A Wilderness of Glass - Grace Draven Page 0,32

and crawling into bed. Brida didn’t know why she bothered. She’d have to be up in a couple of hours, and there was no chance her spinning thoughts would allow her to drift off. Moments after she nuzzled into her pillow she was asleep.

A sharp pounding awakened her to a bedroom bathed in punishing sunlight. Her throat was on fire, and every swallow was like downing a handful of ground glass. The incessant pounding came from inside her skull, but also from her front door.

She wove her way through the parlor on unsteady feet. “Who is it?” she croaked, surprising herself by the awful sound. Gone were the days when she opened her door without knowing her visitor first. Ospodine’s trespassing had seen to that.

“Are you all right, Brida? Open the door.” Norinn’s exasperated command seeped through the wood. Brida yanked back the bolt and shoved the door open, squinting against the unseasonal brightness. The slant of the sun on the cobblestones told her it was well past morning and into early afternoon.

Her sister-in-law’s irritation changed to concern, and she gently nudged Brida farther into the house, closing the door behind her. “My gods, you look ghastly. I think I’ve seen healthier looking wraiths. Are you sick?”

Brida shuffled back to her bedroom and collapsed on the mattress. “I must be. I feel like death.” Inwardly, she wailed her frustration. Now was not the time to be ill!

“You look like it,” Norinn blithely informed her. She tucked Brida’s feet back under the covers, then adjusted them until Brida huddled under their weight, certain she’d never get warm.

Norinn pressed a hand to her forehead. “A fever as well.” She clucked, reminding Brida of a disgruntled chicken. “Stay in bed. I’ll make willow bark tea before I go.” She clucked again at Brida’s disgusted rumble. “Bad taste or not, it will help,” she admonished. “I’ll send Yenec over later with soup. She can mind the house for you while you rest.”

Brida didn’t argue. If she ever decided to take over the world, the first thing she’d do was enlist Norinn as the general to lead her armies. She drifted off to sleep, waking only long enough to down a cup of bitter willow bark tea at Norinn’s urgings.

Night had fallen when she roused again, feeling fractionally better but still like Zigana Imre’s brave mare had decided to stomp on someone else after the obluda and had chosen Brida as her next victim.

“Come tomorrow, Brida.” Ahtin’s voice wove through her foggy mind.

“I’m sorry,” she croaked. “So sorry.”

Would he wonder why she didn’t appear? Would he wait or search? She prayed not, especially after Edonin’s warning.

Her niece Yenec entered the bedroom, balancing a tray with a bowl whose contents sent up ghostly tendrils of steam. The girl, oldest of Laylam’s and Norinn’s nine children, smiled as she set the tray down on the table close to the bed. “You’re awake, aunt. That’s good. How do you feel?”

“Terrible,” Brida whispered, regretting it instantly as more of the glass splinters embedded themselves in her throat. “How long was I asleep?”

Yenec helped her sit up, fluffing the pillows behind her. “A few hours. You were restless. Dreaming and talking in your sleep. Who’s Ahtin?”

Brida froze, then offered her niece a casual shrug. “I have no idea. For all I know I was dreaming about someone’s sheepdog named Ahtin.”

She spent the next half hour eating the soup Yenec prepared and drinking more of the vile tea before plummeting into sleep that left her more tired than rejuvenated each time she awoke. Four days passed before she felt well enough to leave her bed and sit at her table, and two more days beyond that before Norinn declared her well enough to take a much-needed bath. In that time, Brida fretted and worried over Ahtin. And said nothing to anyone.

By the time the next market day arrived in Ancilar, she was well enough to leave the house and vowed she’d return to the cave. She had no hope that Ahtin would be there. The weather was fast leaving autumn behind for winter with its bitter, gusting winds, snowfall, and sea ice. Edonin would have urged her extended family to migrate south to warmer seas, and Ahtin would have followed. At least she hoped that was the case. A part of her sorrowed that she hadn’t had a chance to tell him goodbye, while another part feared he might think she’d abandoned him. But the greatest part prayed he had left