Page 37 of Ravenous
“Go inside. Wash. Then meet me in the dining area for the midday meal.”
A thin sound answered him. Half breath, half sob. Just when he thought she’d passed out, she nodded and made a fumbling attempt to rise.
On her second try, he bit out a curse and strode over, hauling her upright by her arm.
“Thanks,” she whispered, still clutching the sword.
“Give it over.” He pried her bloody fingers loose, and she limped inside.
Across the ravine, he noticed others watching. Children played “vampire,” chasing one another, pretending to bite and drink. Their innocent laughter stabbed at him—because biting and drinking were what vampires did.
Arctos had already sent a report to Yrsa about the enslaved Berserkers in Crypt Castle. He’d expected outrage and alacrity.
No response.
Torben wasn’t the only one who sensed something amiss with their ruler.Yet whenever Arctos doubted her, he recalled how the famous warrior queen had shared weekly meals with him and Torben. She’d regaled them with tales of Berserkers who’d earned ohalla, whetting their appetite for it.
Only to deny it to Arctos now?
If Yrsa didn’t send him to the Helter for one last kill or to act on the intelligence Emilia had provided, then Arctos would be forced to demand an explanation, and the timing right now was dire.
He returned home, heading to the dining area. He sat at his table, one long enough to accommodate all the offspring he should already have had. His day cook had set out two trenchers with a crock of stew and a bread basket.
Arctos’s gaze flicked from one trencher to the other, and again the thought struck him that another beinglivedhere.
He used to reside with Torben before his cousin had found Dagny last year during her first trip to court. Since then, the pair had routinely invited Arctos to sup with them, yet he hadn’t wanted to intrude.
His appetite was dulled, so he decided to wait for Emilia to begin his meal. He’d never seen a vampire eat regular food. Would she fang the meat, sucking it dry?
Emilia returned with her face and hair rinsed. The light from the hanging lamps illuminated chapped lips and dark circles under glazed eyes. She shuffled toward the table, jaw tight against pain. When she tried to sit, she missed the chair and hit the stone floor with a yelp.
“For Wóden’s sake.” Arctos rose, rounded the table, and hauled her up. Her bones felt too delicate in his hands.
A raspythankssounded from her abused lips as he settled her in.
Resuming his own seat, he said, “You should have asked for mercy.” He ladled stew into his bowl, hesitated, then filled hers as well.
“M’fine,” she murmured, eyelids fluttering. She made no move for the trencher.
Was he going to have to get someone to feed her? “You’re clearly not. Why did you keep going today?” he asked, his tone filled with something almost like amazement.
“Because I’m tougher than I lo—” She pitched forward mid-word, face-first into the steaming stew.
Chapter 16Lia
“Uh, what’s on my face?” She surfaced from a deep sleep with her cheeks tingling.
The Berserker stood at the end of the bed, looking fatigued.
She herself felt much better. With bandaged hands, she gingerly patted her face and found a cool, slick layer.
“It’s a witch healing balm,” he said. “You received second-degree burns when you passed out in your meal.”
The visual! Mortification scalded hotter than the soup. “When you predicted a training accident, you didn’t meanlunch, did you?”
He drew his head back in consternation.
“What? If I can’t laugh at my own ridiculousness, what can I laugh at? Thank the gods, I have a sense of humor.” She’d survived Berserker training only to be hamstringed by stew.
