I know you took my blood. Even then, you did not want to kill me. You drank my blood and gave me a link to your mind, to clear my thoughts. It will be all right, Sedric. I won’t betray you. No one need ever know.
The simple acceptance and forgiveness washed through him like a flood. It tumbled him and drowned him as the wave of water had not. He could not and found that he did not wish to resist it. Mindless warmth flushed through him again, taking away all thought of his problems, washing away his despair and leaving comfort.
He felt his whole body relax.
And Carson put two fingers under his chin, lifted his face, and kissed him again.
After a time, the hunter pulled his mouth away and said hoarsely, “If you’ve changed your mind about killing yourself, I’ve thought of something else you could do tonight.”
Sedric tried to find his own thoughts, to summon again everything that had filled him with despair. Carson must have seen it in his face.
“Don’t,” he suggested softly. “Just don’t. Not now. Don’t question it, don’t hesitate.” He pushed his body back from Sedric’s and rose to his feet. Then he leaned over, offering Sedric a hand. He took it, felt the hunter’s rough and calloused palm against his, and let Carson help him to his feet.
“Let me take you to your room,” Carson offered quietly.
“Yes.”
THYMARA WALKED AWAY from the bonfire into the night. It should have been a good evening. The night weather was mild, her stomach was full of fish and creek greens, she had been able to bathe and wash her hair and drink all she wanted this afternoon. She had scrubbed Sintara until the arrogant queen shone bluer than any summer sky. She hadn’t praised her with words and had been annoyed when Sintara had turned to her and said, “You are right in your heart. No other dragon here can compare to me.”
No thanks for her grooming had she offered. Thymara had seethed, but silently, and had soon left her. The rest of the afternoon, she helped Tats, Harrikin, and Sylve groom the keeperless dragons. That had been a challenge.
Baliper had been morose and uncooperative, still mourning Warken. Spit had presented the opposite problem. Newly cheeky and dangerously aggressive, the little silver had not wanted anyone to leave off grooming him as he basked in the attention of several keepers at once. Thymara had been relieved when Alise, her hair still damp from washing, had joined them and kept him occupied. Poor Relpda had submitted to grooming, but all the while, she had kept her eyes on the Tarman, palpably missing Sedric. Thymara had felt outrage on her behalf. “What sort of a man allows a dragon to save him and then ignores the poor creature?” she’d demanded of Alise. And then been jolted with surprise when Alise had defended him, saying, “I’m not surprised. He has problems of his own to deal with just now. It’s best to leave him alone with them.”
The copper had been more direct with her. “My keeper!” she’d hissed at Thymara, and though the exhalation had been venomless, Thymara had made no more disparaging remarks about Sedric.
When evening was full and they gathered by the bonfire to bask in its heat and eat together, she had seen that the others were healing from their losses. She was glad for them. All missed Jess’s storytelling. When Davvie brought out his pipes and began to play, the music sounded thin and lonesome. Then, to the startlement of all, Bellin had come down from the Tarman, carrying her own pipes. Without fanfare, she had sat down beside Davvie and joined her music to his, wrapping his melody in an accompaniment that made it seem more than enough to fill the night. Stoic Swarge was more pink cheeked than his wife, visibly prideful over her talent. The music was beautiful.
But that was when Thymara had slipped away from the company. For when she had turned to Rapskal, looking forward to sharing her astonishment and pleasure, he simply wasn’t there.
It seemed obscene and cruel that she had forgotten, even for a few moments, that he was dead and gone. It seemed a betrayal of their friendship, and suddenly the beauty of the music cut her too deeply and she had to go away from those who sat by the fire enjoying it. She’d stumbled off into the darkness until she came to the stream. There, she’d sat on a fallen tree and listened to the mutter of the water. Behind her, the light and warmth of the bonfire and the music seemed to come from a different world. She wondered if she belonged in it anymore.
The silence of the forest was no silence at all to her ears. The water moved, and insects ticked in bark and moss. Up above her, something small and clawed stalked through the branches; probably a little tree cat looking for lizards gone motionless with the evening chill. She listened intently and heard the final pounce and a thin squeak before the little predator gave a short purr of satisfaction and then made its purposeful exit. Probably taking its kill off to a safe place to enjoy it.