She lingered in the bath, letting the heat not only only seep months of captivity and privation form her flesh but letting it soothe the aches of her body and the churning in her mind. The warmth left her relaxed and the scent of the soap—goats milk and lavender, she thought—helped with that, too. She washed her hair twice before just laying there in the tub, staring at the wooden planks of the ceiling above her.
The Protected Zone. The words were familiar, meant something, something just out of reach but not that far, not nearly as far as her own name seemed. Her surroundings were much more primitive than her gut screamed they should have been and the man’s choice of words when he talked about the person who’d looked at her wrist—healer, not doctor, not something else—only added fuel to that particular fire.
Then, of course, there was what she’d seen when she came into he bathroom.
That was magic. I know that it was—it had to be. How she knew, she couldn’t quite say, but she knew that the ability to do it was important, above and beyond what he’d already done.
The little things suggest larger things—the ease suggests so much more. I know that, I just don’t know how I know it.
Who the hell is he? Why did he bring me here—why did he come for me?
She took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, closing her eyes for a moment. The water was slowly starting to cool. The possibility that he’d come for the place she’d been held, not necessarily for her in specific, had crossed her mind. It was becoming increasingly likely, in her estimation, that scenario was actually the correct one, but if that were true, then it opened up a Pandora’s box of more questions.
Questions can be as dangerous as they can be useful. She frowned at the thought. It felt so familiar but she knew it was something she’d heard, something she’d said herself, but not something she’d come up with on her own. That bit of wisdom came from someone else. She just couldn’t remember who.
“Maybe if you stop trying so hard, something will click,” she murmured to herself, then sighed. Sitting up a little straighter in the tub—it was huge, much bigger and better crafted than she’d have expected given the surroundings—and carefully wrung as much water as she could from her hair. She’d been careful to keep her splinted wrist as dry as she could, though the linen that held the splint in place was certainly damp. She hoped it would dry out without incident, but that was a bridge to cross sometime later.
Her skin puckered as she climbed out of the tub, though the chill that seized her eased as she wrapped herself in the towel. It was thick and warm, again surprising her with its level of quality. She cast another glance toward the closed bathroom door, frowning.
A man who wields magic easily but quietly, living out somewhere in the Protected Zone. Some kind of local wizard or wise man? Or something else? A faint frown tightened her lips and somehow made her temples ache. What she’d seen of the house so far suggested that it was a modest dwelling, not terribly large, but comfortable. And yet…
Something just feels weird. But then again, didn’t everything?
She dried off and dressed, finger-combed her hair as best she could after toweling it. He hadn’t left her any shoes but there were a pair of socks with the clothes he’d left for her. She shoved them into a pocket of the soft linen pants and hung up the towel to dry before she quietly padded out of the bathroom.
He was nowhere to be seen in the main room, a space that seemed to be part kitchen, part sitting room, part study. One corner of the room was dominated by shelves festooned with odds and ends and at least two dozen books bound in different colors of leather. Catching her lower lip between her teeth, she crossed to those shelves, reaching slowly for one of the books. The embossing on the spine suggested the title Legend of Starfall, as did the beautifully decorated front piece. Her fingers brushed against the ink and paper, lingering against the words for a moment before she closed the book and replaced it on the shelf. For all she knew, she’d have time to read all of the volumes on the shelves and then some before they parted company.
Her gaze drifted toward the door. He said I was safe here. From who—and what? Another question without an answer.
He said if he wasn’t out here, he’d be outside. Would he have gone far? Sunlight slanted through the windows, the shade and angle suggesting—she thought—afternoon. Had it been two days she’d been unconscious or closer to three?
Does it even matter? It probably didn’t.
The door was unlocked when she tried the knob. The fact that there was a lock on it at all—not just some kind of latch—struck her as meaningful, too, though the meaning and the reason she knew were two more things lingering just beyond her grasp. Still, if he’d left the door unlocked, he couldn’t have gone that far. He wouldn’t have left her alone in an unlocked house if he wasn’t going to be nearby.
