Chapter 10: Split Knuckles

Madoc was gone from the tent before I woke.

The cot by the door had not been slept in.

He had sat by me until dawn instead, with his hand on my neck whenever the fever stirred.

I had pretended to be asleep for most of it.

That was how I knew he was avoiding me.

I found him at the edge of the shelf, watching the valley wake.

Smoke rose from a hundred cooking fires around the Stonering, and the standing stones were small and gray in the middle of it.

"You should sit," he said, without turning.

"I'm fine."

"You took a hit to the ribs last night. I saw it."

"It's a bruise."

"Sit."

I sat on a flat rock, and he crouched in front of me and took my hand.

My knuckles were split from the guard's ribs, and I hadn't even felt it.

He cleaned them with water from a skin, slowly, and his thumb moved over each cut.

Every nerve in my arm sat up.

"Madoc."

"Hold still."

"Is this fever?"

"No."

"Then it's against the rules."

"It's a split knuckle," he said. "I'll take whatever punishment you like."

I laughed, and he glanced up, and the corner of his mouth went.

"Your ribs," he said.

"They're fine."

"Show me."

I looked at him.

He looked at me, and neither of us pretended it was anything but a request.

I turned my back and lifted the hem of my shirt to the bottom of my breasts.

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