body stiffened into an arch above the pallet.
Randal froze, horrified not merely because the creature he had enchanted to
protect Niko was going to rip through the soft flesh of that Stepson’s neck but
because he knew, despite his chastity, that Niko was a victim of neither
nightmares nor pain. The injured mercenary collapsed flaccidly on the linens;
Chiringee’s jaws clicked shut harmlessly and Randal watched as Niko’s lips moved
silently around the word he most feared: “Roxane…”
The mongoose reared up and began a keening that drew Molin and Jihan to the
alcove.
“He’s had a relapse,” Randal said, a tremor in his voice. “I’ll go tell Tempus.”
He ran from the alcove and the nursery hoping he could reach privacy before the
deceit and sick fear that had taken root in his bowels overcame him.
“I can see that,” Jihan said coldly as she stared first at Molin, then at her
patient. She drew the linens up to cover him. “Go now, I’ll take care of him
alone.”
Molin was alone in his sanctum when Illyra arrived at the palace to deliver
Chiringee’s new cage. She had been instructed to take it directly to the
nursery, but she was the natural mother of one of Sanctuary’s Stormchildren and
when she insisted that she would see Vashanka’s priest first no one argued with
her. She dumped the iron-wire contraption on the floor and ordered Molin’s
scrivener, Hoxa, from the room.
“Is something wrong, Illyra? I assure you: Alton receives the same care as
Gyskouras.” Molin stood up from her table and gestured to take her heavy cloak.