Vahanian was completely at a loss for what to say. "Look, you said yourself, magic doesn't work for you. Maybe you just had a bad dream."
Kiara was unconvinced. "Maybe. I hope so." She stretched and stood. "It's almost twelfth bell. I guess I should at least get back to my room." She paused at the door. "I'm afraid to go to sleep. I'm afraid to dream."
"I know the feeling."
Kiara considered his comment, and nodded. "Any suggestions?"
"Well, you can try getting drunk or staying up all night, but it doesn't work for long. Everyone's got to sleep sooner or later. Time helps. But not as much as the healers tell you it does."
"Good night," she said, heading inside. "Thanks for the wine."
"Sleep well," Vahanian murmured. When she was gone, he opened the wineskin and took a long drink. Though the evening had grown colder, Vahanian did not go inside right away, waiting until he had finished the wine and was too exhausted to stay awake. Between the wine and the fatigue, he counted on being too tired to dream. The dreams still found him.
THE CONSTANT TRAINING and strategizing could not quell Vahanian's growing concern. Tris and Carina had been at the citadel of the Sisterhood for two full weeks. No one-not even Staden-had heard from them. As the days wore on, he could tell that Kiara was worried as well. Her training lost focus and she drew away from them, into her own thoughts.
There was little comfort he could offer. While Kiara and Tris were open about their involvement, his relationship with Carina was much more tenuous. And while Vahanian finally admitted to himself that he was in love with the dark-haired healer, he remained unsure about the extent to which Carina returned those feelings.
So it was with carefully guarded reserve that he greeted the late evening news of Tris and Carina's unexpected return from the Citadel. They arrived in a closed carriage, under the king's guard. Only the companions from the trail and Staden met the carriage. Vahanian hung back, willing to let the others take the foreground. His concern deepened as Tris and Carina stepped from the carriage.
Tris's thin frame was gaunt. When Tris's cowl fell back to expose his face, Vahanian could see the marks of battle wounds, recently healed. For a moment, Tris's green eyes met his, and Vahanian felt a shiver go down his spine. Tris's gaze
reminded Vahanian of the look he'd seen before, in the eyes of returned prisoners of war, men who had endured the unspeakable and would never sleep well again.
