There was music, and sounds from a crowd of people.

  She was sitting in the great hall of the Iron Keep, hereditary home of the Marquis de Fer. A dance was in progress. Vero was wearing a flowing dress and Jean held her hand.

  He stepped forwards and pulled her after him. “Let’s join them, my love.”

  “I don’t like to dance.”

  “We’ll dance together.”

  She did her best to step and whirl, and her natural dexterity kept her from making a complete fool of herself. When possible, she held herself very tightly to Jean.

  “I don’t want to dance any longer. Take me up to your room so we can be alone together.”

  Without realizing it, they must have changed partners, because she suddenly realized that she was dancing with Mattie. He took no notice of anything she had said.

  This could only have been another dream. If so, then one man was as good as another.

  “I owe you my life,” he said.

  “I was simply in the right place at the right time, Ser.” She started kissing Mattie’s neck.

  “Regardless, I won’t forget it.”

  She tried to maneuver his lips to hers with lethargic difficulty. For a moment she believed that she had succeeded, until she realized that it was now Ser Frederic she was dancing with.

  “You’re displeased by something, my Lady?”

  “I can’t find Jean.”

  “He’s here. But there are many people between you and him it seems. You certainly weren’t this cold dancing with Mattie a moment ago.”

  “A spymaster shouldn’t advertise his work.”

  “Perhaps not, but I wasn’t implying you were a target of my espionage. It was simply an observation.”

  “At this point I’d be pleased to lie down with anyone. It’s just that you all keep moving so much, I can’t keep ahold of you.”

  “I think you’ll find that it’s you who’s moving.”

  They changed partners again, and she hoped that she would be with Jean. Instead, she found herself with the wizard Aeolus, who was red faced and clumsy from drink. Her lack of expertise began to show and they made very poor partners.

  “I think, perhaps, that young Ser Mattias has become rather smitten with you.” He annunciated very slowly and deliberately to make himself understandable.

  Vero was becoming short tempered with her dream. “Yes, I know all about that. Where is Jean?”

  “You’re very beautiful, Lady Veronique. Are you certain that my husband is truly the one you want?” As he spoke, she realized that it was not Aeolus at all, but rather the Marquise Marie.

  “My lady, I-”

  “Shh.” The Marquise motioned for her to be silent, and she now found that they were alone together in the hall.

  “This is a dream.”

  “So it is.” The Marquise kissed her across the cheek.

  She fell limp in the Marquise arms, but the noble lady showed no signs of strain holding her up. Slowly they sank down to the floor as the Marquise kissed her again and again. She continued to sink through the floor and plunged into blackness.

  The kiss was the last thing she felt.

  Vero woke up slowly.

  There was never any telling which of her senses would come back to her first when she woke up that way. This time it was her sense of feeling. She felt pain all over.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  The next of her senses to come back was taste. Her mouth felt fuzzy and disgusting, and there was a metallic tang which made her want to retch.

  The third was olfaction. Wherever she was, it stank of medicinal concoctions. Tempered, at least, by the blessed relief of a few dry herbs.

  Vero tried to open her eyes. One was swollen shut, but the other fluttered and revealed a blurry figure sitting beside where she lay. She could not see who it was, but she was so miserable at the moment, that she could only wish it was someone beautiful and kind who had come to care for her.

  “Dora?” Vero heard her own moan, so that was the last of her physical senses to return.

  That meant she must really be awake. She wished that she was not.

  “You’re awake! That’s good!” The voice did not belong to Dora. It was female, but much deeper and more forceful than little Dora was capable of.

  Vero blinked with her good eye to clear her vision. The smiling form of Diana slowly came in focus before her. It seemed she slurred Dora’s name so badly that Diana had not noticed.

  “Hurt.”

  “I know. Do you remember what happened?”

  Vero stretched her mind and the events came back to her. “Men in hoods… Conner- is he alright?”

