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Trap’s demeanor cracked at last. “That…I don’t know. I’ve done what I can. What I physically know how to do. But as for waking up? She’ll have to do that on her own.”
“And if she doesn’t?” Jael’s soft voice cut between them like a knife through butter. A chill shivered all the way down Anrid’s spine as she considered what he was asking.
Trap drew an unsteady breath. “Then I can’t help her,” she said, with no attempt to soften the blow. “That sort of healing requires more than what I can give.”
I can’t help her. The words echoed in Anrid’s head like wicked laughter, rolling over and over. She drew her knees to her chest and buried in her face against her skirt. The tears had their way with her.
Chapter 30
Her tears cut like a knife.
Jael clenched his teeth and battled the desire to cry himself. It’s her emotions, not yours, he reminded himself and wondered what he should do to comfort her. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and hold her tight until the tears went away, to kiss her cheeks and whisper that everything would be okay, that Medda would wake up any moment and wouldn’t even remember what had happened. That she wouldn’t be in any pain and wouldn’t suffer.
But those were not promises he could make. They were fanciful thoughts—dreams—and he didn’t know how to make them a reality, because he didn’t have any more knowledge of healing than Trap did. He didn’t know of any runes that could wake those who slept the dark sleep, the one that hung between life and death.
He drew a stabilizing breath. “It will be okay,” he said with a conviction he did not feel.
Anrid’s head reared back, and she stared at him through glittering eyes. “You can’t say that!” Fire ignited her voice. Her freckled cheeks blazed with heat, every inch of her poised with temper. “The only way you can make a promise like that is if you made sure this didn’t happen in the first place. If you hadn’t lost your temper, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“You don’t know that,” he protested, but his defense sounded weak even to his own ears.
She swiped at both her cheeks with a jerky hand. “Oh, I do know that. If you hadn’t been throwing fists around like a child and instead acted like an adult...” Her voice trailed off. He could tell by the expression on her face that she meant what she said: she blamed him for this whole thing.
And she should.
“I didn’t intend for any of this to happen.” His hands trembled when he raised them to cradle his face in his hands.
His thoughts pounded so hard against his head he thought his skull my explode. Medda—he’d done this to Medda because he’d lost his temper. He’d been trying to help Anrid, he assured himself, trying to protect her…and yet even while trying to do that noble thing, he’d ended up doing the wrong thing.
A worse thing.
It was a pattern he’d noticed developing the last few days.
No matter what he did, his efforts always fell so, so short.
“You should have thought of that sooner!” she snapped. “Why couldn’t you have minded your own business and just left this alone? It didn’t matter what he said. You didn’t have to react like that.”
He jerked his head back and let his hands slide from his cheeks. “Didn’t have to—Anrid! He insulted you in the worst way!”
“But you didn’t have to punch him! What were you thinking?” Anger flashed in eyes that were normally so open and gentle.
He braced his palms against his knees, but his heart raced with the need to explain, with the need to re-earn her trust and good opinion. But he didn’t say that, the part about wanting her to think well of him. No, he had to open his mouth and make an idiot of himself. “I was thinking that he shouldn’t be allowed to speak to you like that! Under my roof! I couldn’t allow that.”
Her cheeks flushed even darker. “Yes, you could!” She pursed her lips. “Next time, please mind your own business: I don’t need you to protect me from my own husband.” Her words were scathing. He’d never seen her in such a mood.
This stung more than anything at all. In spite of what the elf had done, in spite of who and what he was, Anrid intended to go through with her plans, to bind herself to someone who would never love or respect her. The very idea of that—that person—touching Anrid, laying his hands on her... it was almost more than he could handle.
Kora cleared his throat. Until that moment, Jael had forgotten that they were not alone, but they were arguing in front of a whole room full of people. He could feel the eyes of the dark elves on his back, as if they were tangible. He didn’t care what they thought, his heart only cared for Medda where she lay sprawled on the floor with her snarled and bloodstained hair cascading across the stone.
“As riveting as this argument is,” Kora said with a wry smile for Jael’s benefit, “I don’t think this is helping the little one any. Perhaps we should move her to a bed, and then you two can duke this out to your hearts’ content. I would love to see the conclusion.”
“Shut up,” Jael said at the exact same time that Anrid exclaimed, “Oh, do be quiet!” They exchanged unpleasant glances.
Kora held up placating hands but did not appear inclined to back down. “You’ve both made a fine spectacle of yourself, no need for a more enthralling display.”
“While I am loathe to agree with a goblin about anything,” a cold voice interjected from the corner where the dark elves lingered, “I second the motion that this unpleasant spectacle serves no purpose.”
Jael was on his feet before he knew what he was doing. He spun to face the dark elf lord. “You have not earned the right to speak in this place.”
