Page 43 of The Fury She Holds
“It’s not right for a woman to get into fights, much less have to defend herself against criminals.”
“And who should I expect to defend me?” She tore her arm out of his grip and crossed them over her chest.
“What? Well—me!”
“You?! Why would I need you to defend me?” Confusion flooded Tal. Until that night, Daire would have shared an injury of his own from his training.
“Because that’s what husbands do!”
“Husbands?! Who made you myhusband?!”
It was the first of many conversations that shed Daire in a new light. Eventually, Tal stormed off. She was angry over many things, but mostly she was angry over Daire’s sudden need to be the dominant member of this—whatever it was. The next time she saw the captain, she hadn’t forgiven him, but he held herface in his hands, kissed the no-longer broken cheek, quickly healed from an elixir, and took her on a horse ride in the woods. She thought that would be the end of all this husband nonsense, and it was, until something else happened to trigger a similar response from him. The arguments became more frequent, and Tal quickly lost interest in the relationship while Daire continued to exert his male dominance over her. And now, nearly every interaction between them turned into an argument, and Daire still seemed determined to take responsibility for Tal after all this time.
Every argument with Daire flooded her mind, fueling her fury, along with each frustratingly painful step. She paused by an alley and took out yet another healing elixir. She’d sipped a single jar all day to no effect. Taking the stopper out, she upended the bottle and swallowed the shimmering yellow liquid in three gulps. Warm relief washed through her. She held up her still bleeding arm, examining where Daire’s bloody handprint stained her sleeve. She carefully pulled the fabric back and watched the seeping blood slow, then stop, and the skin knit itself back together. She fought the urge to scratch the wound despite the feathered sensation there. Tal breathed a sigh of relief when the opening reduced to a single, angry red line. But the feeling was short-lived when the shock of an invisible dagger sliced down her skin and opened the wound for the hundredth time.
“Dammit!” She gritted her teeth and pushed off the wall. A dark figure stepped in her path. “Daire, I swear by the gods—”
“Are you alright?” Strong hands steadied her by the shoulders, avoiding her wounds.
Tal noted the way Faron regarded her with concern and scowled. “I’m fine. If you’ll excuse me.” She tried to side-step him, but he held onto her.
“You’re still bleeding.” His voice held concern while his face showed confusion. “The healing elixir didn’t work?”
Tal sighed. “Whatever spell the mage used keeps ripping open my wounds. I need to see my alchemist.”
“You can’t walk in this state. Take a seat.” He gestured to the wall behind her.
“I’m fine, really. Once I get the right formula, I’ll be fine.”
“I brought you something that might work.”
Tal’s shoulders slumped in defeat. Her body ached, her wounds burned, and not in the comforting way her fury did. She would rest for just a moment. She sank to the ground, and Faron joined her.
Faron pulled a vial out of his pocket. A golden honey hue replaced the sunny yellow of most healing elixirs. “I noticed last night that your wound still bled after the one vial. The king’s alchemist owed me a favor. She said this should work against any internal injuries caused by blood magic.” He pulled a brown leather knapsack from behind his back. “She also said a full stomach will help the elixir work faster.”
The aroma of roasted pheasant and fresh bread hinted at the memory of their conversation from the night before. “No ale?” She smirked.
Faron reached into the sack and pulled out a canteen. “It’s water.”
“I don’t need you wasting your favors on me.” Favors always came with a price. Her wounds throbbed as if in protest.
“I offer it freely, I assure you.”
She narrowed her eyes, wondering if he read her mind. She reluctantly took the vial and drank. The golden liquid warmed her tongue and tasted like spiced honey with a hint of rose water.
“It’s the least I could do after your help last night. Thanks to you, Luan and Nola are safe and on their way to live in a quiet village in the mountains.”
Tal nodded. She closed her eyes with the instant, sweet relief and comforting warmth of her wounds closing properly this time. The satisfying itch worked its way through her muscles. “The king’s alchemist is almost as good as mine,” she sighed.
“I’ll be sure to pass your thanks along.” Faron chuckled.
Her body relaxed as the pain subsided. She reached into Faron’s knapsack for a piece of pheasant—wrapped delicately in brown paper and still warm. She tore a piece off, and the first bite tasted even better than the food at the king’s ball. Tal rested her head against the building and closed her eyes, savoring the juicy meat. After another two bites filled with rosemary, thyme, garlic, and a few other flavors she couldn’t identify, she opened her eyes to find Faron watching her. He rested an elbow against his knee, propping his head with his fist. His eyes softened, and the skin by them wrinkled in boyish amusement, but Faron’s full jaw and prominent cheekbones were most definitely that of a full-grown man.
“Better?” he asked.
She nodded. “Better.” She eyed his attire to avoid his gaze. “You’re getting your expensive pants dirty.”
“Goodness me! Not my expensive pants! What ever shall I do?! Oh right, I’ll just burn them and order my servants to make me new ones. I’ve been meaning to yell at them for something anyways.”