  “Yes, he’s fine. He’s just over there.” The bed next to her was occupied by a figure turned away from them. “He’s still sleeping. He must have got it from them even worse than you did. Or maybe you’re just a harder nut to crack.” Diana gave a sympathetic look. “Pentarch wanted me to ask you to give your testimony about what happened- but if you’d prefer to wait until you’ve had more time to recover…”

  Vero shook her head and related the events of the battle as accurately as she could recall them. Diana took them all down on a piece of parchment, and Vero noted that she was lettered. When she was finished, Diana brushed Vero’s hair out of her eyes for her, and Vero reflected that it was nearly time for her to shorten it again.

  The touch of Diana's hand felt warm. Vero nuzzled against it, instinctively seeking the comfort of human contact. Speaking took most of her strength, she could feel slumber coming towards her once again.

  “Are you well, Vero? Can I get you anything?”

  “Will you hold me? Not tightly, I’m in too much pain to stand it. I think I'll be going back to sleep soon, but I’d like to have someone warm with me. Perhaps that sounds foolish.”

  “No, not at all. If you wish…” Her tone sounded closer to placating than honest, but in her present condition, Vero no longer cared.

  Diana eased herself carefully into the infirmary cot and put her arms around Vero in a gentle embrace. Vero rested her head against Diana’s chest and closed her eyes.

  It was Vero’s often stated opinion that the finest pillow one could lay one’s head against was the breast of a beautiful woman. Diana was not particularly beautiful using the standards by which Vero judged women’s appearances, but then, neither was Vero herself. However, the way Diana towered over her in size reminded Vero very much of her mother.

  Whenever she injured herself as a child – which was very often, because of how frequently she would roughhouse with her brother – no hurt ever felt as terrible while Mama held her.

  She could feel the strong muscles in Diana’s arms, and she also liked the giantess’ forward attitude. Diana may not have been beautiful, but Vero admired her in the same manner she admired the men who attracted her. She wanted to give Diana a kiss, but thought better of it.

  There was a hand rubbing her back, and Vero easily fell back into sleep.

  When Vero woke up again, Diana was gone.

  Conner was still in his own bed. Iosephus sat across the room and appeared to be brewing something in the alchemical apparati. No one else was present.

  Underground it was impossible to know what time of day it was.

  The pain across her body was still there, but it had subsided since her previous bout of wakefulness. Vero checked herself beneath her blankets. None of her major bones were broken, although she must have fractured something in her right hand, because it had been tightly wrapped to keep it immobile. Her face still felt puffy, but she had at least some vision with both eyes again.

  Someone dressed her in a chemise. Was she wearing that when she told her story to Diana? She had no memory of it.

  Vero tried to stand.

  Iosephus noticed her movement and turned an eye towards her. He said nothing, and made no move to stop her.

  Pain shot all through her, but her legs held up under her. She had been in worse states before. It was lucky she came through as well as she did. She ought to be thankful.

  She ambled over towards Conner and sat down beside him. His face was badly swollen and both his eyes were blacked.

  She checked the rest of him. His right arm was encased in hard clay to stabilize the bones until they knit themselves back together. Prayers to the Healing God written were written across the cast in Liturgical. Vero recognized the spellcraft in them to speed the mending for open fractures of both the ulna and radius.

  The lad had come off worse than she did. Unlucky.

  They were after her, he only happened to get in the way. It was brave of him.

  She had hoped she could convince them to let him go, or that she could keep them distracted long enough to let him slip away. Getting help would have been more useful to both of them than getting into a brawl beside her- but there was probably never any chance of getting him out past them anyway.

  The boy had enough courage to fight even when he knew they were almost certainly going to lose, and that spoke well of him, in Vero’s opinion. They only escaped by fortune this time. In that case, there was no telling which of them paid the luck to pull their necks out of the nooses.

  You weren’t able to protect him.

  Was that her responsibility? She thought of him as a boy, but he was obviously already out from beneath him mother’s apron. Why should she feel the need to become his elder sister?

  Vero had no notion why she should feel guilt. Except that he happened, by chance, to be injured worse than she. Also, that he received those injuries doing something brave on her behalf.

  Another victim left behind you.

  He was still alive. He would recover with time and be well again. Vero said the prayers of healing she knew and lay down next to him. The cot was just as small as her own, but Conner was far smaller a companion than Diana.

  She cradled him gently to her chest.

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