Would he?
No, she thought. No, that doesn’t seem like the type of man he is. Cagey, mysterious, careful—that kind of man isn’t going to leave a stranger alone in his house and go far without taking more precautions.
As it was, she spotted him sitting in the grass a dozen yards from the front door, gazing out over the water of a creek that ran parallel to one side of the house. From outside, it seemed even smaller than she’d imagined and yet it seemed right.
He glanced back at the sound of the door, his brow arching slightly. She managed a smile and padded out into the grass to join him, sitting carefully alongside him. The air smelled clean, the scent of flowers and the trees on the wind, and it seemed quiet except for the sound of that wind through branches, the birds in the trees, and the sound of the water tumbling over rocks in the creek.
“You look like you feel better,” he observed quietly.
“I do,” she admitted. “Thank you.”
He nodded, leaning one arm against his knee as his attention turned back to the creek. “The people who had you—they’ll never hurt anyone again.”
“Because they’re dead.” The words came easily, far more easily than she expected, her tone matter-of-fact. They didn’t surprise her at all—and she wasn’t sure if that scared her or was a comfort.
Silence lingered for a moment before he answered. “Yes. They weren’t supposed to be here.”
“Neither am I,” she whispered.
He shrugged. “That remains to be seen.”
“Really,” she said, glancing at him sidelong. The afternoon sun painted more shades of red and gold into his hair, picking up highlights she hadn’t noticed earlier. It also made the level of five o’clock shadow that dusted his cheeks that much more pronounced and she wondered for a moment if he’d spent the last two days and nights in that chair in the corner of the bedroom where she’d been sleeping. Had he been keeping watch over her? Why?
“They came here to hurt you,” he murmured, not meeting her gaze, instead fiddling with a piece of grass he’d plucked form near his foot. “Maybe other people, too, but you were the only one I found there. They were here with ill intent and malice and intended to use the Protected Zone to hide what they were doing from the rest of the galaxy. They didn’t belong here.”
“But I’m not from here, either.”
“No,” he agreed. “They brought you here.” He finally looked at her, his gaze steady. “And you get to take the time to choose what you do next. If that’s staying here, fine. I’ll help you get on your feet, find a place. If you decide that’s not, well. That’s a bridge to cross when we reach it.”
“You said when,” she observed.
“I did,” he said, then sighed, standing up. He raked the fingers of both hands through his hair, every muscle strung tight, tension cording his frame. “Maybe I already know somehow that you’re not going to want to stay here. I guess I can’t blame you. The Protected Zone isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.”
“You’re not from here, are you?”
He winced slightly. “What makes you—”
“I don’t know,” she said. “Instinct, I guess. But you’re not from here, not originally. You chose to be here, chose to stay here. I don’t know why, but you did. But you had a life out there in the galaxy before you came here, didn’t you? Something out there brought you here and something out there makes you stay.”
He shivered and turned away. “You’ve got good instincts,” he whispered.
“Do I?”
He turned a wry smile on her, though the rest of his expression was laced with pain. “Oh yeah. Much better than you realize, I think. Most people can’t—don’t—make those connections unless they already know something.’
“And I don’t.”
“Not unless you’re the best actress in the galaxy and while you might be good, I doubt that you’re that good.” He glanced at his feet, then slowly sat back down, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaning back against his palms. “So what do I call you?”
“You’re the one who knows my name,” she said, studying him. “Will my knowing it hurt that much?”
“I suppose not,” he said. “Not if you can’t remember everything attached to it yet—and if you remember, well. That makes choices more complicated, I guess, but it won’t change the fact that you’ve got the chance to make them. Your name’s Kelcie Dorothea O’Shaughnessy and you’re right. You’re not from around here.”
“And neither are you.”
“No,” he admitted. “Neither am I.”
