"What are you—"
He flexed beneath me, and I gasped.
Keir's smile widened. "Perhaps a riding lesson?"
I arched my back, moaning with pleasure as his hands moved my hips.
After a few days, one morning when Keir left early to judge a round of combats, I tookadvantage of his absence to take care of a chore. When I told Rafe and Prest what Iwanted to do, Rafe paled, glancing at Prest for support. "I'm not sure this is wise."
Prest shrugged.
Rafe scowled. "You are of no help."
I stood. "I'm going to talk to him, with or without you."
Rafe heaved a rather exaggerated sigh, and followed us out of the tent.
There'd been a heavy mist hanging in the air the last few days, and this morning found a thickfrost riming the grass and trees. The Goddess's Lace, we called it, the first hard frost of theseason, heralding the start of winter. Soon, within a few weeks, the snows would begin. As wewalked, I wondered what winter would be like on the Plains.
Most everyone was watching the contests, except those on guard duty. Prest and Rafe followedas I walked to Iften's tent, and pushed through the flap with no ceremony.
He was there, seated on a stump, eating gurt with his left hand. The right was held against hischest, close to his body. I stepped far enough in to allow Prest to enter behind me, but stoppedthere, since Iften's expression made it clear that I was not welcome.
"Iften."
"Xyian."
I stiffened. His tone, and choice of address was as clear an insult as I had heard. Prest put hishand on his weapon. Iften's eyes flicked, but he looked away, and spoke grudgingly.
"Warprize."
Prest lowered his hand.
I cleared my throat. "Iften, I want to speak to you about your injury."
"I want nothing from you, Warprize. Not your healing, not your words."
"If you reject my care, I can't inflict it on you. You are free to make a choice, good or bad. Butmy oaths require that you know the consequences of your choice. So I will speak. Listen or not,as you choose."
"I will not—"
Prest spoke. "The wind will teach, if we but listen."
I looked at him, startled. It wasn't like Prest to speak up that way. The words he'd utteredsounded like a saying of some kind. But Prest's face was bland and composed.
Iften was taken aback as well. He looked at Prest, and then looked away, as if ashamed. "I willlisten."
"Your arm is still badly swollen and the flesh is discolored. Your hand and fingers are numb,and it hurts to move them. There is no strength in the arm."
Iften eyed me, but made no response.
"If you don't let me set it, you may heal, but you will not heal true. You may lose all use of yourhand, or never regain the strength in it again." I paused. "It is your sword arm."
He responded then, glowering in my direction.
"If you allow me to care for it, the chances are good that the arm will heal true. If you wait tosee a warrior-priest, the damage maybe too great for them to fix."
"You'd cast your spells, eh, Warprize." He mocked me.
