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A large bed filled most of the remaining space, its four large posts made of carved stone. Despite the stone, the bed was piled with blankets and furs. Clothes hung in a nook on the far side of the bed while an opening beside the nook led off into another tunnel that was probably some kind of water closet.
To hide her churning stomach, Melantha held up the hand that was still tied to Prince Rharreth’s. “Can we untie this now?”
Prince Rharreth nodded and tugged on the knot, quickly loosening the cloth.
As soon as she was free, Melantha yanked her hand from his, wincing as the scab that had fused their palms together tore open. But she did not care as long as she had her hand all to herself again.
Prince Rharreth drew the elven dagger and sliced the cloth in two pieces. He held out one half to her. “A bandage.”
Hardly a sanitary bandage, after it had been riding around on their hands all day. “Thank you, but it is not necessary. Unless there is a reason I should not heal myself?”
“No, as long as the scar remains. The scars on our palms show that we are married.” Prince Rharreth stuffed the cloth he had offered her into his belt, then started to wrap his hand with the other half.
Melantha called on her magic, ignoring the slight headache that pounded at her temples as she used magic while surrounded by so much stone. A green glow surrounded her hand, then seeped into her, easing the lingering pain of the cut across her palm.
Melantha curled and uncurled her fingers. No pain.
She glanced up at Prince Rharreth. Should she offer to heal him too? Would he let her if she offered?
He was not looking at her as he tied the end of his makeshift bandage, tightening it with his teeth.
Melantha sighed, and somehow the sound had a bit of a growl to it. She could not allow him to walk around with such a horrid bandage. As much as she despised it, she was still a healer. “Let me. There is no need for that.”
Prince Rharreth hesitated for a moment. What was he thinking? Was he worried about letting her use her magic, knowing she could harm rather than heal if she chose, though doing so would kill her along with him?
His dark blue eyes searched her face. “You would do that for me?”
“I am stuck with you now. And, apparently, you are all that is standing between me and your people slitting my throat. I do not wish for that wound on your sword hand to fester.” Melantha held out her hand, then wiggled her fingers when he did not extend his hand for her to heal.
After another moment of hesitation, he held out his hand.
Melantha unwrapped the bandage, revealing the slice across the gray skin of his palm. Calling up her magic again, she touched her fingers to the cut and eased her magic into him. She had to do it carefully, working around the feel of his magic that filled him.
As her magic sank deeper into him, she sensed a lingering pain. She extended her magic, searching for the source of that pain.
His back. The lash marks from his whipping were still raw and healing. He had not shown evidence of that pain, but it had been only a week. Of course the deep wounds were not fully healed.
Then there was the wound in his shoulder where Farrendel’s magic had pierced him, as well as the burns around his wrists.
Melantha poured more magic into him until she could sense that her power was working and would be enough to close the wounds. Once she was finished, she let go of his hand.
Prince Rharreth was staring at her, his brow furrowed. “I was not sure elven healing magic would work on a troll.”
“I had to ease past your magic, but I have had practice doing that.” Melantha eyed him, wondering if he would acknowledge the reason she had gained such practice.
“Of course.” Prince Rharreth straightened. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome.” Melantha stepped back to put more space between them.
Prince Rharreth pointed toward the nook holding clothes. “I asked my shield sister to locate a few outfits for you.”
“Linshi.” Melantha hurried around the bed to the nook while Prince Rharreth disappeared down the tunnel toward what was presumably the water closet.
When Melantha reached the nook, she inspected the clothes it contained. One half was crowded with tunics and leather jerkins and trousers that obviously belonged to Prince Rharreth. The other half held two dresses and a few other tunics, shirts, and trousers. Far fewer clothes than she had at home.
Home. Her room in Tarenhiel with its view of Estyra. Would she ever see it again?
By the time Prince Rharreth returned, his hair damp, Melantha had picked out the softest of the shirts and trousers. Without a word to him, she headed down the tunnel.
