Leesil slowly became aware that he was standing up against the wall beyond the foot of the bed, Brenden pinning him in place. One of his own hands was pushing feebly against the large man's chest, trying to drive him off. The other, its wrist smeared with his own blood and Magiere's saliva, was outstretched toward the bed. Magiere, now crouched on the bed, snarled once at the blacksmith, but her eyes were on Leesil. As he looked at her, he felt a sudden wave of anguish for abandoning her there. Everything around him was blurred and faint but her.

She looked at him with hunger, then her mouth slowly closed. Black irises shrank, and Leesil noticed their color for the first time that he could remember. They were a deep brown, as rich as the soil of his homeland. Her gaze shifted to his outstretched hand and its bleeding wrist.

"Leesil?" Magiere pulled back, shrinking away from him across the bed into the corner against the wall. She huddled there, trembling, and could not take her gaze off his wrist until he finally lowered his arm.

"Good," another voice said. "Good lad."

Leesil rolled his head toward the sound of that voice, and found Welstiel still standing in the cottage doorway. The man pulled a small jar from the pocket of his cloak and tossed it to Brenden. The blacksmith released one grip on Leesil's shoulders and caught the jar with his large hand.

"Put this salve on his face and wrist, and on the majay-hi's wounds," Welstiel told Brenden. "They will both heal faster. Have them eat as much meat, cheese, and fruit as you can get over the next few days, and make sure the half-elf has no wine or ale. It will only thin his blood, and the dhampir may need him."

Leesil suddenly felt tired and ill. What had he just done? The sensation of Magiere's mouth on his arm still lingered and he tried to speak.

"What's a majay-hi?" he managed to whisper.

Welstiel watched Magiere for a long moment, and then looked at Leesil.

"The dog. It's the elven name for your dog."

Leesil realized he was now sitting on the floor, Brenden having lowered him. He turned his head toward the bed again.

"Magiere sat up in confusion now. Her hands came up to her throat, and when she felt the bandages there, she began pulling them off. Her fingers moved slowly over the exposed skin. Though there was blood still caked around her neck, Leesil could see no sign of the wound except a thin red line across her skin.

She looked at Leesil, then down at his wrist where Brenden was smearing the salve from the jar. Her fingers touched the side of her mouth, feeling a wet smear. Again, her expression changed to fear.

"What did you do?" she asked. "Leesil, what have you done?"

Leesil turned to Brenden. "Food. Go. Get us some food. I'll see to Chap."

As if unable to endure any more of the scene, Brenden let go of Leesil, and stormed out the door. Welstiel was already gone. No one had noticed him leave.

Using his hands to push himself up, Leesil stood and tottered once but remained on his feet. With the exception of Chap, he and Magiere were alone.

"What did you do?" she repeated.

"You were dying. I did what he told me to."

She took in the sight of his face and wrist with greater comprehension. "You're hurt."

"It's nothing. I can bandage myself."

Memories seemed to be returning, and she touched her throat again. "I was fighting. He cut me and then… what happened?"

The full weight and length of the tale was more than Leesil could manage. It overwhelmed him. Standing became even more of an effort.

"Such a long story," he whispered. "Too long for tonight."

She turned away from him. She appeared weak and pale, but otherwise all right. Slowly, she climbed off the bed, but did not approach him. How much did she remember of his feeding her? He wanted her to remember all of it.

She began pacing. Glancing at his wrist again, her expression turned to… embarrassment. Is that what she felt?

"I can't… I can't be here," she said. "If you are all right… and Chap?"

He felt too empty to argue. "I'll take care of him."

No coaxing was needed. Magiere picked her falchion off the floor where Brenden had dropped it, but she neither touched nor took any of the other weapons or supplies lying about. Her long legs strode for the door, and she fled Brenden's home as a prisoner flees a cage.

Leesil managed to walk over and retrieve the jar of salve. He knelt beside his dog, applying thick ointment to Chap's wounds. But Chap continued to sleep deeply.

For the first time in years, Leesil felt alone.

Some months ago, while walking through the forest, Rashed had come across a small ship run aground in a narrow inlet. Brush and trees now covered part of the outer hull, and he found no sign that anyone had been inside the ship for years.

"We should be safe here," he said.

He went through the motions of settling Teesha and Ratboy inside, and then went back out to check for any places where a patch of daylight might shine through and burn them when the sun rose. These actions were his duty, his role in their family. But visions of fire and tunnels collapsing filled him with silent rage. There wasn't even a blanket for Teesha to rest on. The thought troubled him. He should have a blanket for her.

All of her scrolls and books and dresses and embroidery were gone. He knew she'd never complain. She'd never say a word, but he felt almost overwhelmed by a sense of loss.

"Come and lie down," she said from the hatch doorway.

"I told you to stay inside," he answered, but he quickly went to the hatch and followed her down below deck.

Ratboy was already asleep on the floor. There were no bunks. Teesha lay down in the ship's wooden belly as well and reached out her hand toward Rashed, inviting him to join her. He stretched out beside her, but did not touch her. He rarely touched her unless it was necessary. It wasn't that he considered her too precious or too fragile. But even in life, he believed a warrior should not practice affection. It seemed like a weakness. As if once that floodgate opened, it would be impossible to stop, and then he would lose all strength. He needed his strength.

He didn't mind when she touched him though. Not at all.

Chocolate brown curls fell across her tiny face as she rolled onto her back.

"Sleep," he said.

Her rose candles were gone, too.

Rashed's mind moved back to the first time she saw Miiska and the delight on her face. They had been traveling for weeks on end, searching for someplace she might call home. He never told her how difficult their journey was for him. Guilt over Corische's death haunted him. Guilt over his abandonment of Parko haunted him. He hated being out in the open so much, always moving down strange roads. But he also remembered what Teesha had done to the keep, what a comfortable and beautiful place she had created from an empty stone dwelling. He wanted that again. She reminded him of life, of being part of the living.

Perhaps he was caught between two worlds, but so was she, and on some level, so was Ratboy, or the young urchin would have followed Parko.

Once they reached the coast, he thought the journey would soon be over, but none of the towns they passed through felt right to her. They were either too big or too small or too loud or too strange compared to what she had known in her life. When they reached Miiska one night, she climbed out of the wagon and ran down the shore a little way, then back to him, and smiled.

"This is the place," she said. "This is our home."

Relief filled him, and the next night, he began to work. Money was no issue. Corische's wealth was in the wagon. Building Teesha a home, creating a place in the world for his small family eased the guilt. He convinced himself that he had done the right thing, was doing the right thing. He laid down laws and expected Ratboy to follow his orders. Here, the keep lord and his rule of the land did not protect them.