nursery.
The hour candle beside Jihan’s cross-legged stool was half-burnt-nearly
midnight. The chamber was silent except for the rapid, shallow breathing of the
Stormchildren who should have been in their hardwood beds but had been in
Jihan’s arms and were now draped one over the other on the floor. She scooped
them up before settling back on the stool.
“They should be in their beds,” Randal complained. “How can you protect them
with them sleeping in your lap?”
“They were restless with fever.”
“They’re two steps from death, lady. They haven’t moved in a week!”
“I will protect them as I see fit-and I don’t need a little mage flaunting his
borrowed power and his menagerie….” Her eyes had begun to glow and the air in
the bedchamber had gone frosty.
Molin dropped the mongoose and placed his hands against both of them. “Jihan,
Chiringee is only another precaution, like the guards outside, to assist you. No
one challenges what your father has ordained: you are the Caretaker.”
Jihan’s eyes cooled and the room began to warm.
In point of fact, Randal was not tremendously impressed by Jihan’s caretaking.
The woman, if she could be called that, was obsessed with maternal longings; she
had clutched the Stormchildren to her breast when Roxane’s snake made its attack
rather than drawing her sword and attacking like the hellcat fighter she was.
Both children had been bitten and she had taken a divine battering, but the
worst injuries had fallen on Niko when he had come to her rescue.
Jihan had recovered almost at once and Sanctuary was better off with Arton and