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I sat upon a stool close to his side. He fascinated me. I wanted to study him
covertly so he need never know. A man awake is too aware of his pride and the
manner of his appearance; I wanted to know him without such impediments.
His breathing sounded heavy in his chest. The
wad of bandage pressed over the knife wound came away soiled with blood and
fluid, but seemed clean enough. It did not stink of infection. It was a simple
wound, if deep; with care he would recover.
He stirred and moaned, twisting his head against the pillow. The oozing of the
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scrapes on his face had stopped and his skin had begun to dry, puck-
ering the flesh into a crusted film. The hollows
425
426 Jennifer Roberson beneath his eyes were darkened by bruising. Eye-
lids flickered. His lashes were as long as mine, and as thick.
Incongruous thought; I banished it. Then sum-
moned it back again as I studied the fit of his swollen nose into the space
between his eyes, be-
neath arched black eyebrows. He was badly bruised, aye, but I thought my
mother was blind. She could not see beyond the wreckage wrought by the river
to the good bones beneath.
/ think when you are healed, you might surprise us all. I drew in a breath.
"Devin?"
Lids flickered again, then opened. His eyes were a clear brilliant green, but
glazed with weakness.
Malenna root, I knew; it would rob him of his wits for longer than I
preferred. I wanted them back.
I scraped my stool closer, so he could see me.
His lips were badly swollen and crusted with dried blood. He moved them,
winced, then took more care as he shaped the words. They it was malformed, but
clear enough. "Who ?"
I smiled. "Ginevra."
I waited. I expected him to respond at once that he was Devin, or to make some
indication he knew who I was. Instead, he touched his mangled bot-
tom lip with an exploratory tongue tip, felt its state, and withdrew the
tongue. Lids closed a mo-
ment, then lifted again.
"Your name?" I persisted, desiring verbal con-
firmation in addition to the lifestone.
A faint frown puckered his forehead. With the hair swept back I could see it
was unmarred; the river had spared him her savagery there, at least.
"My leg ..." A hand moved atop the furred cover-
let, as if it would pull the blanket aside.
"No." I stopped the hand with my own- "Your leg is broken, but it has been
set." The hand
A TAPESTRY OF LlO!VS
427
stilled. I removed mine. "Do you recall what happened?"
The forehead puckered again. "What place is this?"
"Valgaard."
There was no change of expression in his eyes.
What I saw there was a puzzled blankness.
It had to be the malenna. "Valgaard," I repeated.
He moved his mouth carefully. His words were imprecise. "What is Valgaard?"
It astounded me. I turned sharply to one of the women. "How much malenna was
he given?"
She paled. "No more than usual, Lady."
"Too much," I declared. "No more do you hear?"
"Aye, Lady." She stared hard at the floor.
He moved slightly, and I looked back at once.
"Why am I here?" he asked.
"This is where you are supposed to be. But you were hurt. There was a
fight you fell into the river." Or was pushed; how-better to hide a body?
"The river?"
Indeed, too much root. "The Bluetooth." I stud-
ied him more closely, marking the dullness of his eyes. More black than green
in reflection of the root. "Do you truly recall none of it? Not even the man
who stabbed you?"
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"I remember being cold " He paused. "
heavy." The eyes closed, then opened. Their clar-
ity was improved, but not their knowledge. "No more .. ." He stirred. " head
hurts."
"The Bluetooth," I repeated, beginning to un-
derstand. If he had struck his head, which was
entirely likely in the river, he would likely be con-
fused for a day or two. Combined with the root, it was fortunate he was
conscious at all. "It will come back on its own," I promised. "You will
428 Jennifer Robersoa know where you are, and that you are safe ..." I
paused. "Devin."
"Is that I am Devin?"
I grinned. "Tell me when you are certain."
He looked at me more closely, "Who are you?"
Your bride, I answered, but could not say it aloud. "Ginevra."
He repeated it after me, rolling the soft, sibilant first syllable between his
teeth an extra moment.
His accent was odd, more Homanan than Solin-
dish, but Devin is a High Crags man, from high up on the border between the
two lands. I had heard the speech before. "How long ?"
"You were brought yesterday. My father sent out a search party since you were
so late." I
smiled wryly. "You are valuable. It was of some concern."
"Why?" The struggle was in his eyes. "I remem-
ber none of it "
"Hush." I leaned forward. "Do not tax yourself
... it will come."
"I should remember." Dampness glistened on his forehead. He made more sense as
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