on to something.

“Do you enjoy getting knocked off your horse?” Colm asked quietly.

“Do you think she’ll take me up on it?” Aiden asked eagerly.

“I will strangle you if you try,” Oryn huffed.

Bade’s brows rose. “So she is or she isn’t just another a bounty, Brydove? Is there a reason we galloped west as if chased by Solignis himself?”

Oryn glared back. He hadn’t worked out what she was other than important to the gods.

He still had the feeling Colm knew more than he let on, but he didn’t press the man.

Colm was particular about what he did and did not share.

Mortals and immortals alike were susceptible to his gift and what the girl feared about his ability to root around in their heads was entirely valid.

He wouldn’t of course, but if he had stumbled on something by accident or in the World of Dreams, he would keep it to himself unless it was absolutely necessary.

She crossed the camp with a bundle in her arms, darting nervous looks over her shoulder to where they sat.

“The gods have an interest in her, and if you so much as turn your head that way, fire wielder, I will break your neck,” he snarled. The warning was unnecessary. Irritating as he was, Aiden was a man of Eastwood. He knew better, even if he’d never spent a day in Eastwood in his life.

He held up his hands defensively. “A man should get a little reward for almost losing an arm, is all I’m saying.”

Oryn rolled his eyes. He’d healed Aiden’s arm in Trowbridge. He had not almost lost it, but he wasn’t in the mood to argue.

“If you weren’t such a bloody fool, you wouldn’t have almost lost an arm,” Bade bit back. “How did you manage that?”

Aiden sighed. “We can’t all be blademasters, Bade. It would rather diminish the mark.”

He snorted and crossed his arms. “You’ve been swinging a sword longer than all those boys combined.”

“Hardly,” Aiden said dryly. “I’m not ancient .”

“Old enough to know better,” Colm chided.

“Thank you for seeing to her in Trowbridge,” Oryn said, his gaze taking in all of his companions.

Aiden blinked at him like he had sprouted a second head. “Just because you thanked me, doesn’t mean I’m not going to push my luck,” he said. “And you owe me a coat.” He fingered the hole left by the blade.

“I’ll buy you one in Windcross Wells.”

“The girl’s making you soft,” Bade huffed.

Perhaps she was, but it wasn’t entirely his fault. Whatever the gods wanted with Enya Silverbow, it seemed important enough to drag him into it. When she settled back by the fire, her damp, freshly dyed hair hung over the towel she kept wrapped around her shoulders.

“Much better,” Aiden declared loudly.

She eyed him distrustfully, as did Oryn.

He tapped the side of his nose with a finger. “The smell. Our noses are so sensitive.”

She scowled. “Like you don’t smell like you’re wearing weeks of travel.”

Aiden shrugged. “Take the compliment, Lady Silverbow. When you don’t smell like sweat and horse dung, you smell divine .”

Spots of color appeared again in her cheeks.

“We thought you were a fire wielder at first.”

“Why?” She asked hesitantly, her brow creasing .

“You smell like smoke,” he shrugged. “It’s common with our gifts. But it must just be that lovely little temper of yours.”

She raised her shirt to her nose and sniffed. “I do not.”

“You do.”

Her eyes narrowed, but Colm pushed a plate into her hands.

It had taken almost a week before she believed they weren’t trying to poison her and cart her off.

It would have been an even longer trip to Drozia if she kept up that particular concern.

But there was nothing to be done about her temper.

That would be a problem for whatever king or court she decided to serve.

The girl would have her pick of them, if she could manage to accept an order without questioning it, which was probably asking too much.

He doubted Enya Silverbow would be taking orders any time soon, even from the gods themselves.

***

True to his word, Aiden didn’t relent. As they sat around their fire each evening, he found new things to prod at, and returned to the ones that seemed to get the most rise out of her.

It had become clear early on that her family was hallowed ground, and any mention of them cast her into a heavy silence.

But the topic of her suitors was one she would rise for, even after a long day in the saddle.

Oryn found himself half listening even as he tried to ignore it.

“There’s really no poor sap waiting for you back in Westforks?” She huffed as she wrapped her arms around her shins, drawing her knees to her chest. “What about those husbands your father mentioned when we stopped by?”

She glared daggers at him. “I have no use for a husband.”

