Free Sorrows of Adoration by Kimberly Chapman

thought, I
shouted in alarm and pushed Kurit with my free right arm. I shoved
him hard to my left as the man fired a bolt. Kurit had not expected
to be shoved, and he fell easily to the side, letting go of my hand
in the erupting chaos.
    I neither heard, saw,
nor felt the bolt as it landed, but there it was, protruding from
my left shoulder, where a moment before it would have gone through
Kurit’s back into his heart or lung. I stared at it,
dumbfounded—still not feeling it, time still crawling.
    Then as I inhaled after
my cry of alarm, I did feel it and cried out again, this time in
pain. I fell backwards to the ground, landing in the well-trampled
snow. As the injured shoulder hit the ground I was wrenched with a
horrific agony, and the shock of it made everything loud and fast
again—too loud, too fast. I tried to lift my head, and before pain
from the movement forced it back down, I saw guards rushing to the
man who had tried to kill Kurit, the assassin’s fallen form already
stuck with several arrows.
    My head rolled to the
right, away from the pain of my left shoulder, but when I turned
back to look at it I saw Kurit on the ground underneath Graek, who
had no doubt thrown himself in protection over the Prince. Kurit
scrambled out from beneath the captain and half crawled, half slid
in the snow over to my side.
    “Aenna,” he cried in
anguish, reaching my side and moving as though he wished to hold
me, stop the bleeding, or any number of actions between which he
could not decide. Panicked, staring at the bolt, he shouted, “Brave
Aenna, what have you done?”
    It seemed silly that he
would call me brave, for I had certainly not intended to take the
bolt for him! I had meant only to push him out of the man’s aim and
simply hadn’t thought of the consequence of then being in the
bolt’s path myself. My act was not brave at all, but rather quite
stupid.
    I reached up and
touched his worried face to let him know that I was not dead. It
was harder to do than I thought, as I found myself unexpectedly
weakened. He took my hand, pressed it to his cheek, and then kissed
my palm. He leaned forward on his knees and brushed my hair from my
face and kissed my forehead.
    “You will be all right,
dear Aenna. I swear it, you shall live,” he said in anguish, which
told me he doubted his own words.
    I nodded slowly and
carefully, trying not to move the injured shoulder. “I can breathe
enough,” I whispered, wanting to assure him, “although it hurts to
breathe deeply and move my shoulder.”
    He seemed comforted,
for he smiled and told me again how brave I was. I began to
seriously question his understanding of the word. Kurit held my
hand, stroked my cheek, and then shouted to a nearby guard to fetch
a litter to carry me to the palace.
    “I’ve walked all this
way, and now you offer to have me carried,” I said softly, trying
to smile without wincing.
    “Aenna! How can you
jest at such a time?”
    “Because if I don’t,” I
explained slowly, “I might begin to cry, and I am trying very hard
not to do that.”
    He looked at me with
grave concern, squeezed my hand, and said, “You need not be that
brave. Cry if you must—there is no shame in it.”
    “No, you don’t
understand,” I said, feeling nauseous and dizzy from blood loss. I
held my breath and closed my eyes until the feeling subsided, and
then looked back at him and continued whispering, feeling quite
weak. “If I cry, my shoulders will move with the sobs, and it will
hurt worse. Tell me something pleasant, so I won’t weep.”
    Just then the guards
arrived with a cart and horse, no doubt appropriated from one of
the people entering or exiting the city. Kurit and a guard lifted
me, trying not to allow the injured shoulder to move, but movement
in general made me feel ill again, and I heard myself moan in pain
and nausea.
    I think I must have
fainted momentarily, for when I next opened my eyes the cart was
already moving, Kurit holding me in his