He dropped his hand and stared at the wrist in question, wrapped in bandages that smelled potently of astringent herbs and had the faint soreness that came with fast, hard healing magic. Hopefully he'd be able to fully use it again. What good was he if, after all these years, he was suddenly useless as a knight? What was there left for him?
Whining and feeling sorry for himself certainly wouldn't get him anywhere, though. If he hadn't been doing that in the first place, he wouldn't have nearly gotten himself killed charging recklessly into danger.
Bracing himself, he pushed away the blankets and swung his feet over the edge of the bed. His whole body ached, like he'd been thrown down the side of a mountain, but it was bearable. For now, anyway. Taking another breath and bracing himself anew, he pushed off the bed and stood.
Standing. Progress. Where were his things? That question was immediately answered as he spied them across the room, his armor on a stand with the sword belt hooked over it. Next question: how was the weather?
He shuffled over to the nearest of the two windows in his room and glanced out. So much snow had fallen that it came halfway up the houses on the streets. People wouldn't even be able to open their doors.
Looked like he wasn't going anywhere. Wonderful. He'd as good as failed his mission. What was he supposed to do now? Lie around and succumb to further fever dreams of his ex-lovers returning?
Resting his forehead against the window frame, Leonine pinched his stinging eyes shut to ward off more stupid, pointless tears. He was young. His spurs weren't even a month old. It was the dead of winter. Nobody won a fight one against six—at least six. He was just exhausted and in pain and overwhelmed. He'd get through this.
He'd survived a lindworm for crying out loud, even if strictly speaking he hadn't done anything but run away on Cimar's order. After his own stupid clumsiness had woken the damned thing. He was lucky Cimar hadn't wrung his neck once it was all over.
Right. He was stuck inside for at least a few days, possibly several, given that the snow was still falling. If he couldn't move, his enemies couldn't move. So he'd focus on recovering and working out a plan.
Turning away from the window, he headed back to the bed, where he could see cold tea and a bottle of cheap brown glass that likely held a tonic to help with the pain, possibly even to speed healing, though such things were uncommon.
He hadn't made it more than halfway when the door flew open. Leonine tensed, braced for a fight—and stopped, arms falling to his sides as he took in Odilia, half-covered in snow, her face reddened by the wind. "What are you doing here?" Had he not dreamed it all after all?
"You! What are you doing out of bed!" Odilia said—then burst into tears and threw herself at him, nearly causing Leonine to topple before he caught himself.
He held her tightly, like he had so many times in the past, a bone-deep ache coursing through him. Movement caught his eye, and he looked up to watch as Everard closed the door and set down the bags he was carrying before retrieving the cord of wood Odilia had dropped and taking it over to build the fire back up.
Odilia just kept crying, holding on so tightly it was hurting his poor battered ribs. "I thought you were dead!"
"Well thanks to you I'm not," Leonine replied. "I wasn't expecting an ambush, though in retrospect, I probably should have. I'm glad you found me, though I still don't know why you're going to all this trouble. I thought trouble was precisely the reason you didn't want me anymore."
That set Odilia into a fresh burst of tears, head burrowed against his chest as she said, "We didn't mean it. We were trying— But it didn't— Then you almost died. You were so still and cold to the touch, and there was so much blood." She cried harder, and at a complete loss as to what to say or do, Leonine just held her.
He cast wide eyes to Everard, who looked nearly as miserable as Odilia. "What in the world is going on?"
"Let me go get some food while the fire warms this place up. Sorry it lapsed. We were helping the innkeep bring in more foodstuffs and supplies, and the weather caught us for a bit. Fire's going good now, though, and I'll get the food, and then if you're willing, we'd like to talk. You might not want us to stay when we're done, but we'd like a chance to explain ourselves, if you're willing."
This day got stranger and stranger. "All right."
Everard nodded ever so slightly, in thanks or acknowledgement Leonine couldn't say, and slipped away, leaving Leonine alone with a still-crying Odilia.
Chapter Six
"Odilia, it's all right. Whatever is wrong, we'll work it out. Don't cry yourself sick."
She nodded against his chest, but her tears eased only slightly, and she clung to him like he was a log in a stormy river.
"Come on," he said, more bemused with every passing second. He guided her to the bed and sat them on the edge of it—or tried to, anyway, but Odilia somehow wound up in his lap and wouldn't be budged.
It only worsened the ache in his chest, the longing that wouldn't abate no matter how much time passed, how clear they'd made it they didn't…
He didn't know what they wanted or didn't want anymore, and that was almost worse, because it provoked hope, and he wouldn't survive his hopes being crushed again. He'd thought he'd found everything he'd ever wanted with them, something more precious than even his hard-won spurs. Why would they suddenly change their mind after he proved to be an even more trouble?
The longer he waited, the less he wanted to hear this mysterious confession.
He had no idea how to help her right then, and that was worse, because he never wanted to see either of them in pain. Normally when Odilia was upset, if Everard couldn't get her to talk it out, Leonine was good at distracting her, getting her to eat or sleep, until she did reach the point she felt like talking. It always made him feel like he really belonged, had a place and purpose in their little trio. More fool him.
"Not like you to cry so much," he finally said. "They must have really done up my pretty face."
That got her to glare instead of cry. "They did up every last scrap of you, and it's not a joking matter."
"I'm a knight. This isn't the last time I'm going to get beat up. I'm fortunate you two were there to compensate for my reckless stupidity. I'll definitely be smarter going forward. I… wasn't as focused as I should have been, though I thought I was at the time."
"That's our fault too," Odilia said, sniffling again. "Oh, Lee, we've made a mess of everything, and we just wanted to do the right thing."
"The right thing? What in the world—" he broke off as the door opened, and Everard entered bearing not one but two trays of food. The smell of roasted chicken made Leonine's stomach growl. There was also bread, butter, cheese, stewed vegetables…
He couldn't forget that comment though. Pushing Odilia from his lap, he rose and said, "All right, I can't stand it anymore. What is all this about a confession? Doing the right thing? I'm tired of the mysteries. Do you hate me now or not?"
"No!" Everard and Odilia said together, so loudly every room on the hall probably heard them. Everard practically dumped the poor trays on the rickety table and then they were both crowding into his space. He loved it and hated it in equal measure, and hated himself for missing it so damned much.