I am not this kind of healer, I want to tell him, but even if he could read my hands, I wouldn’t have had the chance to form the words.
He takes me by the shoulders, oddly careful to avoid my wound, and puts his face close to mine. Too close. It’s such a sudden action that I think to headbutt him, but he speaks in the softest whisper.
“Listen very carefully. I’m a spy for the king. I did not harm your friend in that cave. She harmed herself so that we might survive Vexx. And when he sent me to kill her, I did not.” He forces the sleeve of his jacket up enough to reveal the end of an angry-looking gash. “I bled into the snow and on my dagger to make it appear that I killed her, but she was alive when I left her in the ravine. I told her to get to Winterhold. I swear my life to the Ancient Ones if I’m not telling the truth.” He glances at the tent flap. “I only pray she travels around us instead of crossing our path.”
I shake my head in disbelief even after he’s finished talking. I keep waiting to hear a lie in his voice or to see one in his gaze, and yet it never comes.
My heart stutters, and relief I struggle to process rushes through me. Helena is alive? And the king has spies. Of course, he does.
The flinty eyes of this giant of a man soften to the point of gentleness. “I wanted to save the Collector too, but I couldn’t be in two places at the same time. I didn’t know what Vexx planned to do. I’m sorry.”
The cavern inside me burns, his words salt to a raw wound.
I’m sorry too. Sorry that I couldn’t stop Vexx. That I couldn’t do anything but watch.
Rhonin takes my elbow and leads me to the mender’s pouch. He kneels beside the cot and folds the leather open, withdrawing a small, simple dagger. A thin sheath covers the blade, and the hilt is slim and short. The whole of it is barely the span of my hand, fingertips to wrist. Perfect for jabbing at close range—or maybe throwing—but little else.
“Here’s the plan,” he whispers. “The prince is meeting with Vexx and Killian, his second general, but he wants to be your first healing. Afterward, he’s sending Killian south with convoy one. She and other soldiers will escort the first wagon, a handful of Witch Walkers, though not your sister. She’s to stay with the prince, as is the king.”
I squeeze my eyes shut. Damn it. Colden Moeshka is here.
“I know,” Rhonin mutters, as though understanding my disappointment. “Word is that the prince unleashed enough fire on Winterhold that the king’s ice was of no matter. The Frost King surrendered to save his people. His Witch Walkers were too weak to withstand the prince, but the prince is weaker now. Worn down.”
That makes me feel better. Weaker is good.
“Once your work is complete,” Rhonin continues, “the prince and Vexx and everyone else will head south. They’re meeting important men at Malgros, the same men who got them through the ports in the first place, to get them across the Malorian Sea to Itunnan.”
Father used to talk about Itunnan, a port city in the Summerlands. By important men, I assume Rhonin means men in the Northland Watch. Traitors. I don’t know how so many Eastlanders could’ve made it through the port, but the prince clearly thought of a better plan than facing an entire coast of guard witches.
Gods. This can’t be happening already.
“The prince plans to let me take you to your sister after you heal him, only for a few minutes, then your duty on this side of the camp begins. He knows your hands must be free for your magick, but don’t think he won’t have Vexx hovering with a blade at all times, possibly something worse. They’re curious about your abilities, but they’d rather see you dead as dust than acting as interference. Do you understand?”
Yes, I understand what he’s saying. No, I don’t understand what he thinks I’m to do with this information. I nod anyway.
“Later, I’ll come for you and your sister. You’ll use this dagger to get free of your binds, wound me, and then run.” He leans in. “Don’t be nice about stabbing me either. It has to look real.”
This is the plan?
He eyes my face. “Look, I’m giving you your freedom. It’s all I can do. Take it.”
His words fall over me like a rush of chilly air.
Freedom.
Rhonin stands and stares down at me, making an innocent face, and shrugs. “This might be cold and uncomfortable, but it’s incredibly sharp. You’ll need it. Later.”
From behind a fallen strand of flaming hair, he winks, again reminding me of Mena. Her daughter was chosen for Winterhold many years before my birth.
Surely Rhonin isn’t…
I grimace, sucking in a breath between my clenched teeth as Rhonin carefully slides the tiny dagger into my bodice, until it’s nestled between my breasts. The steel is freezing.
He holds my ribcage, shifting my bodice and breasts to hide the hilt, and presumes to tighten the laces at my back. “To prevent the dagger from falling,” he says.
Sadness swims through me as I recall a similar moment. This one is just as awkward—the touching—but it isn’t intimate in the way it was with Alexus by the stream. I wish I could go back to that moment with the knowledge I have now.
Still, I welcome the contact. If this man wants to give me a weapon, I’m certainly going to let him. The second I get the chance, I’ll drive that little blade into the prince’s temple, or maybe into that tender spot beneath the chin that Helena always talks about. There’s no way I can let him be close enough to heal and not kill him if the opportunity presents itself.
That thought makes me wonder something. Rhonin is a Northland spy. He’s become very trusted by the Eastland prince. Why has he not killed him?
When I glance up, my eyes snag on his face, blushing seven shades of red. He’s as rugged as the Mondulak Range, but the closer I look, the more naivety and innocence I see, two things so incongruent with the rest of him. It provides no answer to my question, but I have no way to ask.
I try, forcing the question into my eyes. I glance down where the dagger hides, and then at the tent flap where I assume the prince will soon appear, and back to Rhonin, shaking my head.
Eyes and faces can say so much more than people believe.
He exhales a breath, reading me easily. “Yes, I’ve often thought about sacrificing all to stop him, but I never expected any of this. I was called up the ranks for this mission two months ago. I didn’t have time for preparations before we left, and the prince has my family within his grasp. My mother, brother, and sister as well.” Rhonin points to the sky, keeping his voice low. “Eyes are always watching. I could kill every last Eastlander in this forest, including the prince, and blame it on a Witch Walker attack, but unless I kill every one of his damn crows, his council will know what I’ve done before I can so much as leave this continent.” He sighs, his eyes searching mine, seeking understanding. “My family will not be spared. I need to get home, secure my loved ones away from the prince’s palace. Afterward, I can do what must be done. If someone doesn’t beat me to it.”