When Kjell, hydrated and somewhat revived, eased back down beside Sasha, she stirred and opened her eyes.
“Sleep. All is well,” he soothed, covering her with a blanket and moving his rolled cloak beneath her head.
She sat up gingerly, as if she weren’t sure of her body, and he worried again at his difficulty in healing her.
“Sleep, Sasha.”
“You are covered in blood,” she murmured.
“Yes. But it isn’t mine.”
“I will wash you,” she insisted. He clearly hadn’t healed her need to coddle him.
“No. You will sleep.”
“But I am healed. You healed me again.” Her voice was almost a wail, and it made him smile, in spite of himself.
“Your dress is in tatters. If you rise it will fall off.”
She frowned. “It was my favorite one.”
“I will buy you a new one,” he reassured her. “Please . . . I need you to sleep.” She laid back down reluctantly, but she didn’t sleep.
“I have seen the Volgar before. They were in Kilmorda,” she said.
“Yes. You remember?”
“I don’t know if it’s a memory . . . or a story someone told me. They don’t look the same.”
“They are dying.”
“I feel no sadness for their suffering,” she admitted as though she thought she should.
“Compassion is wasted on the compassionless. There are some things not meant for this world. A man has the right to survive. And Volgar and man cannot exist together. I don’t want to eat him. He wants to eat me. Do you see the dilemma? There are some beasts that should not exist.” He thought about his father, about the animal he’d become, the monsters he’d made, and the creatures he’d harmed. The only sorrow Kjell felt was that he hadn’t been the one to stop him.
“I should tell you a tale,” Sasha mused, refusing to quiet down. “Something about a mighty Healer who is lucky to exist, considering he refuses to protect himself.” He heard teasing but sensed pique. It made him smile again.
“If you will rest I will tell you a story,” he offered.
“You will tell me one?”
“Yes. I will tell you one. Now hush,” he said.
She smacked her lips closed and widened her eyes, indicating she was ready.
“When I was a child, there was a hound that used to sleep in the king’s stables. He was ugly. Someone had burned his fur off in huge patches. He was missing an eye, and he always limped. But he was sweet and docile. He didn’t snap or bite. He didn’t act as if he’d been abused.
“No one knew where he came from, but the servants didn’t run him off because he had a calming effect on the king’s horses, particularly one stallion—a gift from a lord—that would not be tamed. The horse was violent but his blood lines were impeccable, and King Zoltev wanted to get at least a couple of foals out of him. The hound would sleep at the stallion’s feet. The horse would stomp and whinny and thrash for a few minutes, but the dog would not be cowed, and the horse would settle, covering the mares without hurting them.
“No one bothered to give the dog a name. No one showed him any affection. They called him dog. But he was allowed to stay. He never barked, and he was always glad to see me, so when no one was around, I would pet him and call him by the name I’d given him.”
When he didn’t offer the name, Sasha looked up at him expectantly.
“Tell me what you called him,” she demanded.
“Maximus of Jeru.”
He’d never told a single soul about Maximus of Jeru. He expected her to laugh and felt his own lips twitch at the memory. But Sasha looked at him steadily, absorbing his words as if they revealed something terribly important.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because he deserved a noble name. He had a noble heart.”
She nodded once, accepting that.
“His limp improved, and his coat began to grow lush and shiny around his scars. Maybe I healed him, though I didn’t know it then. I thought my affection was healing him. He started following me around wherever I went.”
“What happened to Maximus?” There was trepidation in her voice, and Kjell answered immediately, not allowing himself to feel pain over old wounds.
“King Zoltev, in a fit of anger, killed him. Kicked him until he was dead and threw his body into the moat. But the king paid for his anger when his stallion went berserk and killed his prized mare.”
“Is that what Gibbous meant . . . when he referred to me as the stable dog? He was talking about Maximus?”
“Gibbous called you a dog?” His voice was flat, but he was instantly seething. He would sentence Gibbous to a dozen lashes.
“He meant no harm. He said he liked dogs more than people, so I should be flattered. Gibbous is not especially . . . tactful.”
No. He wasn’t, but he had always been a good soldier, and Kjell’s temperature cooled slightly. He would still have words with the imbecile.
“So tell me . . . how am I like Maximus?” she pressed, not seeming to care that she’d been insulted. Kjell was not eager to further the comparison, but he knew instantly what Gibbous meant.
“You follow me around because I healed you. You don’t get angry when you should. You are kind to those who are cruel. You have a noble heart.”
“And a noble name,” she added without inflection.
He laughed and she laughed too, softly.
“Your name is growing on me,” he admitted. She sighed, a happy sound that made him pull her closer, letting his body more fully shelter her.
“Sasha?”
“Yes?” she answered, her voice drowsy.
“You must never do that again.”
“Do what, Captain?”
“Try to protect me.”
She was silent, considering, and he waited to see if she would argue or acquiesce.
“I saw you die. I saw talons pierce your heart. And I could not let that happen,” she whispered.
She said no more, but he felt her distress at the memory and wished he’d waited until morning to chastise her. Eventually, her breathing eased and her muscles loosened, and he closed his eyes, drifting off to sleep, tucked beside her on the Jandarian plain.