Page 79 of Silverbow (The Godsung Saga #1)

“I heard the most curious rumor that you had in your possession a bounty that you did not turn in,” she said with another assessing look at Enya.

She elbowed the man beside her. He produced his own gold mark with a resigned sigh.

“At least the poor girl remains on her feet. Have you forgotten your manners, Oryn?”

Oryn turned to Enya. “Prince Leondonderick, Prince of Dwarves, and the rock on which Drozia stands, his wife, Princess Alsbeterra.”

Alsbeterra gave a wry snort, but she turned a warm smile on Enya. “Above the third floor, dear, it’s just Leon and Alsbet.”

“A pleasure,” Enya said a bit breathlessly.

“Baths and meals await,” Alsbet said merrily.

She clapped her hands and dwarves in plum livery came hurrying forward to take their horses. Enya moved to object, but Oryn was already unbuckling her saddle bags and hefting the dragon eggs over his shoulder under Alsbet’s watchful eye.

“Ah, and whichever healer you prefer.”

The elves were gliding toward them with other worldly grace.

“Brydove,” the male drawled. “It seems I’m always to be summoned when your party arrives.”

“Stillwater,” Oryn answered tightly. “Pleased to see you’re still in residence. ”

The elf huffed and Enya wasn’t sure if it was at the hint of sarcasm in Oryn’s voice or because he remained in residence. “Like father, like son.”

One of the demi-elves behind her snarled.

The golden haired elven woman swept forward with a soft smile. “As this appears to be a job for only one of us, Othalas, and the gnomes all but dragged me here, why don’t you return to your courtly duties? I’ll see to the lady.”

Behind her, Liam muttered something about gnomes.

The elven woman planted a kiss on each of Oryn’s cheeks. Enya shifted uncomfortably, suddenly feeling awkward and clumsy in her ethereal presence.

“Thank you for coming so swiftly, Alloroalla.”

She gave a shallow curtsy. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Alsbet turned to Colm. “I sent Wigrett to ready the house.”

He bowed his head. “Thank you, Your Highness.”

“I need to visit my vault before we dine,” Oryn said, indicating the bags.

“What can be so important it cannot wait until after a good meal?” Alsbet huffed.

Oryn nodded to the palace. “Let us speak in private.”

The dwarf princess eyed Enya and the healer. “You can use my private audience chamber. We’ll wait for you in Leon’s.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” Alloralla said. “This way, Lady Ryerson.”

Enya didn’t allow herself a look back at the others as she followed the woman up the steps.

Massive double doors opened into a cavernous hall around them.

A forest of thick columns spanned high overhead, holding up crisscrossed arches in the ceiling.

At the far end of the room, a pair of gilded thrones sat atop a dais.

Alloralla glided around them on silent feet to twin doors obscured at their backs.

Enya gaped at the thrones, wondering if they were solid gold, as Alloralla pulled one open, waving her inside.

The princess’s private audience chamber was a plush, cozy room with overstuffed furniture. A living wall of tangled green vines stood behind an intricately carved rosewood desk. A harp stood sentry in the corner. Enya eyed the door that adjoined the next room.

“Sit anywhere you like,” Alloralla said, softly closing the door behind them.

Enya perched on the edge of a green velvet sofa, all too aware of her clothes that did not belong on such furniture.

“May I ask what your gift is? ”

She looked at the elven woman with surprise. “You can hear it too?”

“Hear it? No, child,” Alloralla said gently. “I only guessed. The prince is known to collect precious things, though he usually deposits them in the Vale.”

“I’m good with a bow,” Enya said sheepishly.

“Ah, a rare gift,” she mused. “Wonderful. And resonates with the prince’s, hmm? If he can hear it?”

“Something like that.”

She tapped a long, delicate finger to her lips. “Curious. Perhaps some connection with Mosphaera. I shall think on it.” She waved a long slender hand to Enya’s arm, still bound in its makeshift sling. “What was it, then?”

“A crossbow,” she answered.

Alloralla’s beautiful face crinkled. “How long?”

“Two weeks or so.”

“May I?” She asked.

She gave her ascent and Alloralla gently placed a hand atop her injured shoulder.

She braced for the icy wave, but it didn’t come.

Instead, warmth bloomed from her hand. Like melting candle wax, it slowly slid through Enya’s chest. It cooled where it met the wound, turning to ice that felt deliciously soothing.

“You were very lucky.”

“I’m not sure I’d consider anything about a crossbow particularly lucky,” Enya muttered.

