Druid's Daughter (The Old World Trilogy Book 1) by Jocelyn Fox

Author:Jocelyn Fox [Fox, Jocelyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Greatheart Creative
Published: 2018-12-15T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 20

“Gwyneth, this behavior does not become you.”

The voice broke through the stillness surrounding Gwyneth. She did not know how long she had stood at the window, watching the snowstorm. She did not care. The light had changed from silken dove gray to the dark of a storm. It could have been night. She did not know. But somehow the voice reached her through the cocoon of silence that surrounded her with such comfort.

She turned from the window. Aedan stood by the door of her chamber, flanked by Instructor Ava. Rhys stood in the shadows to one side. She felt a flicker of something close to anger at his betrayal. Why could he not simply let her be? Why did he have to bring a Paladin and an Instructor into the privacy of her chambers?

Aedan saw that he had broken through her trance. He strode forward with silent, sure steps. “Walking for too long will drain your taebramh,” he said in a nearly gentle voice.

“I have taebramh to spare,” Gwyneth replied dismissively. She saw disapproval flash through Instructor Ava’s eyes at her reply to the Paladin, but she could not bring herself to care.

“Be that as it may,” Aedan continued, “it does not help your companions if you drain yourself like this.”

Gwyneth drew back her shoulders. “You did not arrive in time to save them.”

Heaviness entered Aedan’s gold-green eyes. “No. I did not.”

“I could not save them,” she said. She felt the edges of grief again, sharp as a knife, and she pressed a hand to the window.

“Let yourself feel it,” said Aedan, his voice calm and certain.

Instructor Ava’s hands were moving, twisting through the air, but Aedan drew her attention away from the Unseelie Instructor.

“Just as your physical wound healed, this will heal as well,” Aedan continued, his smooth voice catching her awareness. She stepped away from the window even as she knew that this was some sort of Paladin craft, this honeyed smoothness of the voice that both soothed her and compelled her. “But you cannot help those who survived in this way, Gwyneth. You must understand that.”

“How can I help them? I could not help them in the Tower,” Gwyneth said, ragged raw sorrow beginning to catch at her, pull her back toward her slumbering body. Or perhaps that was Instructor Ava, now close to the bed, her hands still moving.

“You were a healer once,” said Aedan, a note of approval in his voice. “You could be so again.”

“I am not more skilled than the healers trained here in Faeortalam,” Gwyneth said. Speaking of all of it made her tired. She felt a pull toward her body.

“Perhaps not,” agreed Aedan, “but you can help heal them all the same.”

“If I can, I will,” Gwyneth said. She was drifting across the floor now, some invisible current bearing her toward her body. She knew this was trickery, but the early relief of Walking had faded. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps she needed to rest. She felt a prickle of unease: she had never Walked, so she had never returned to her body after Walking.

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