Someone was shaking her, forcing her to stand again. It was Flinn. “Dayin,” she heard the warrior say, “the lantern’s inside and to the right. Take Jo inside and light a fire. Make sure she doesn’t sleep! I have to tend Ariac.”
The boy led her inside the cabin, quickly lit the lamp, and helped Jo to the chair before the hearth. He removed her icy outer garments and threw one of the bed’s furs around her. The wildboy removed her shoes and briskly rubbed her feet until the white glow had turned pink. Then Jo felt a pewter tankard against her lips, and a little water wet her mouth. Jo could only stare glassily back at Dayin, her thanks mute on lips too cold to even murmur.
“It’ll be warm soon, pretty one,” the boy was saying.
The numbness in her limbs gave way to a painful prickle, like a thousand needles. The pain cut through the fuzziness of Jo’s mind. She wanted nothing more than to crawl to the bed, but that seemed too great an effort. Her bloodshot eyes mechanically followed Dayin’s movements, and a sensation of warmth began to wrap her skin. Instinctively, she turned toward the hearth, cheered by the glow of yellow flames and the smell of smoke. She held out her hands eagerly. Dayin, sitting at the hearth, smiled and did the same.
Flinn entered the cabin with a gust of snow. He closed and barred the door wearily, then leaned against it. Jo watched him look about the room, fatigue lining his face and making him suddenly look old. She stood and helped him with his wet clothing, piling it beside the door with her own. The warrior sank into the chair, and she covered his shoulders with a fur.
“How’s Ariac?” Jo asked, her own strength slowly returning to her. The painful tingle grew stronger across her body. She took some bandages from the cupboard and with slow, measured movements began dressing Flinn’s injuries. Fortunately, most of them weren’t severe, though the one puncturing his arm was still bleeding.
“He’ll live, though it’s going to be the better part of a week before he can be ridden. He’s had a bad scare. Griffons are flighty beasts,” Flinn said heavily, then turned to the boy at his feet. “Dayin, there’s some bread and dried meat in the cupboard. Fetch some, will you?”
Dayin gathered together the simple meal. Flinn, Jo, and the boy huddled around the fire, too tired to move or eat much. They nibbled their cold food in silence.
“You two can take the bed, Jo,” Flinn said when he had finished his last bite. He looked at Dayin and said, with a touch of his old asperity, “Unless you’d prefer to go back to the woods tonight, boy?”
Dayin vigorously shook his head. “No, please.”
“Flinn, you’re injured,” began Jo. “You take the bed.” The warrior waved a hand. “Actually, Jo, the bed’s bad for my back. I’ll be all the better for not sleeping in it.” He stood, shoved the chair to the side, and grabbed an extra fur from the bed. After Jo and Dayin moved out of the way, he spread out one fur and gingerly lay down on the floor. “Good night,” he groaned.
Jo blew out the lantern, and by firelight she and Dayin crawled into the bed. She rolled over once to find a better position, then fell asleep listening to the warrior’s heavy breathing.
Flinn awoke to a noise behind him, by the fireplace. He grew suddenly still. Who—? What—? The morning’s disorientation left him when he recognized the low tune Jo sometimes hummed. Slowly he turned over, his muscles protesting, and sat up. Jo smiled at him, then turned back to the porridge she was trying to stir while straddling his legs. Looking toward the cupboard, Flinn spied the boy, who sat on the table’s edge, his feet swinging back and forth. Dayin smiled also.
“Time to get up!” Jo said cheerily. “Are you feeling better today? I am, though my legs are still sore. Quite a walk back last night. The storm’s still raging. It doesn’t look like it’s going to let up anytime soon.”
Flinn was irritated by her talkative good humor so early in the morning, but the smell of a warm breakfast appeased him. Jo was a good cook, and even the inevitable porridge was appetizing when she made it. He arched his back and groaned, the bones shifting into place. Then he stood and began stretching his tight muscles.
Jo busied herself at the table, scrubbing it clean and trying to set it with the ill-sorted dishes. The usual braid down her back was replaced with a riotous length of unbound reddish tresses. She was wearing her leather shift and breeches and had cinched her waist with a wide belt.
Flinn was suddenly struck by how different this day would be if she weren’t here in his cabin.
“Quite a walk, indeed,” he agreed, “and quite a fight. It was like the old days—tracking, doing battle, returning to camp frozen and wounded… and happy.” Jo glanced quickly at him, her cheeks flushing and a smile spreading across her face.
Flinn turned away, replacing the fur on the bed and reaching for his dried clothes. Can I do it? he asked himself. Can I return to those days of glory? In that moment, he acknowledged the secret desire that had germinated the day Johauna Menhir entered his life: to be worthy again of the faith and belief she had in him, that other people once had. The Quadrivial is a long and treacherous road to walk, he thought. I’d have to regain each of the four corners as though I were a squire again. And even if I completed the four comers, the Order of the Three Suns would rather spit on me than readmit me.
“Few knights are worthy of the legends told of them,” Jo said quietly as she stirred the porridge. “You proved yesterday that your courage still remains.”
Flinn winced, then looked into her hopeful eyes. I am nothing now, he thought. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. If only I had her faith in me. But I cannot disappoint that faith.
“Jo, I—” Flinn said haltingly “—I’ve a question for you, about… about your petition to the council to become a squire.”
Jo whirled around, her eyes wide with alarm. Without a word, she gestured for him to sit down. When he did, she did the same. Dayin watched them intently. “Is … something wrong, Flinn? Did I do something wrong when we fought the abelaat?”
Flinn shook his head. “No, Jo, it’s not that—not that at all. You were wonderful in the fight. I doubt I would have survived without you.” He played with his food, then said slowly, “I was hoping you might consider something … else.” He took a deep breath and caught her gray eyes. “You see, I’ve decided to petition the council myself, to try to reinstate my knighthood. I want you by my side as my squire. Of course, since I’m technically no longer a knight, you wouldn’t technically be a squire. Whatever—I’d like you there with me.”
“Flinn…” the girl whispered, blood draining from her face.
“Of course,” he said nervously, “if—if they refuse to review my case, I will gladly recommend that the council take you on as a new squire for some other knight.”
He held up his hands, cutting her short when she tried to speak. “Know this, Jo: the decision is yours. I have no right to ask you to become my squire; in fact, I’d caution you against doing so. If the council members refuse my petition—if they refuse to even see me—they may look with less favor on your petition. It’s a risk, Jo, and one you’d probably better not take.”
“Oh, Flinn,” the girl’s voice was tight, fighting back tears. “I’d do anything to be your squire. Even at the risks you mention.” She swallowed convulsively. “When do we leave?”
Jo’s eyes were shining, and Flinn found himself swimming in their gray purity. He looked away.
“As soon as Ariac’s well enough to travel,” he said. “Now, let’s eat before the oatmeal gets cold.”
Chapter VI
Flinn, Jo, and Dayin stared at the crystals spread across the table in the cabin. Flinn had grouped them by type: the eight he had pulled from Johauna’s shoulder and the six that had been formed with the creature’s blood at the stream. Several candles added their glow to the lantern light and the wan beams of the winter sun. The inside of the cabin shone brightly.