Free Dragon Blood-Hurog 2 by Patricia Briggs

still on her arm. She remembered distinctly wondering whether she should try to cut it off herself before the bandits attacked her. She hadn't realized she was so close to Hurog. She pushed back her hair wearily and clung to the carved post of the nearby bed to stand, knowing that if she stayed in the chair she'd fall asleep no matter how anxious she was. Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html Ward's tunic hung over the end of the post. There was a salt-sweet smell that clung to the fabric, a smell that lingered in his bed as well.
    Would she have come here if it weren't for that compelling memory of an afternoon spent riding and joking?
    Ward probably had such afternoons often. But no man before had ever teased Haverness's daughter, who could outfight, outride, and, mostly, outwrestle anyone. No man had ever flirted with her before. Perhaps she'd misinterpreted, perhaps he'd just been polite. But at least he didn't see an abomination when he looked at her.
    Well, she wouldn't embarrass him by hanging all over him. She knew how to be a comrade in arms, someone men were comfortable with. She wouldn't make a fool out of herself. She pulled the fabric of his shirt against her nose and breathed in deeply, all the while sneering at herself for acting like a silly girl
    half her age.
    The door opened and Tisala dropped her hold on the shirt, adopting a defensive stance as Stala strode in. Tisala relaxed as she realized the woman hadn't seen her sniffing Ward's shirt.
    "Ah," said Stala briskly. "We've much to discuss. Lord Duraugh will be here in a few days and we need to decide what to do with you. I expect Duraugh will strip Hurog of every soldier here and take them to Estian, but we've got to keep you safe as well. How are you feeling?" His aunt's voice was quick and biting—from habit, thought Tisala, and not any particular irritation.
    "Better than I should be," she answered. "What has happened that Lord Duraugh needs Hurog's men?
    Where's Ward?"
    "The king's troops took Ward with them to Estian to stand trial—no, no, girl," snapped Stala impatiently,
    "don't look like that. As far as I could tell they didn't have a clue you were here, and Ward kept them out
    of the keep. It had nothing to do with you." She gave Tisala an assessing look. "Do you know why Ward
    was fighting in Oranstone five years ago?"
    "Four years," corrected Tisala before she could stop herself. Clearing her throat she continued before Stala could wonder why Tisala would keep track of how long ago it had been since she'd seen Ward.
    "Because the king threatened to imprison him in the Asylum—he and Tosten were just talking about it." The thought of Ward in one of those barren little cells she knew all too well made Tisala feel ill. Gods, she thought, he won't last long.
    Stala said, "Ward won enough acclaim for stopping Kariarn's invasion, the king couldn't very well declare him mad, not then. But time has passed and Ward hasn't done anything else remarkable. People forget. Unlike the general populace, though, Jakoven has a long memory, and a grudge against the family
    of Hurog. It's not your fault they took him. If anything, from what Ward told me, it sounds as if you are a
    victim of the king's ire with Hurog rather than the other way around." Tisala took a step away from the bed, impatient with the weakness that caused her to sway unsteadily.
    "You can't let them take him to the Asylum. Have you ever been in it?" Stala shrugged, but Tisala could tell she wasn't happy. "I didn't let them do anything. Ward decided he'd go with them and gave the rest of us our orders. I'm to make certain you're safe." She narrowed her eyes
    Generated by ABC Amber LIT Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html and grabbed Tisala just as her knees gave out. The older woman's firm grip propelled her back into her chair.
    Stala's voice softened. "He'll be fine, lass. Our Oreg is trailing them. He won't let them do anything to