To Bind in Blood

Chapter 40

Jurion slid off the horse and felt his legs begin to buckle-someone caught him, a strong arm hooked under his armpit to hold him up.

"Easy there, lord-cousin." Pierrne shifted his grip on Jurion and waited for him to steady.

His vision had been blurry for the duration of the ride back to Quelle. They had not wasted time, pushing hard to return so they could rest and prepare for the worst. Aelider was not likely to attack Quelle, but Jurion could not be sure what a grief-stricken man would do to have his revenge. Strangely enough, though, Aelider seemed to lack motivation for war against Remas. Jurion had seen a broken man, one who was more consumed by his grief than a desire for revenge.

Somehow Jurion managed to make it inside the house without Pierrne's support. He greeted Eira and promised to meet with her later after he had gotten some rest. Her worried expression seemed more for him than anything else; he knew he must be a sight. He was still in shock over Nadeina's death.

He collapsed into bed and managed a few hours of sleep before his troubles found him and turned his slumber to restlessness. So he found himself in the comfort of the library, bathed and dressed in clean clothing, with a mug of warmed milk and an untouched round of bread on the table. He sat there, dropped his head in his hands and raked his fingers through his hair, gripping the roots and staring into the space in front of him.

Had he made the right choice in returning to Quelle? In leaving Aelider to deal with Remas alone? Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered what may have been the sound of someone knocking on the door, but his thoughts succeeded in drowning it out.

Perhaps they should have remained with Aelider, waited for the outcome of whatever the general decided to do. Perhaps he and Aelider should have demanded to meet with Marc, with Cicerus. Perhaps then Jurion would know at last if Remas was responsible for killing his mother and brother.

"Great Lord?"

The voice pierced through the fog. He recognized it immediately, lifting his head. "Wrell."

She let herself into the room, and he stood, his heart beating unnaturally fast. She looked well, though tired. How long had it been since he'd seen her? A week? A couple weeks? A month? He had not been expecting to see her so soon-to even see her at all.

Her movements were measured and perhaps the slightest bit hesitant. "I was told you were not well, my lord."

"And you came."

Her eyes darted to the mug of milk on the table, but she made no comment. He was almost embarrassed that he had been caught with her favorite drink, a drink he had never had before he met her.

"Eira came to see me," she said. "She thought it would be good for you to see a familiar face." She paused then, awkwardly. Perhaps she was thinking of her scars. Scars Jurion barely even thought about. "I could not refuse her request."

He studied her and knew without a doubt that she had not jumped at the prospect. "Eira was persistent, wasn't she?"

A small smile turned the corner of her mouth. "She always is, my lord."

By the blood, he had forgotten how much her presence affected him. Or how affected he felt by the lack of it. To have her here soothed a bit of the ache. Made him hope a little more.

Even if Eira had forced or guilted her into coming.

"You've just returned from the journey, my lord?"

"Yes. We made it as far as the borderlands before she was-"

The tightening of her jaw told him she understood his meaning. "They say it was General Cicerus?"