Igniting Darkness (Courting Darkness Duology #2) - Robin LaFevers Page 0,162

a smile. “Did you ever think—” He stops to breathe. “Had come to make amends?”

The look on Maraud’s face makes it plain he had never considered such a thing.

“Besides”—another ghostly grin—“couldn’t let them take you twice.”

 Chapter 91

Sybella

“You are injured as well,” I remind Beast as we leave the infirmary.

“You are being daft.”

“I am not the one with two arrows in my arm, a gash across my forehead, and, I suspect, a broken rib.”

Beast glances down, breaks the shafts off the arrowheads, then tosses them aside. “All taken care of.”

“And your arm?”

He grins. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of a little blood.”

I snort.

“You are mistaken,” he continues in a more sober tone, “if you think I will rest while there are men to see to.”

Of course I knew that, but had hoped he would at least allow his wounds to be tended first.

As it turns out, there are not that many wounded. Two of the queen’s guard have broken legs from falling from their horses, but they are not bad breaks and will mend well. Valine has a cut on her arm, almost a near match to Beast’s, although she has the good sense to have at least wrapped it. Three charbonnerie received burns—which they consider as sacred as medals of honor—and the Arduinnites have only a half dozen arrow wounds among them.

That is not to say there were no casualties. A man was crushed by his own horse, another took a pike to the chest, and a dozen pikesmen died of wounds sustained during the battle.

“See that their families are taken care of,” Beast tells the priest who tallied the dead.

When the priest has left, I cannot help but ask, “How did you bring so many men through unscathed?”

He scowls at the sea of bodies. “I would not call this unscathed. And I had help. Maraud, the Arduinnites, you, Gen, the charbonnerie, the men’s own fighting spirits.”

But it is more than that. I have seen it time and again. It is as if his battle lust, his own will and determination and sheer stubbornness pull his men along in his wake, casting a veil of protection over them.

“Well, it is a small miracle,” I say, knowing he will be uncomfortable if I tell him how big a miracle it truly is.

* * *

When I finally get Beast to the infirmary, it tries him sorely to lie still with so much to be done. And although he claims his saint allows him to heal quickly, I have seen him delirious with wounds that very nearly killed him. “Wouldn’t you be embarrassed if the mighty Beast of Waroch was brought low by an infection of the blood or a gangrenous limb?”

“It would never happen,” he says stubbornly, picking at the blanket the nuns have placed over him. “Although,” he concedes, “it would be most ignoble.”

“Besides”—I settle myself next to him on the narrow bed—“think of me. I need a day or two to rest. I have been lighting fires, arguing with Lazare, and worrying about you. It is a wonder my hair is not full gray by now.”

“Ah. When you put it like that, how can I say no?” He removes his hand from the blanket and begins playing with my fingers instead. “Why did you change your mind?” he asks softly.

I do not pretend not to know what he is talking about. “Things have changed. I have changed.”

He is quiet, hoping I will say more. I prop my head in my hand so I may better see his face: the pockmarks, the lump of a nose, the scar that graces one cheek—he will have a matching one on his forehead now—and among all that cheerful ugliness, two eyes of nearly unnaturally light blue framed with spiky lashes.

“I have decided,” I say, lightly tracing the scar on his cheek, “that you want me only for my body and thus will be easily managed.”

Humor shines in his eyes, but also regret that I will not be serious. “But mostly,” I continue, “I have learned how to wrestle with my own fears so they do not destroy my future chances at happiness. Being with you will make me very happy.”

Those eyes of his—how they glow! Not with feral light, but with joy and love and all the things I once thought I would never experience. I lean down and press my lips on his. “Besides,” I murmur, “if you become too demanding, I can always slit your throat while you sleep.”

“Then at least I