Daughter of Ancients Read Free Page B

young woman with the dark braid wound about her head stood in the dimly lit doorway to the garden where I walked every evening. When she’d received my message about Karon’s illness, Kellea had left her herb shop, her husband, and her two small children and come to stay with us, hoping to find some remedy in her knowledge or talent. But herbs and potions could not reverse the course of such a disease, and though she was Dar’Nethi too, Kellea’s talent was for finding, not healing.
    I dropped my soiled gloves and stubby garden knife on the bench beside the door, kicked off my muddy boots, and followed Kellea back to the sitting room, the largest room in the old redbrick gatehouse at Windham. We’d converted it to a bedchamber when Karon could no longer manage stairs. Weeks had passed since he’d been able to leave his bed.
    Tonight he lay on his side, facing the door, thin, far too thin, like a creature of frost and dew that might evaporate in a warm west wind. Pain rippled beneath his taut, transparent skin in a punishing tide. Kellea had lit only a single candle and set it on the windowsill behind him so it threw his face into shadow. Even so, a flicker of light illuminated his eyes and the trace of a smile softened his face when I came in.
    â€œAh, love,” he said. “I knew . . . the day was . . . not yet done. Not while you can appear before me . . . the image of life itself.” Every few words he would have to clamp his lips tight to let a wave pass without crying out.
    I pressed my finger to his lips. “I must disagree. This day is indeed done. I am ready for sleep after an exhausting slog about these bogs we call our gardens. Despite the late frost, everything is trying desperately to bloom and needs trimming or coddling. The gardeners do their best, but you know I can’t bear to keep my hands out of it. And remember, I was up early this morning answering five thousand letters from friends and acquaintances, and five thousand more from people we’ve never heard of, asking as to the ‘great physician’s health,’ or the ‘most esteemed historian’s recovery.’ We’ve had fifty offers of grandmothers’ poultices, thirty of herbal infusions, twenty of Isker goats known for the potency of their cheese and milk, and five of pretty young women to ‘warm and liven’ your bed. I refused them all in your name. It was very tiring.”
    â€œEven the young women? I’m always so cold . . . and very lonely here while you sleep in that dreadful chair.”
    I drew the thick wool blanket over his shoulders, shivering myself in the unseasonable chill. “Most assuredly the young women. If anyone is to warm your bed, it will be me. I will take up my sword and slay the woman who attempts to get there first.”
    Only you can appreciate the marvels of my mental condition enough to have me now. I felt more than saw his teasing smile. As happened more and more at the end of the day, his words echoed in my head, not my ears. Speaking directly in the mind was far easier for him. For once I have all of my memories, no lost identity, and no extra soul contained within my own, making me do things I’d rather not. And I’m neither dead nor disembodied—though these days I wish I could be rid of the wretched thing and live without it as I once did.
    Kneeling beside his bed, I laid my head on his pillow where I could feel his breath on my hair.
    Tassaye , beloved. Softly. He brushed my damp eyes with his cold fingers. Life is not done with me yet. I’ve been in and out of it so many times, you must trust my sense of it. If you can put up with me so long, I’m determined to be here when Gerick comes in the summer.
    â€œAnd of course, Ven’Dar may come early and carry you off to Avonar to see a proper Healer, but unless he arrives tonight, you must rest and save your strength. As soon as I’ve washed my face and hands,