Or her empire.
Who would have access to the sleeping draughts? Who had tended to Ronan when he'd been so deeply asleep? Who now tended to Dalain, in an equally unnatural sleep?
The healer.
Ashyn did not understand the purpose of keeping Dalain unconscious, but it was easy to see with Ronan. He had been her companion. For all the healer knew, he was her lover, too. The healer had only to suggest it might be unsafe to move him, and Ashyn would balk and the ritual would be postponed until the woman figured out a more permanent way to stop it.
Ronan had complained of his water tasting off. He'd done what she had with the wine: dumped it. And he'd woken when they'd been dealing with the fiend dogs and the healer's assistant had been killed, the healer herself with Ashyn. Leaving no one to give Ronan drugged water when he stirred.
What if the woman had done something to Ronan last night? If he had not truly left--
No, there was the note. Undeniably Ronan had left of his own volition. The healer's only tool seemed to be her sleeping draughts.
But why drug Dalain?
He must know something. Perhaps when the healer had been treating his wounds, he'd woken and . . .
Ashyn had no idea what Dalain might know or have said, but it wasn't important. Her hound was deep in a drugged sleep and could not help her. The young man who'd mistakenly come to "rescue" her was also unable to help. Two potential allies rendered useless. That had to mean something. To solve this mystery, Ashyn needed to wake Dalain.
Ashyn left Tova behind. There was nothing else she could do. By the time she decided it was safe to take a closer look at the situation with Dalain, her hound was impossible to wake. She reassured herself that his heart beat strong, and then positioned the blankets so, to anyone glancing in, she would seem to be asleep beside Tova.
She seemed to have waited exactly the right amount of time. The camp had gone silent, only a lone warrior prowling on guard duty, and the horizon showed no sign of dawn yet. With her cloak pulled tight, she darted from tent to tent, circling around while keeping out of the guard's way.
The tent where they were keeping Dalain was guarded, so she followed Sabre's example and cut a peephole in the back wall. Inside, the young warrior was alone and asleep.
Ashyn sliced a larger cut with her dagger and managed to wriggle through. There were things Ronan had taught her, not so much intentionally, but in spite of himself. By example. How to move quietly. How to use subterfuge. And how, sometimes, to harden your heart, just a little, and do something you'd otherwise consider cruel. Like digging her dagger tip into a bruise on the side of an injured young warrior when she was unable to rouse him.
She hoped applying pressure to the spot would be enough, but he never even stirred, so she kept pressing until the sharp tip pierced the skin and Dalain woke, struggling and gnashing against the cloth she quickly shoved in his mouth. Then she leaned over, so he could see her as she whispered, "It's Ashyn." Then, "Shhh! Please! They'll hear."
His eyes were glazed from the sedative, and he continued to fight as she reassured him, but after a few moments, her words seemed to penetrate. He went still and looked at her. Then he lifted his head to see his hands bound on his stomach.
"Are you calm?" she whispered.
He nodded.
"Do you understand that I'm here to help you?"
He nodded.
"Do you understand that there's a guard outside who is not here to help you?"
With his final nod, she tugged the cloth from his mouth.
"Where's Sabre?" Those were his first words, and she reassured him that Sabre was fine and had gone to find his men.
"Blast that girl," he muttered.
Ashyn arched her brows. "For fetching your men? Being free? Or being fine?"
He muttered something under his breath. Then his gaze moved down to her hands.
"You are not a captive?" he asked.
"No," she said. "There has been a misunderstanding. Several, it seems."
She explained as quickly and succinctly as she could.
"Did you say . . . dragons?"