The Shield and the Thorn by C. J. Brightley

Author:C. J. Brightley [Brightley, C. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Spring Song Press

CHAPTER 18

GRATITUDE

The first thing that brought Fenton back to wakefulness was a warm, golden sort of comfort that spread from his right shoulder, the one which had been stung by the manticore, through his torso and down throughout his body. His mind felt bubbly and bright, like a glass of the finest sparkling wine, alight with exuberant hope.

It was a thoroughly unfamiliar feeling. Lord Fenton Selby, for all his many admirable qualities, was more inclined to quiet, deliberate joy than effervescent delight, and even joy was not entirely familiar. He was certainly not unhappy, as a general rule, but joyful was a bit of a stretch, seeing as how he had no beloved wife with which to share his life.

Golden light filtered through his eyelids, and he realized it must be daylight already. He blinked, then squeezed his eyes shut, for the sun was high and the room was even brighter than he’d imagined. There was a tall figure nearly silhouetted beside the bed, just removing his hand from Fenton’s shoulder.

“Lord Mosswing?” he murmured. “Oh.” That explained the golden warmth, which must be Cedar’s healing magic.

“I came as soon as I heard.” The dark-skinned Fair lord pulled a chair from near the wall and sat a few feet away.

Fenton blinked at him, taking in his casual attire. Lord Cedar Mosswing must have come in haste indeed, for he was dressed more simply than Fenton had ever seen him. A cream shirt of a fabric somewhere between silk and the finest gauzy linen lay open halfway down his dark chest. He wore a fine golden chain with a teardrop shaped gem the color of his turquoise eyes that glittered against his skin. Fenton blinked, momentarily stunned by the realization that Lord Mosswing was not married, and there was no logical reason for this. If anyone could understand his longing for a wife, it would be this Fair lord, who had been similarly fortunate in so many ways and yet remained alone.

But for his friends.

“Where is Theo?” Fenton sat up, checking to see that he was modest and that the world didn’t spin before he slid out of the bed and stood.

Anselm, who stood just inside the door, said, “He went back to the Fair Lands just before midnight. Do you need help dressing, sir? I sent to your estate earlier and had some clothes brought.” He gestured to the chest at the end of the bed, where a stack of neatly folded clothes waited.

The young nobleman looked down at himself and smiled ruefully. His shirt was one of Sir Theodore’s old ones, apparently left in the drawer in case of emergencies. Theo was slighter of build than Fenton, and one of his shirts would not have fit in the shoulders or chest. His trousers were a little worse for wear, with a few spots of blood and dirt upon the cuffs, but could perhaps be salvaged with a good cleaning.

“I’m all right. Thank you, Lord Mosswing.”

“Cedar, please.” The Fair lord looked at him thoughtfully, then stood.

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