Kjell wasn’t the only one who gasped, and the shocked intake of air echoed around him like a den of snakes, hissing through the huddled soldiers. She was so broken.
“What do you want to do?” Jerick raised his gaze to his leader, and the question was clear, though he didn’t voice it. Jerick knew Kjell was a Healer. They all knew, and his men both feared and worshipped him, watching in awe as he restored the fallen and the dying with nothing more than his hands. But he’d only healed those he had affection for, those he served and who served him. And he hadn’t done it often. He’d healed a few of his men. He’d healed his brother. His queen. But he’d been unable to find the power when there was no . . . love. He laughed bitterly, making the men around him shift awkwardly, and he realized the mocking chortle had escaped his lips.
“Go,” he commanded abruptly. “Take Lucian and the rest of the horses and find a place nearby to wait.”
No one moved, their eyes on the crumpled woman and the pool of blood that called to the wolves outlined on the cliffs above. The wolves were waiting for the soldiers to retreat and leave the girl.
“Go!” Kjell barked, sinking to his knees, knowing he’d wasted time when there was none. The soldiers rushed to withdraw, wary as the wolves, obeying their captain, but unhappy about doing so. Jerick didn’t leave, but Kjell had known he wouldn’t.
“I can’t do this while you watch,” Kjell admitted brusquely. “It makes me too aware of myself.”
“I’ve seen you heal before, Captain.”
“Yes. But not like this. I don’t know her.” Kjell placed his hands on the woman’s chest and felt the warmth of her heart, willful even as her body begged to be released from its torment. He listened for her song. For the single, clear note that would aid him. Her spirit, her force, her self.
“Imagine that you do,” Jerick urged softly. “Imagine her . . . full of life. Running. Smiling. Mating.”
Kjell’s eyes shot to Jerick’s, and his lieutenant stared back unapologetically, as if imagination was something that came easily to him and should therefore come easily to Kjell.
“Imagine that you love her,” Jerick repeated.
Kjell scoffed, resisting the sentiment, and bowed his head. He closed his eyes against Jerick’s gaze. His hands curled against the woman’s breast, urging her heart to obey, and an image rose, unbidden, in his mind. A woman who smiled at him with eyes that kept no secrets and told no lies. A woman with fiery hair like the one who lay before him, alone and dying. He lashed out again, demanding that Jerick depart. She was dying and he was listening to the mutterings of a foolish knight who’d clearly been too long without a woman. Running, smiling, mating. Bloody fool.
“Leave me, Jerick. Now.” If Jerick remained, Kjell would flog him. Jerick must have realized his captain would give no more quarter, for he turned away, and Kjell heard him depart through the brush, his stride dejected.
Kjell ran his hands over the slim ribs of the woman, feeling the jagged pieces of broken bones, and he bade them mend. He didn’t pray as his hands roved. The Creator had given him this curse and this cure, and he wouldn’t beg for an increase.
The woman resisted him, her slim frame stubborn in its death throes.
Kjell started to hum, purely on instinct, matching his timbre to the intermittent baying of the wolves above him. After a moment, he felt the tell-tale tingling in his hands, and his pulse surged in triumph. He commanded his body to share its light, and the shattered cage of her ribs righted beneath his touch, lifting her chest and curving outward into his broad palms. And still, he couldn’t hear her song.
“Where are you, woman?” he asked her. “I feel your heart and the seeping of your blood. Sing to me so I can bring you back.”
He moved his hands to her thighs, feeling the shape of her body return, the bones of her legs knitting together and notching into the curve of her hips. When her spine became a long, straight line, he rolled her to her side to run his hands over the back of her skull. It was wet with blood and soft in his hands. He swallowed back bile, surprised at his squeamishness. He had gutted men and beasts and never winced or even hesitated.
“I am a man with little imagination,” he whispered, smoothing her hair. “I cannot pretend to love you. But I can heal you if you help me.”
He strained, still listening for that one note that would save her life. He’d been in this position once, years before, straining to hear something he’d never heard, hardly knowing what he sought, but listening all the same. At the time it was his brother, and his wounds had been just as grievous as this woman’s. Kjell had saved him. He’d healed him. But he’d also loved him.
Fear trembled in his belly, and the heat in his hands instantly lessened. He forced his thoughts back to his brother, to his affection, his respect, his devotion. The thought became strength, and the heat in his hands became light.
He leaned down and whispered in her ear, sing-song and coaxing.
“Can you hear me, woman? Come sing with me.” The only songs he knew were bawdy and lewd, simple tunes about lifting skirts and brandishing swords.
“Come to me, and I will try to heal you. I will try to heal you, if you but come back,” he chanted softly, the melody monotone, the lyrics weak, but it was a song of sorts, and it fell from his lips in a husky plea.
“Come to me, and I will give you shelter, I will give you shelter, if you but come back.” His lips brushed the lobe of her ear, and he felt an odd shudder that passed from his mouth and lifted her hair. Her heartbeat strengthened as if she heard. He continued to chant, allowing hope to make him a liar.
“Come to me, and I will try to love you. I will try to love you, if you but come back.”
He heard a single, solitary peal, almost inaudible. Almost imaginary. Almost gone. A bell ringing once.
But it was enough.
Kjell lifted his voice, grasping the pitch and pulling the tone from the winking stars. Suddenly the death knell became a merry tolling, clear and bright. It grew and grew, and still he hummed, until the sound resonated in his skin, in his skull, behind his eyes, and deep in his belly. He was euphoric, vibrating with sound and triumph, his hands smoothing back the matted hair from blood-stained cheeks and staring down into eyes so dark they appeared infinite. Their gazes locked and for a moment, there was only reverberation between them.
“I saw you,” she whispered, the bell becoming words, and Kjell drew back, releasing his grip on her hair, the song in his throat becoming shocked silence. He clenched his hands and felt her blood on his palms.
“I saw you,” she said again. “You’re here. You finally came.”
***