Death Wind (Elven Alliance #3) - Tara Grayce Page 0,41

felt compassion amid all the burning anger.

When she stepped through the door, Farrendel’s gaze flicked to her, enough for a glimpse of pain, before swinging back to the ceiling, his jaw hardening. “Melantha, if you ever loved me at all, then, please, do not help them torture me.”

So much pain in those words that even his attempt at coldness could not hide it.

With her freely walking inside under Prince Rharreth’s escort, it must appear as if she was willingly working with the trolls. But she had known it would take more than simply helping Farrendel once for him to trust her again.

Melantha knelt next to him, set the bowls aside, and spread the blanket over him. Held unmoving on the stone, he would be cold. “I know you do not trust me, but I am here to help.”

He did not thank her. Nor did he look at her. If anything, he turned his face farther from her as if he could not even stand to see her in the corner of his eye.

Calling on her magic, she reached out and rested her hand on Farrendel’s forehead, letting her magic seep into him, relieving the headache she could sense pounding at his temples. Most likely the result of being surrounded by so much stone.

With her magic, she had been able to heal her own headache. But Farrendel could not heal himself and he had always been more susceptible to the stone than the rest of them were.

Some of the tension in Farrendel’s jaw and the tightness around his eyes eased. But he kept his face turned away from her.

She moved her hand from his forehead to his shoulder and poured more of her magic into him, making sure she weaved her magic between the troll magic and Farrendel to prevent paining him further.

She could not heal him completely. Not with the amount of stone still lacing through him. But she could heal as much damage as possible.

By the time she pulled her hand away, her fingers shook with the amount of power she had expended. Her head pounded, and she did not have the magical strength to heal herself.

But the way Farrendel’s tense muscles eased made the expenditure of her power worth it. He would rest easy for a few hours, at least.

Melantha sat back on her heels and glanced over her shoulder. Prince Rharreth remained leaning against the wall by the door. Guarding her in case she should try an escape, but not interfering.

Behind her, the two bowls of stew remained with two small chunks of bread jammed on the rim. With Farrendel still not looking at her, she poured some of the stew from one bowl into the other. She would have given Farrendel all of her portion, but she would need to eat something, even a reduced portion, to maintain her strength and continue to heal Farrendel. As long as Prince Rharreth allowed it.

Setting both bowls in front of her, she dipped Farrendel’s bread into his stew. “I know you do not want to take anything from my hand, but you need to eat.”

Farrendel blew out a long breath, then faced her. “I am used to being fed by an enemy.”

It should not sting. Not after what she had done.

But she still had to blink and stare down at the bowl for longer than necessary before she held out the piece of bread to him.

It might have almost felt like a family meal, if not for the tension and the fact that she alternated between feeding herself and feeding Farrendel as if he were yet again the child she had helped raise.

That brought another stab of pain. When had she started to resent him, then hate him? When he had been little, she had been almost like a mother to him. She was old enough that she could have had a son Farrendel’s age, had Hatharal not delayed the marriage, then ended things.

It had hurt, in those early years, to hold Farrendel close and think about the children she had been denied. When had that pain turned to anger and that anger turned on Farrendel instead of the betrothed who had left her?

Why had she never been grateful that Farrendel’s birth had shown her the truth about Hatharal before she had actually married him? Hatharal had never truly loved her. Not if he had been so willing to break it off at the first sign of trouble.

Love was what their father had shown in enfolding Farrendel into the