Read Online Retribution by Ann Herendeen - Free Book Online Page B

he
went riding with her.”
    Had my jealousy been that obvious? “Yes, I
guess I was.” Dominic had always insisted that we not lie to the
children. “But that was silly. I’m over it.”
    Jana nodded agreement. “You don’t like to
ride,” she said. “Papa just went riding with her because you don’t
like to and she does. Now we’re home he’ll go with Niall. You don’t
get angry at Niall.” The voice of reason.
    “No,” I said. “I don’t get angry at
Niall.”
    “Thank all the gods for that,” Niall said,
entering the room. “I would rather face forty bandits single-handed
than ‘Gravina Aranyi in a rage.” He smiled down at mother and
daughter; other than his lowered inner eyelids, his face betrayed
none of the fear of his mocking words.
    He must have been following the conversation,
either with crypta or simply by overhearing. In a ‘Graven
household such things happen all the time. It had been strange to
be back at home and yet feel so isolated, and I was glad to find
someone acting more or less normally. “You’d make short work of it,
either way, bandits or me,” I said. “Which reminds me, I haven’t
had a chance to thank you properly—”
    “Niall’s not afraid of anything,” Jana broke
in, giving her hero the worshipful look—round hawk’s eyes studying
a being larger and deadlier than itself—that only her papa and his
companion were privileged to receive.
    Niall laughed at her ardor. “No, my
betrothed,” he said, “credit me with more sense. I’m afraid of
things when I ought to be.” He saw her blink in disappointment,
tried to tease her out of it. “I’ll be afraid of you when we’re
married. I won’t dare say two words to another woman for fear of
ending up like that poor creature.” He pointed to the remains of
the doll scattered on the bed and the floor.
    The head was still recognizable, a child’s
face created out of scraps of cloth and bric-a-brac: pink lips,
blue eyes, a nose sketched in dark thread, braids of orange yarn.
It was oddly moving, a reminder of the scene in the bandits’
castle, the women and children...
    Jana’s face crumpled in the prelude to tears.
“I killed her. I killed Flavia.” Her eyes darted, horrified, from
Niall’s sword to the doll’s head, making a connection she wasn’t
quite ready to handle.
    Despite the carnage we had recently
witnessed, this was Jana’s first experience with death—real death,
the loss of a friend. Jana had a doll of her own, made especially
for her, with gray eyes and dark hair, but it had remained in
pristine condition, more a decorative object in the nursery than a
companion. This ragged old thing, loved almost to death by Lady
Ladakh’s grown daughter, had been given a second life by Jana’s
need for something to cling to. And once we were safely home it had
been sacrificed in a fit of rage. Best to patch things up
first.
    I put my arm around Jana. “Flavia isn’t
dead,” I said. My gift really must be functioning erratically; I
hadn’t even known the doll had a name. “We can heal her, just the
way Naomi heals people. With fresh straw and a new dress, she’ll be
fine.”
    Jana’s eyes were still riveted on the severed
head. Niall picked it up and placed it in my outstretched hand,
thinking to me. I must speak with you alone, my lady .
    I transferred the head to Jana’s cupped
hands. “Take her to Saskia,” I said. “She’ll know what to do.”
Aranyi’s seamstress would be more likely to put her important jobs
aside for Lady Jana than for me.
    Niall gathered up the larger scraps of cloth
and added them to Jana’s little bundle. “Your mama’s right,” he
said. “If you love your doll and take good care of her, she can’t
really die.”
    Jana’s eyes narrowed at Niall’s words; when
she saw he wasn’t making fun of her she ran out the door, up the
stairs to the sewing room on the third floor.
    “Since when have you become such a
philosopher?” I asked Niall.
    “Living at