Covenant's End - Ari Marmell Page 0,46

and cobweb draped across her mind, pried her eyes open, and took stock. Her face was all but buried in an airy pillow, so she still couldn't see much. She was still covered by the sheet, she realized, now that she was paying attention. She could still feel it; from her hips down. From there up, she could only give thanks that Igraine—she assumed it was the priestess cleaning her wounds and changing her bandages—was working on her back, not her stomach.

Not that it would have mattered, had Igraine been the only one present. But in the babble of voices—at least four—Shins could clearly make out Evrard d'Arras, complaining almost petulantly about the number of people who had invited themselves into his home.

And, too, the voice of Renard Lambert, arguing with him.

Only when Igraine snapped, “All of you, be quiet! She's awake,” did Widdershins realize that she herself had been the source of that sudden, mortified squeak.

“Is she going to be okay?” Another voice, familiar, quivering with concern.

Robin. Robin's here, too?

Then that probably made the speaker she hadn't been able to identify, that she had only barely recognized at all…. What was her name? F-something…

Faustine.

Robin's lover.

Igraine was in the midst of telling Robin that if she wanted to know how Shins was doing, she could very well ask her directly, now that everyone's lack of consideration had woken her up, but the priestess didn't get to finish. For it was then that Shins finally rediscovered her own voice.

“Renard!”

She actually heard the impact of his skin on the inside of his clothing as he jumped. “What?!”

“If you've taken one tiny peek at anything you shouldn't have,” she said, trying to squish herself more tightly against the mattress, “you're going to lose your eyeballs. And you'll be lucky if it's just the eye-kind!”

“My dear Widdershins!” The foppish thief sounded truly aghast, and perhaps just a bit defensive. “I would never even think of—”

“—admitting to such a thing,” she finished for him.

“And why is it,” he sniffed, “that I receive such suspicion and ill-treatment, and Monsieur d'Arras does not?”

“You leave me—!” Evrard began.

“Because I'm not yelling at him,” she said, “until I either feel a lot better, or I know there are no sharp objects within reach.”

“—out of this,” he finished with a sigh.

“I think everyone needs to leave,” Shins grumped. “I am too tired, too sore, and apparently too naked for this much company.”

“All right, everyone,” Robin announced firmly. “You heard her. Out.”

“This is my home—!” Evrard once more began without finishing.

Shins swore she could hear the scowl on Robin's face. “Then you should be quite well acquainted with the location of the doors.”

Carrying a varied array of whispers, comments, and mutters with them, the ad hoc assembly trooped out into the next room. Robin whispered something to Igraine—Shins couldn't make out what, but even at so low a volume, she knew the younger woman's voice—and then the bed shifted as the priestess, who had been sitting at the edge of the mattress, stood up.

“All right,” she said, in response to whatever Robin has asked. “But just cleaning them. Come get me for anything after that.”

Steps sounded, the door shut, and the bed shifted again as someone took Igraine's spot. Shins suddenly found herself grateful that she lay on her stomach, face buried in the pillow, so she wouldn't have to meet her friend's gaze.

Although she still felt him tending her injuries, inspiring her flesh to knit far faster and more neatly than it ever should have, Olgun began to fade. Not completely, not ever, but enough so he remained only the slightest presence, a stray thought, all but forgotten.

It was, she knew, his way of offering Shins her privacy for what they both knew were the awkward moments to come. She loved him for it.

I should probably tell him that more often.

I should probably tell a lot of people that more often.

The soft slosh of heavy fabric, dipped in water; a renewed whiff of the herbal concoction; and then, once more, a gentle, cooling touch, feather-light across the worst of the welts and slashes.

And beyond that, and the muted susurrus of conversation leaking through the far wall, only silence. Only silence, until Shins couldn't stand it any longer.

“I can't believe Igraine let everyone in here with me like this,” she observed, her tone so brittle a mistimed sneeze could shatter it.

“Well, there were some important things being discussed, and she did have you face-down….”

“Hmph.” Another pause, then, “Guess it's just like