Aiden gave her a lopsided grin. “Oh, they’ve plenty of uses.”

“Really? Beyond inheritance law, I’m not sure I can think of a single one. And it doesn’t seem like I have to worry about that now.”

“I’m sure I could help you come up with a few others.”

She eyed him with cool indifference. “I seriously doubt there’s anything you could do that I couldn’t do better.”

“Is that a challenge, Silverbow?”

She snorted.

“Did a stable boy leave you wanting after a roll in the hay? Is that the problem?” He prodded .

“Don’t answer that,” Colm said sharply, turning a warning look on Aiden.

The girl arched a brow, not a trace of embarrassment to be found. “No.”

“So it’s murder then.”

Lines of confusion etched her forehead. “What?”

“Lord Ryerson’s crime,” he grinned. “I think we’ve finally solved the mystery.”

She laughed and rested her chin atop her knees. “No, that’s not it.”

“Oh! Is it unrequited love that has so jaded the young Lady Silverbow?” Aiden asked. “Did some farmer’s daughter steal away your stable boy?”

“No.” Her gaze took on a faraway look. “The wielders did.”

The amusement guttered out of Aiden’s eyes. Oryn kept his gaze trained on the flame and vaguely wondered where the poor boy was now.

Colm sat forward, his brow furrowed. “Was he a spirit wielder?”

Her head whipped up in surprise. “How did you know?”

“Just something I saw in a dream,” he mused.

Aiden seemed to recover himself and gave her a wink. “Well, the offer’s open.”

She rolled her eyes. “If I see a damsel reeking of desperation, I’ll be sure to let her know.”

When Colm pressed his hand to her forehead that night to let the dream ward settle, he whispered, “If Aiden’s teasing bothers you-”

“It’s fine,” she said quickly. “I like the distraction.”

That made one of them.

***

Oryn pulled his shirt around his shoulders as Aiden took his turn to spar, keenly aware of the girl’s eyes boring into his back.

He left the coat. It was growing warmer with each passing day, and the air over Berdea Plain was thick and heavy.

Every morning they sparred, she would ask.

Every time she asked, he would refuse, but still-

“Will you teach me?”

“No.”

She let out a disdainful sniff and stomped across the campsite.

Oryn took the plate Colm proffered and settled down in the dirt to watch her out of the corner of his eye.

She paced back and forth, examining the ground.

Finally she bent and plucked a long, flimsy dried reed out of the grass.

She twirled it in her hands, and seeming satisfied, took a place off to the side.

She was well out of Bade and Aiden’s way, but she chose a place in Oryn’s line of sight and started moving through sword forms.

Oryn watched his plate.

“She’s quite good,” Colm murmured into his tea. He glanced at his companion, who openly watched her with interest, but Oryn pointedly stood and started the washing up to break camp. The bow would serve her better than a sword ever would. “Who was this Master of Arms of yours?”

Oryn darted a glance her way. She perched on the ball of one foot, sword, reed, held in front of her nose, in a form meant to build balance. She slid smoothly into Crane in the Meadow, her leg extending behind her, bending forward, reed outstretched. “His name was Neigel Marwar.”

The name on the bounty was not one any of them knew. Colm shook his head. “He was an Estryian knight?”

“I suppose.”

A curious decision to teach a girl the sword, but it was none of his concern.

He crossed to the picket line to saddle Kiawa.

The stallion stood stoically beside her mare.

Oryn lifted his saddle and settled it over his back.

When he bent to reach for the girth, a sharp pinch to his backside made him jump.

His head whipped around to see Arawelo, eyeing him with distaste.

Gods. The mare is almost as insufferable as her rider.

Colm came to the mare’s other side to start saddling Lanta. “You should teach her,” he said quietly.

“Don’t encourage her.” Enya bloody Ryerson might be good with some basic sword forms, but it wouldn’t matter when she faced a man with a foot or more of reach on her, or a man with heavy shoulders who would wear her down with brute strength.

“She should have learned music or needlepoint or something that might be of use to her some day.”

“I bloody hate needlepoint,” she hissed.

Oryn sucked a long breath through his nose.

She could move quietly when she wasn’t stomping around.

She still held the reed tucked under her arm and tossed it into her pile of saddlebags.

His irritation only mounted when she carried it for the last days they journeyed to Windcross Wells.