near. Without a word, he rose, his gaze flickering beyond her to the sleeping king, and together they entered the tunnel in the wall and walked in the darkness back to the temple.
Someone had lit fresh candles in the sanctum, though it was well past midnight; it was closer to dawn. Ghisla guessed it was Ghost and hoped the woman had gone to bed.
“P-please do not t-tell,” Bayr whispered, pointing at his face.
“Why?”
“It w-will only c-cause them p-pain. They c-can do n-nothing.” He was fourteen years old, two years younger even than she, yet he was the protector of everyone on the mount.
“Is there anyone who can do something?” Her anger and helplessness welled again.
“Y-you d-did,” he whispered. “Y-you sang. You f-fixed him.”
“For now, but I wish I hadn’t.”
He cocked his head, his brow furrowed in question.
“He will need me again.”
He nodded sadly, admitting the truth. “Y-you are of u-use.”
“I have drawn attention to myself. That is never a good thing.”
“I w-will n-not t-tell if y-you d-don’t.” The swelling on his left cheek made his smile crooked.
“You are wise, Temple Boy. I am not fooled by your stutter.”
“And I am n-not f-fooled by your s-size, L-Liis of L-Leok. Y-you are p-powerful.”
“If you sing . . . mayhaps your words will not stick to your tongue,” she suggested.
Bayr laughed and shook his head. He touched his throat while he raised one brow and made a yodeling sound that cracked and creaked.
“I didn’t say it had to be beautiful,” she laughed.
He shook his head again and turned to go.
“My mother sang away my bruises,” Ghisla said. “It might . . . help.”
He looked back at her, hesitant, but then he nodded.
“All r-right. S-sing.”
She closed the distance between them and laid her right hand on his cheek.
Cry, cry, dear one, cry,
Let the pain out through your eyes.
Tears will wash it all away,
Cry until the bruises fade.
“Her song is like a rune,” he thought, and his inner voice did not stumble at all. She tried not to be distracted by it as she continued with her tune.
I’ll sing until you’re whole again,
No more ache and no more pain.
Bayr’s eyes immediately began to stream, just as hers had always done when her mother sang this song. He pulled away, embarrassed by his weeping, and she scowled up at him.
“It will not work so quickly,” she snapped. “Come here.”
“It f-feels b-better,” he admitted. It already looked better. “You h-have r-rune blood,” he said.
“It is not me,” she protested. “It is you. It is your tears. It is you who has rune blood.” She didn’t know if what she said was true, but he allowed her to put her hand back to his cheek and sing the song again.
Bayr’s thoughts were as kind as Elayne’s.
He was grateful that he would not have to hide his face from Alba and Dagmar, that they would not see the king’s mark. He also wanted to ask about Liis’s mother, but his reluctance to talk kept him blissfully silent. She decided his stutter was one of the loveliest things about him. It made him especially good with secrets.
Ghisla sang the tune a third time, softly, swiftly, and his tears tumbled over his cheeks and dripped off his chin, taking the swelling and the angry color from his face.
“There,” she said, dropping her hand. “It will not work for illness or serious wounds . . . but it is a tonic for the little aches. Next time . . . you can sing it yourself.” She hoped there would not be a next time but feared the king’s treatment of him was all too common.
“Th-thank y-you.”
“You will not tell?” she pressed, though she knew he wouldn’t.
He shook his head.
“Good. Master Ivo might try to make me a keeper . . . and I would like to keep my hair.”
He laughed.
“He fears you. The king . . . he fears you,” she told him. She didn’t tell him how she knew, but Bayr nodded once, like it was something he already understood, and ducked into the tunnel. The wall scraped closed behind him.
“He did not hurt you?”
She heard the fear in Hod’s question when she told him about her night singing for the king.
“No. He did not hurt me. He hurt Bayr. But Bayr did not leave me.”
She had not returned to her bed when Bayr left her in the sanctum. The dawn would be coming soon. The cock had already crowed. Instead she had walked out into the garden and through the