Alloralla let out a laugh that sounded like tinkling little bells. “I meant you were lucky to have been with the prince.”

Faint spots of pink crept into her cheeks. Of course. “Do you…know him well?”

With another amused huff, Alloralla began carefully unknotting the sling. “I have known Oryn Brydove since he took his first breath. I was the court healer for Eastwood.”

“And now?”

“I reside in Stonescale, healing those who come in on ships and looking in on the prince when he and his court are in residence.”

His court. Light. She hadn’t considered the others as his bloody court. “And he…summoned you?”

“Colm found me in the dream when you departed Harbortown and asked me to come and then he set the gnomes on me. ”

She felt a bit sheepish, but she said, “Thank you for coming.”

Alloralla studied her with keen blue eyes. “Of course. I serve the court. But rest assured that there is nothing between us that will be discussed outside of this room, other than how long you are to rest.”

“And how long is that?” Enya asked.

“I am sentencing you to at least two weeks of silk sheets and down pillows. More, if the wound puts up a fight. A tricky spot that, and the prince’s healing, while life saving, is rather crude. He effectively plugged the hole and now we must unplug it and properly mend it.”

Enya gulped.

Alloralla waved a hand. “It’s not so bad as all that. You won’t feel a thing. I can wield away the pain.”

Where was that bloody wielding two weeks ago?

Alloralla carefully slid her fingers beneath the fabric of Enya’s shirt, brushing over the angry scar. “Oh you poor child.”

Before she could respond, that warmth bloomed again in her shoulder.

It tingled as it radiated out to her spine and across her ribs, chasing away all the pain.

She sighed as it continued to spread and pulse in time with her heart.

As it crept through all of her limbs, Enya felt weightless, like she was floating in a warm bath.

The relief was so glorious, she let out a little moan that made pink flood her cheeks.

The elven woman didn’t seem to notice. When her hands came away and the feeling came flooding back, she gently took up Enya’s wrist and moved her arm in careful circles.

“Any lingering pain?”

“No,” she sighed, flexing her fingers, the feeling strangely foreign.

Alloralla prodded at each of them in turn with what felt like a small, dull pin. “You feel that?”

She nodded.

“Very good. We’ll keep the sentence to two weeks. If it gives you a single twinge, I want to see it again. I’m afraid the scar will remain as a relic of the time that has passed since the wound.”

“Thank you,” Enya said, still testing the shoulder. Incredible.

The elven woman perched on the sofa across from her, studying her thoughtfully. “Is there anything else?”

“Like what? ”

“Anything at all. I’ve just done a full healing, my lady. Is there anything you want to discuss?”

Enya blinked at her and Alloralla sighed.

“You are free of any disease or defect. Assuming you can avoid crossbow bolts or any other calamities, you should live a long life for your kind. But, there is an exhaustion in you that feels older than two weeks, and there is a residue that suggests a dream ward has been in use for some time.” She examined Enya over steepled fingers. “Can you sleep without it?”

Light, I can’t even sleep with it. “Not really.”

Alloralla nodded pensively. “If you wish to talk about what stalks your dreams, Lady Ryerson, I am at your disposal. Otherwise, I can offer you a tonic or a similar warding.”

“The tonic?”

“I’ll have it sent to your room.”

“Thank you.”

The elven woman was still studying her. “Should you need any other tinctures or tonics, you need only send word.”

Enya realized what she was offering and felt herself turn scarlet.

Oryn

Oryn sank into the oversized tufted armchair in front of the hearth in Leon’s private audience chamber, piling the saddle bags containing Enya’s plunder in a heap at his feet. The room smelled of pipe smoke and old parchment. It soothed his frayed nerves.

Leon wasted no time in tossing his crown onto the desk littered with leather bound books and scrolls with broken wax seals. Alsbet busied herself pouring tea for four. “What business can you have that cannot wait until after we’ve had a meal?” She demanded.

It was terribly against custom to discuss business before dining in Drozia, but Leon’s wife would have to forgive him this once. “Enya asks sanctuary,” he said.

Leon paused in lighting his pipe to wave a hand. “She’ll have it, of course.”

“You should know the extent of it before you agree, brother,” Oryn said .

Leon’s eyebrows rose, and a look passed between husband and wife. “I thought you vouched for her,” Alsbet said, settling back in a chair with a cup and saucer.

“I do, but there are risks.”

“Such as?”

“It’s her story to tell.”

“And what’s yours, Oryn?” Alsbet prodded.

He loosed a long breath. “If you’ll grant her sanctuary, I’d like to claim guest right for her.”