She kept her hand over the Demon’s foot, so he wouldn’t see that it was healed already, and snatched up a roll of “enchanted” linen. After wrapping it carefully, she tied the ends in a neat little bow and gave Gaulnir’s leg a pat.
“The bandage may be removed tomorrow, my friend,” she said. “Until then, do try to avoid stepping on any other sharp objects?”
Gaulnir turned a fetching shade of pink above his greying beard. “I’ll do my very best, m’lady. I swear to the stars, it feels better already.”
Lunara bit the inside of her cheek as she nodded and waved him on his way.
The dwindling light outside told her it was nearing time for her to meet Hedda, and she sighed, stretching her own legs out.
This was the hardest part of starting the healings in between. She had to endure the pain she’d gathered over the hours while she ran and jumped and did whatever Hedda told her to. Thank the Sisters for Nyri and her blood gifts every morning.
They were the only thing keeping her going.
Brand drewthe blade of his small carving knife along the block of wood, a curl of luminescent turquoise and dark viridian falling to his lap.
He kept one eye on his project, and the other on the practice field below—on Lunara—just as he’d been doing for days.
Hedda was pushing her well beyond her limits. Every night that he watched Lunara lose her guts to the ground, he wanted to rage. Wanted to gather her up and ensure that she never felt any discomfort ever again. It was a lesson in torture to sit up there in his tree branch perch and resist the urge to make himself known.
If Lunara was anything like him, which—thank the sweet Sisters—she was, she’d be mortified to know he’d been there, observing her in that vulnerable state.
He swallowed, eyes darting even though she couldn’t see him. She’d probably be just as mortified to know that he’d seen her sleeping, bundled up like a babe in swaddling, rosy lips parted and chestnut curls shooting out in every imaginabledirection. He’d only stolen glances, intent on respecting her privacy while darting in and out of her chamber, but it probably wouldn’t matter to her.
She’d be embarrassed, he was sure of it. Probably wouldn’t ever speak to his sneaking arse again.
Meanwhile, he’d never get that captivating image out of his head. Ever.
There were worse things, he supposed. If he had to live the rest of his life with only memories of her, at least that was one of them.
Weeping Solyrian, she had completely bewitched him.
Brand pulled his shoulders back and shook himself, stretching his neck. No use feeling guilty. She was being tended to, and that’s all that really mattered in the end.
“Puking already, Sorcerit? I thought you were better than this now!” Hedda’scommandervoice was like a banshee’s shriek in the still night. She even drowned out the waves crashing against the cliffs.
Brand leaned over to better see Lunara. Sure enough, she was bent over her knees, her body heaving. For some reason, she refused to secure her hair in any way, and the ends dragged through the soiled grass. Gritting his teeth at the sight, he willed Hedda to show her an ounce of mercy and hold the damned mass back for her at least.
Fuck, he hated this.
“I’ve gone… twice as long… as yesterday,” she said, gagging between her words. “I’m so tired.”
“Perfect. All the better for your enemies.” Hedda circled her like a vulture before leaning in closer, shoving her face into Lunara’s. “They won’t have to work as hard to slaughter you.”
“I’d be happy for a trip to the Veil.” Lunara let out a sound too close to a whimper for his liking, swaying precariously side to side. “Stars and arses, everything hurts.”
“Unfortunately for you, I don’t fucking care.” Hedda gripped the collar of Lunara’s wrapped tunic and hauled her upright. “You have more. Today, we go until you pass out. The retching is just icing, as far as I’m concerned. Now fucking move.”
With that, she shoved Lunara into motion, reaching out every time the Sorcerit slowed to prod her in the back, shouting insults and obscenities.
Hedda would call themencouragements.
His hand tightened around the block of wood Lunara had made him, the edges he had yet to carve digging into his palm hard enough to slice his skin. Brand’s greater half scraped at him, demanding to be set free and loosed upon the one offending the Sorcerit.
He breathed through the looming rage as she ran and ran, whorls of sunlight rising up in a burning dance across his flesh. Even his fangs began to drop before he clawed them back.
Lunara cried out and his heart lurched, ramming into his ribcage. He wasn’t sure he could manage it. What good did it do, really, to sit there and watch her suffer just to preserve her pride?
Carving forgotten, he gripped the bark beneath his hands and dug his nails into it, using the pain in every fingertip to ground himself. To breathe.
