I was so angry with him the other night. I was cruel. I blamed him for everything, and maybe much of what I said was true, but what he said about trying to protect me was true, too. Dammit. Can’t this boat go any faster?
Finally, we reach the gate crossing the river into the slave camp and pull up to the decrepit dock. I want to jump out and make a beeline for Aemon—not that I know exactly where he is—but I know if I run now, Raiden’s going to send his people after me, and Veda knows when they’ll let me go again. I’m like a spring wound so tight I’m liable to go off at any moment, but I keep my head down as we’re bade to get off the boat. I follow the other ladies’ lead and wait on the shoreline, head bowed while the stupid shackles are reattached to our ankles. The moment I’m dismissed, I bolt, or as near as someone can get to bolting with a chain between their legs.
“Aemon,” I shout as I shuffle toward the common area. I come to a sliding halt and spin around searching… searching… “Aemon.”
An old man with thinning gray hair limps toward me. “This way,” he says, waving a hand for me to follow.
I do so without hesitation. He leads me in the opposite direction of the mines. We move around the toilet shacks, and now it’s occurring to me that this might have been a bad idea. Just because he looks like a sweet old man doesn’t mean I should trust him.
That’s when I hear Aemon’s scream. I hurry toward the sound, leaving the old man to limp after me. I find Aemon lying belly down on a flat slab of rock with only a towel draped over his backside, and Jael pouring water from a pitcher over his torso.
Huge gashes stretch down the length of Aemon’s back. They’re so deep, I catch glimpses of white bone in the moments between gushes of water and the blood flooding his wounds again. Blood, water, and bits of skin and tissue rush down the rocky slope and over a jutting ledge of stone into a deep crevasse like a macabre waterfall. I skip across the floor and crouch at Aemon’s head. His faceis a mask of pain, his skin pallid and beaded with perspiration. His jaw is clenched hard enough to crack a tooth and his eyes squeezed so tight white lines radiate from the corners. It’s surreal seeing him like this. I guess I afforded him god-like status in my mind, and now I’m shocked to find flesh and bone where I expected steel.
Aemon’s whole body is rigid, muscles taut and straining against the pain. Finally, Jael’s pitcher runs dry, and his body goes slack.
“Aemon,” I whisper, so as not to startle him. I pat his hand where it grips the stone. His head pops up, eyes wide, and a smile stretches across his haggard face.
“Katya.” He says my name like a prayer, releasing his vise-like hold on the slab to grasp my hand. I press it to my damp cheek. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. “I was worried,” he says. “Are you alright?”
I shake my head and chuckle, even though this isn’t at all funny.
Aemon’s brows knit in confusion. “What?”
“Your back is shredded and you’re asking me if I’m alright?”
“I saw him—” He pauses, grimacing when Jael begins pouring another pitcher of water down his back. “I saw him hit you.”
“It was nothing,” I say, though my cheek would disagree.
Finally, Jael finishes and sets the pitcher down. Her face is drawn, hair a messy cloud of brown floating around her head—it reminds me of the way Mama looked after baby Max kept her up all night. “Katya. Can you please ask this stubborn male to stop being a martyr and let me sew up his back?”
“Aemon—”
He shakes his head. “Do you trust me?” he whispers.
“Yes, but…”
“Jael,” he calls, unable to turn his head around to seeher.
Seeming to realize this she steps into his line of sight. “Yes, stupid male.”
Aemon lets out a startled laugh, then cringes at the ensuing pain in his back. “Can you give us a minute? Please.”
Jael looks from him to me, then back at him again. “At least let me dress your wounds first.”
“Just leave the bandages. Katya can do it.”
I can?
“She can?” Jael asks, mirroring my thoughts.
“Yes.” Aemon attempts to shift slightly and his face twists in pain.
Jael gives me a pointed look that says, “Please help me talk to this crazy person?”
I take her hand and squeeze. “I’ll talk to him.”
Her eyes flick to Aemon.
