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at least wouldn't
laugh if she fell.
    She tried a step
and found if she kept her eyes on his, she could make it without
feeling too much pain. She took another. Another. She was nearly to
him when she felt a great thud from the side. A slice of burning
pain shot up from the healing wound into her throat. It was all she
could do not to cry out.
    She landed on the
ground, her cheek against the cool dirt, her knees drawn up to her
stomach before she could stop herself. She decided, in light of the
pain, that lying there might just be her best option.
    "Get up."
    She felt a boot
tip in her ribs.
    She hadn't
realized her eyes were closed, but when she opened them, she saw
Gael's face in front of hers. His eyes weren't smoky, she realized.
They were green, outlined with brown. Peculiar. And stunning.
    "I told you to get
up."
    She might speak to
defend herself if she wasn't biting her tongue to keep from crying.
He sighed and his face spoke of frustration and impatience. She had
the unnerving thought that he would kick her. Maybe he had kicked
her.
    "You pushed me,"
she managed to say.
    He gave her a dry
look. "It was a boy. No more than three seasons who pushed
you."
    His tone implied
she was weak.
    "I have been
injured, you know," she said in her defence and wasn't sure she
liked the sulky sound in her own voice.
    He appeared
unaffected. "Many get injured. Many die; some live. You are
lucky."
    She groaned
because she knew he was right. "I know," she said. "Get up."
    He folded his arms
across his broad chest and Alaysha found herself comparing him to
Yenic. Yenic. She'd get up if only to spite him.
    She inhaled deeply
to send as much air to her lungs as she could. She braced her palms
on the ground and tried to isolate her triceps so as not to disturb
the still-tremoring muscles of her core. Then she focused on her
biceps, telling them to heave her upward to her knees at least. She
heard Gael's impressed grunt, but didn't feel his hands on her in
aid. She hadn't expected it, in truth, but it would have made the
shaky journey to her feet that much easier.
    He said nothing
when she gained her feet, merely lowered the bucket into the well
and dipped a wooden cup in. This he offered to her.
    She drank
greedily, barely feeling the iciness of it against her teeth. In
one swift wash, the sweat of pain and effort was gone. She offered
him a grateful look.
    Then promptly felt
an icy rush flood back up her throat.
    He looked at his
boots in renewed disgust; Alaysha wasn't sure if she could keep the
nervous laugh inside, so she dipped the cup into the bucket and
emptied it repeatedly over his boots.
    "That's enough for
today," he said and strode back to Saxa's cottage. Alaysha had no
choice but to follow.
    And she was
grateful beyond belief.
    Each day for three
days went like that: a quick meal with Yuri, who ignored her, a
trip to the well. The only difference was Alaysha needed no one to
help her from the bed or to walk. Gael said little. It was obvious
he hated his new duty and it was equally obvious he felt the same
about Alaysha.
    She didn't mind.
Rather, it felt familiarly comfortable to be hated again.
    She made it to the
well behind Gael in a huff of breathlessness and looked back
towards the mountains that towered over Sarum. Yuri had built his
city in a cleft of the mountain and bordered it on a wide river. He
felt safe on at least two fronts but not all four. For a wise Emir,
it was strange he chose to build beneath the mountain and not on
top. It left him vulnerable from the most critical point. She
wanted to ask Gael what he thought of this revelation, but he'd
suddenly set his back to her and was shifting oddly side to side
with his hand reaching backward, shepherding her behind him.
    Curious. What
could have the disdainful giant feeling so protective?
    "What's the
trouble?" she asked him only to be rewarded with a harsh shushing
sound.
    "Is it the other
witch?"
    "Yes," came the
response, but he didn't sound convincing; in fact,