“Knights! Knights of Farthestshore! Give back what you took from me!”
Eanrin appeared in the doorway, bringing bandages, a large bowl, and a carafe of water. Imraldera took them and set to work cleaning the wound, even as the lion and the child continued shouting and circling the whole of the Haven, their voices fading and returning with each round. Eanrin stood back and maintained an aloof silence, his head tilted to catch the threats and roars without. But as soon as Imraldera tied the last bandage and stepped back to drop blood-soaked rags into the bowl, Eanrin leaned over their guest and said:
“All right, my friend, time to own up. How came you to irk the lion so?”
“Eanrin!” Imraldera protested and grabbed his shoulder. Sun Eagle looked away, his warrior’s face a stoic mask.
“Don’t try to be coy,” Eanrin persisted, shaking the young man none too gently. “Those are both Faeries out there, if I’m not mistaken, and I smell mortality on you, however long gone it might be. My first instinct is to trust them and not you. Don’t take it personally; it’s just my way. But if you want me on your side, best to tell all now, or I’m half inclined to give them what they want.”
“Eanrin!” Imraldera pulled her comrade back, dragging him across the room, where she glared up at him furiously. Her hair escaped from under her scarf, falling in black coils over each cheek, but she pushed them back with hands that still trembled. “How dare you? Is this not a house of succor? Of sanctuary?”
Even as she spoke, her voice was nearly drowned out by Nidawi’s screech of, “GIVE HIM TO ME, OR I WILL REND YOU!”
“Here’s the thing, Imraldera, old girl.” Eanrin shrugged as casually as though he remarked on the fineness of the weather. “I’m a Faerie man, born and bred, so to speak, and I’ll trust a Faerie’s word sooner than a mortal’s most any day. That’s a Faerie out there, and an angry one if I’m not mistaken—”
“REND YOU, I SAY!”
“Granted, we’re a temperamental lot as a rule,” Eanrin added. “But we don’t usually offer rendings unless provoked. So I suggest, before this Faerie lass and her toothy companion begin an assault on our doorstep, we’d best find out what they want him for.”
“It doesn’t matter,” said Imraldera, her face and voice tense. “He is our guest, and he is wounded. Wait at least until he heals—Eanrin! Where are you going?”
For the cat-man had turned on heel and now strode from the room, his red cloak flapping behind him. Cursing under her breath, Imraldera hurried after and caught up just as he opened the front entrance of the Haven and looked out into the Wood.
“Very well, renders all!” he called in his merriest voice. “Come plead your case, and we’ll see who is rending whom tonight.”
Immediately the great white lioness leapt into the space before the door, her whole face and body twisted with a terrible roar. Eanrin watched through half-closed eyes, his arms folded even as Imraldera startled and ducked behind him, trembling, though she was no coward.
When Lioness had finished her piece, Nidawi appeared. She was a child still, wild and sexless, flashing teeth as vicious as the lion’s, if not more so. “Exactly!” she cried. “Everything she said and more!”
“Well, that’s not very friendly, tearing limbs asunder and so forth,” the poet-cat replied blandly. “And I’m certainly not going to stand by and watch you do it—”
“Thank you,” Imraldera whispered.
“—unless, of course, you have good reason, in which case all options will be considered.”
Imraldera smacked his shoulder, which served only to broaden his grin.
Nidawi stared up at him, her eyes as wide and feral as Lioness’s, panting fast in her ire. Then she drew herself up and became a tall queen, beautiful and severe, strong and sorrowful. Both Eanrin and Imraldera were surprised by this, and even Eanrin took a step back. He felt Imraldera grab hold of his arm, her fingers warm, her body near and trembling with something other than fright.
“I am Nidawi the Everblooming, Queen of Tadew-That-Was,” said the Faerie woman. Her hair grew thick about her face, moving as though with its own life as flowers twined green shoots through the tangles, blooming and fading in moments. “That creature you harbor within your walls murdered my people.”
“What? All of them?” Eanrin said, his eyebrows up.
“All of them,” said she. She extended a long arm, strangely muscular for her femininity, and her fingernails were long like claws and tipped with Sun Eagle’s blood. “Murdered my people and razed my demesne until nothing is left that is green or growing, and I am alone.” Her hand was palm up, as though expecting a gift or an offering. “His blood is mine. Send him out to me.”