Immortal Defiance by Laura Maybrooke

Author:Laura Maybrooke [Maybrooke, Laura]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9789526929507
Publisher: Laura Maybrooke
Published: 2019-10-09T16:00:00+00:00

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Dulcea had no time to react. His reaction was too quick, too honest. The Golden Staff dropped from her nerveless fingers, Myoden’s arms went around her, and he held her to his chest, whispering a prayer of thanks at her safe return. It was not proper, the way he held her so close—and in public, too—but Dulcea was too glad to care, and she embraced him in return.

“Thank the heavens, Lady Dulcea…” The priest sighed, releasing her and bending to pick up the glass shards. The blue liquid in the broken bottles seemed non-salvageable— hours of effort wasted on surprise.

“The heavens got nothing to do with it, Myoden.” She kneeled to help him in his work.

It was a menial task: any of the apprentices could have done it, but she realized it allowed Myoden a moment’s reprieve from the turmoil of his thoughts.

“Amparo Darksun told us you lived, but he could not sense where you were,” he said, an anguished expression twisting his handsome features. “I feared to learn every day you were dead.”

He reached out to touch her cheek with a trembling hand.

“How did you escape?” Done with his task, he drew back up to his full height.

Dulcea swallowed, resuming her feet. “I—I am not sure.”

For the first time then Myoden seemed to notice her appearance, and she saw his eyes widening. It lasted only a few brief moments, though, before the priest schooled his features back into benign concern. Dulcea’s cheeks burned. Barefooted and dressed in torn clothes, she looked more like a dirty waif from the streets of some big Sraeynian city than the legendary Golden Dragonmistress.

“Corda!” He waved at one of his subordinates. “For Lordanys’s sake, bring the lady some clothes!”

The man named Corda brought her a pair of boots, a leather vest, and a cloak. She accepted them with fervent gratitude and donned them at once.

She thought of the tens of thousands throughout West Ford who had seen her like this—half naked, dirty, and clothed in tatters. They would talk, and it would only strengthen her story, and hopefully admiration would keep the leering to a minimum.

His voice dropped to a low tone. “You mean… there are lapses in your memory? How big are they?”

“I remember next to nothing.”

The healer considered this, a look of unveiled alarm on his countenance.

“Would you consent to a private examination, my lady?” He glanced away, swallowing. “You might be more comfortable telling Cleric Arissa what you remember…”

Dulcea felt like she both blushed and blanched at realizing the intention behind the priest’s words.

“I assure you there is no need for that. I have nothing to say to her I couldn’t say to you.”

He cleared his throat. “You are… unharmed?”

“Yes. No one laid a finger on me in the manner you fear.”

“I apologize. I did not mean to upset you.” His subservient tone could not hide his happiness.

“I am not upset,” she said. “You are just doing your duty, regardless of who I am. As a healer, you must ask. I would not be the first woman to fall into this in enemy hands.

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