“Sadly, it’s not in my skills. I can clean wounds and such. But I lack the magicks required to help the healing.”
“And that bothers you.”
Rhianwen shrugged. “It could always be worse.”
That made Elina smirk. “Exactly.”
Kachka walked into the alcove. If the drink had bothered her, it didn’t show. She sat down beside Elina and patted her on the back.
“Here,” she said, handing her a piece of bark from one of the Steppes trees. “Chew this.”
Elina placed the bark in her mouth, nodded. “Thank you, sister. That helps.”
“Tree bark helps?” Celyn asked.
“The trees of the Steppes, yes. If used in poultice, it can help healing. If chewed, it will help with pain in head.”
Celyn held out his hand. “Give me.”
Smirking, Kachka stretched across the length of the table to drop a piece of bark into Celyn’s outstretched hand.
“Thank you.”
Kachka glanced around the cave. “Do all Southlanders live in caves?” she asked Elina in their own language.
“No. Only the dragons. The humans live in grand homes. Made of stone. You can’t move them anywhere.”
“So they live in the same place . . . forever?”
“Yes.”
The sisters looked at each other and shook their heads.
“You know,” Kachka said after some time, “that dragon is worried about you.”
“I don’t know why. He’s not doing any better than I am after last night’s drinking.”
“Not your drinking. He’s worried about you. What happened to you with Glebovicha.”
“It’s just pity.”
“Perhaps. I don’t understand these Southlanders so I wouldn’t know.” She yawned, scratched the side of her neck. “So have you been fucking him long?”
Elina shook her head. “Not long.”
“While he’s dragon?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
She glanced over at Celyn. “When human, he’s very pretty.”
“He is. But that’s over now, isn’t it?”
“Why do you say that? He was ready to sacrifice himself for you during the battle. You shouldn’t hold against him what happened to you.”
“I don’t. I never would.”
“Then what?”
She shrugged. “Why would he want me now? Look at my face.”
Kachka’s chin dropped. “Your face? How long have you been in the Southlands, sister, that you think so much of how pretty you are rather than who you are?”
“I can live with this. But a Southlander?”
“But remember old Tevkel. Her six husbands loved her even after she lost her arm and part of her hip in that battle. They loved her until she was gored by that bull during the spring rains. Love and desire do not fade away because of a few scars. Even for the Southlanders.”
“Tevkel was a mighty warrior who never disgraced herself in battle. Of course her husbands loved her. How could they not?”
“Even with your eye gone and your face and body covered in blood, you fought to live. You fought Glebovicha.”
“Not very well.”
“You fought Glebovicha,” Kachka said again. “No one thought you’d even try. But you did. So, there’s no shame in your scars.”
“Yes, but—”
“Why do you argue with me?” Kachka bellowed.
“Do not bark so when my head throbs from pain!”
“Then do not question me!”
“I will question you if I have need to!”
“Which is why Glebovicha took your eye!”
“That is enough!” Celyn bellowed, then he quickly buried his face in his hands, the piece of bark he’d been chewing falling to the table. “Gods, the pain. Even this bark isn’t helping.”
“You have not chewed long enough,” Kachka told him.
“Look,” he said after a moment, his eyes closed, “I don’t know what you two are arguing about, but don’t.”
“Because we are sisters and love each other?” Kachka taunted him. Elina grinned around her piece of bark at the insult meant only for Southlanders.
“No. But because I am dying and I’d like to do it in silence!”
Celyn didn’t appreciate the sisterly giggling he heard after his explosion, but he was too close to death to bother taking it any further.
Of course, he still wasn’t as bad off as Talan’s friend, Magnus. For such a big, hearty fellow, he seemed to handle his drink worst of all. And Rhian handled it best . . . because she’d been smart enough not to have any. He clearly remembered the way her little nose had crinkled when she’d sniffed the bottle, then handed it back to him with a tightlipped shake of her head. She was a rarity among the Cadwaladrs, and normally Celyn would assume she simply took after her mother, the lovely Talaith. But he’d seen Talaith at a few family feasts when the abilities to do basic math and modulate her voice had vanished after a few ales.
“Good!” Brigida boomed as she entered the alcove. “You’re all awake.”
Celyn wanted to snatch that damn walking stick from the old She-dragon and burn it to ash.
Once she made her impossibly slow way to the middle of the alcove, she pointed at Celyn. “You, boy—”
“I have a name.”
“—get ready to travel. You, too, Riders. We’ll be heading back to Garbhán Isle and that human queen.”