Cautious as a mouse, Pryddian, ex-apprentice of both the Council of the North and the Dark League, picked his way down the ruined street in search of food and warmth.
Bronwyn was right. Wiz slept like a log the night through, not even turning. Moira watched and dozed as best she could in the chair, waking every time Wiz so much as sighed.
The middle of the following morning he began to stir. Moira moved to his bedside as his eyes fluttered open.
“Moira?” Wiz said weakly.
“Hush,” she said as she caressed his forehead. Instinctively he reached up to clasp her to him.
“Feeling better, are we?” said a brisk voice from the door. Wiz and Moira broke their clinch with a start and turned to see Bronwyn stride into the room with Arianne trailing her.
The healer ran a practiced eye over Wiz, checked his pulse and poked and prodded him a bit and then nodded in satisfaction.
“Will I ever play the piano again, Doc?”
“You mean will you recover? Of course you will. But that is what I need to speak to you about.
“There is nothing wrong with you that time and rest and a little careful nursing will not cure.” She looked over at Moira. “Now I could use a healing spell to cure you this afternoon. It would be better if you were left to heal naturally but they tell me the North needs you on your feet as quickly as possible.” She frowned her professional disapproval, but Arianne nodded.
“Yeah,” Wiz shifted and sat up in bed, “there’s a lot I’ve got to do.”
Bronwyn sighed. “Very well, then. I will keep you here overnight just to be sure, though. After that get what rest you can and try to conserve your strength.”
She turned to Moira. “Lady, you are bonded to this one. Will you assist me?”
Moira nodded. “Willingly.”
Bronwyn took a position on the right side of the bed and Moira stood on the left. Each of them took one of Wiz’s hands, and Bronwyn began to chant and gesture with her wand. She tapped Wiz’s temples, his throat, his chest and his groin with the wand, then laid it aside and clasped Moira’s free hand. Now Moira took up the chant in a minor key.
As they watched, the color flowed back into Wiz’s skin and the lines in his face smoothed out. Wiz’s mouth formed a little o of surprise as he felt the strength flow back into him.
Bronwyn released her grip, sighed and sagged into a chair.
Wiz shook his head. “Whoooeeee. That is really something.”
“Just be careful not to overtax yourself,” Bronwyn said from her chair. “Healing spells extract their price.”
“I think I know the first one. I’m starved.”
“Indeed,” Arianne said. “I will see to it. And what will you do afterwards?”
“First I need to talk to Bal-Simba. We’re in big trouble.
“And then,” he said deliberately, “I’m going to eat a little crow.”
Arianne nodded and left. Bronwyn stayed for a few minutes more, resting in the chair and then examining Wiz again before repeating her admonition that he get all the rest he could.
“Bal-Simba or no, I am keeping you one more night,” she told him. Then she too left.
Finally Wiz and Moira were alone.
Moira rested her hand on Wiz’s shoulder and he clasped it tightly in both of his.
“God, I missed you,” he said.
“And I missed you,” she told him, putting her other hand on top of his.
“We’ve got to talk, you know,” he said at last.
“I know. I came back from Heart’s Ease to talk to you and you were gone.”
“Yeah, I thought about you in the City of Night a lot. When I could.
“Moira, I’m sorry,” Wiz said. “I let myself get so wrapped up in my own problems that I shut you out.”
“And I crowded you too closely because I had nothing of my own here.”
He smiled up at her. “We’ll just have to try to do better, won’t we?”
“We shall both have to try.”
“Darling, do me a favor will you? If I start acting like a jerk again, punch me in the ribs. Hard.”