I needed a clean cloth and something to use to make tea. The cloth was nowhere to be found, but the bucket was metal and didn't have any holes, so I figured it would do for a makeshift teapot. I pushed open the door and got slapped in the face by more rain. It was still pouring down, enough to quickly fill the bucket partway, but also to turn the area around the door into a muddy mess.
I gratefully turned back to the dryer part of the shed, only to stop dead. The Fey was getting undressed. He'd already spread the cape on the floor on the far side of the table and hung the shredded tunic on a nail I'd overlooked. Now his hand dropped to the lacings of his leggings. The dark blue fabric hugged his body tightly and only came away slowly, baring first creamy buttocks, then silky thighs and finally well-muscled calves to view. He sat back on the chair, his body on careless display, before noticing me.
"What's wrong?" He was regarding me quizzically, his head tilted slightly to the side. In the soft glow from the fire, his hair took on the sheen of antique gold, like ancient treasure. I swallowed, fighting the urge to touch those shining strands.
"Nothing."
I sat my bucket with the herbs inside over the fire and settled down on its far side - practically the only free space left. That put me next to the now steaming horse, but it beat the hell out of the alternative. I'd heard that the Fey had fewer problems with modesty than humans, but could really have done without a demonstration. I occupied myself trying to find something neutral to look at without turning my back on him completely.
I concentrated on the fire, watching the bits of wood and ash thrown up by the flames, but my eyes kept trying to wander to the well-muscled leg and part of one strong thigh visible just beyond it. They were highlighted with minute golden strands that tantalizingly caught the light. Beads of moisture were starting to dry all over his skin, leaving it warm and rosy. I felt a little dizzy.
"What did you put in there?" he asked, peering into the pot.
I swallowed. "Lavender for an antiseptic and calendula to stem blood flow and reduce scarring. It isn't optimal, but it's the best I can do with the stuff at hand." He nodded, but looked at the pot dubiously. I probably shouldn't have mentioned the poison thing.
"I answered your questions; I would appreciate you answering one of mine," he said after a pause. "Who was the mage you called Sebastian? What did he want with you?"
I watched steam start to rise from the pot and wondered how to reply to that. Summing up my past in a few words was a challenge. I decided on the Reader's Digest version.
"My father decided to sell me to the Light Fey. Only a great-uncle found out about it before the deal went through and helped me escape. When Father couldn't produce me as promised, the Fey decided he'd welshed on the deal, so..."
"I can guess."
"Sebastian has been looking for me ever since. And tonight he caught up with me. The family blames me for what happened to Father."
"And your cousin wants revenge."
"Something like that." Actually, the whole family had had a vote, and they'd preferred Seb's bribes to my assurances. Normally, the memory was enough to bring me to angry tears, but at the moment, I seemed unable to get worked up about it. Maybe because I was already worked up about something else.
I couldn't seem to stop staring at Heidar's hair. The top layer had started to dry and, unusual for the Fey, it had a slight ripple to it. The underside was still damp and golden tendrils curled intriguingly against his neck. I suddenly had an almost overwhelming urge to run my hands through that heavy mane, to slide them over that beautiful chest, to kiss him until he cried out and couldn't breathe... he was giving me that puzzled look again.
"Can you describe these Fey?"
I blinked. "What?"
"The ones who tried to buy you."
"Oh. They, uh, they looked like you. Well, sort of." I forced my mind onto the question. "More like the guards back in the village, actually. Same silver hair, same malicious expressions."
Heidar seemed surprised. "The Svarestri don't buy humans. The Alorestri have always been the biggest participants in the slave trade. They lose more warriors holding the border than we do, and need a higher birthrate to compensate. The Svarestri consider humans... unacceptable... as mates."
"Well, they were trying to buy me."
Heidar suddenly looked grim. "The Svarestri do not buy humans," he repeated. "If they were trying to buy you, the only explanation I can think of..."
"What?" I was starting to get worried.
"There is a good chance they were trying to insure that your power was not transmitted to a rival clan's bloodline."
"So?" Slavery was slavery as far as I could see. What difference did the motivation make?
"In their minds, the best way to make sure you did not marry an enemy would not be to marry you themselves." Heidar looked at me gently. "It would be to kill you."
I swallowed. "So, if I'm caught..."
Heidar leaned forward, his face intense. "If we're captured, don't tell them your name. Make something up, tell them I bought you from the Alorestri for a mistress, or that I caught you after you ran away from your master. Tell them anything, but not that you're a null."
"There's a good chance they already know." The attacks in the village hadn't exactly been subtle.
"In this village, yes. But possibly not in the next or in the one after that. I'll do what I can to get us to the border, but if we are captured - "
"I'll remember." Not that it would probably matter. So far, it looked like the Svarestri welcomed guests by shooting them full of holes. No matter who they were.
I stirred the tea, decided it was as good as it was going to get, and took it off the fire. The tunic was still wet, but I tore off long strips and held them close to the flames. I felt the Fey's eyes on me, but I didn't meet them. I was going to have to touch him to dress the wound - there was no alternative since he couldn't reach that high on his back by himself - and I wanted as little stimulus as possible before that.
When the cloth was dry, I gathered everything up and approached him nervously. The tunic strips were soaked in the tea, then wrapped around his shoulder and tied off. It wasn't the prettiest job of dressing a wound I've ever seen, but at least it was done. And with luck, that amazing metabolism would do the rest.
"There. Good as new."
I started to step back, but he caught my hand. "Thank you."