“I’m aware,” he mumbles, taking off in the opposite direction.
I can only pray to the Statera for the bravery Raelle’s brother shows. The risk I’m taking with so many lives weighs heavily on me. I’m a creature of certainty, a master at precise strategy, yet I’m marching my army into the unknown, taking them to the sea and fighting our enemy on unfamiliar land. It terrifies me. I’m risking those in my care and may fail those who are hoping I’ll save them. I’m gambling with lives for the possibility of bringing Raelle home. The odds aren’t in my favor, but I can’t help taking the chance.
Four
RAELLE
The tip of a needle sinks into my skin, and I bite down on the end of a thick leather belt. My eyes water as I pull the white thread taut, closing the gash on the outside of my thigh one agonizing stitch at a time. So far, I’ve sewn eleven sloppy stitches into my body with nothing to numb the pain or properly clean the wound. The Allaji rarely use medics, preferring to shift into their animal form and heal naturally. Zek offered to send a wolf to lick the bloody mess he made of my leg, claiming there are healing properties in the animal’s saliva. I turned him down. I would rather suffer the loss of my leg than let another Allaji touch me.
Besides, I savor the pain. It’s the first time I’ve felt something truly intense since I was taken from Kyron. Every prick of the needle burns through me, making my chest ache and my skin clammy. The rush doesn’t compare to the touch of Kyron’s fingers or the giddy fluttering in my stomach when he is near, but it’s a well-needed distraction. Each unbearable pull of thethread breaks through the numb, hollow space at the center of me.
Ulric groans, and I look up at him from my place on the floor. The only thing I thanked the Statera for today was the moment Zek ordered Ulric thrown into my room with me. The Allaji king made it known that it was not an act of kindness for my battered friend, but rather a move that could be advantageous to him in the future. Ulric and I were two bargaining chips in his pocket.
The guards threw Ulric haphazardly across my bed, with one leg hanging from the side of the mattress. His rib cage is dark purple and blood oozes from the open gash across his back. Every anguished sound leaving him breaks my heart, but I can’t properly care for him until I piece myself together. Even if it is in messy, mismatched parts.
I plunge the needle into my skin and close my eyes as I slowly pull the string. A sound between a sigh and a whimper escapes my lips. Pointing the sharp tip, I prepare to break through the skin again when a gentle knock comes from my door. My gaze darts around the room, hunting for something to cut the thread. In my rush to close the wound, I never took into consideration how I would tie off the stitches and release the needle. I just wanted to get the task done so I could care for my friend.
The knocking comes again, this time with more urgency.
“Coming,” I say, fumbling to my feet.
Holding the needle away from my skin, I limp across the room and crack open the door. Ulric’s vulnerable state has me blocking him from view. I’m scared that if someone sees him bleeding on my bed, they might strip him away from me before I can try to mend him back to health. I peek through the slit in the door at the tall, thin woman with warm brown skin and dark eyes.
She holds a platter of cheese and fruit like it’s a peace offering and says, “I heard you had a tough day, so I thought I’d stopby with some food.” Her gaze darts toward the small satchel she grips under the silver platter.
My shoulders slump with relief, and I step aside to allow Ashavee in. She breezes past me, and the ends of her long black hair tickle my arms. Unlike most of the women in the palace, she doesn’t wear flowing fabrics, opting for soft breeches and a simple wrap to cover her ample breasts. She also doesn’t frequent the throne room or show jealousy over the attention Zek gives me. She has been the closest thing I have to a friend here.
She sets the plate on the round table in front of the window and pauses to look me over. “What do you have going on there?” She tilts her dimpled chin at the needle between my fingers.
“I was sewing myself together,” I say, placing my leg through the high slit of my skirt.
Ashavee snatches the small satchel from the table and rushes to me. She squats until she is eye level with the wound. The black-on-black speckled cat ears camouflaged in her hair twitch as she assesses the stitches. “Shit, Elle. This looks bad, and I heard you refused treatment.”
“I wasn’t in the mood to have a stranger licking my leg,” I reply, unable to keep the disdain from my voice.
“I can finish stitching it for you, and I brought some healing salve. You’re lucky I kept it from the last raid. I normally discard it.”
Ashavee is the only Allaji who has shown me genuine kindness since I arrived in her kingdom more than two months ago. I first met her during one of my many searches through Zek’s home. She spends her days in a large room crammed full of the items received from trade with Outlander ships. Ashavee’s job is to identify the most valuable goods for Zek’s coffers and distribute the rest to the people. I’ve spent many evenings hidden in her workspace, mentally escaping from my situationthanks to the stolen books in her keep and listening as she educates me on Allaji practices. She has spent hours describing everything from their tradition of choosing a ruler to their views about the other kingdoms. Not once has she shied away from my questions or painted her answers with a pretty glossy finish. Her job has fashioned her into a lover of facts, and she has no qualms about sharing them with me. I’m sure if Zek knew about our growing friendship, he would put an end to it as our conversations toe the fine line of treason.
I trust her more than any other being on this island.
“Yes, you can finish stitching it,” I say. The room spins and sweat beads at my brow as my pain continues to worsen.
She guides me to the floor and onto my side. Grabbing the supplies I left next to the bed, she sets to work cleaning up the blood oozing down my thigh. I close my eyes and tuck my lips between my teeth as she sews my flesh together. My body jerks with each unexpected prick. Ashavee whispers soothing words and every so often brushes her palm across my brow. Her kindness moves me to tears. I forgot what it feels like to be cared for.
After tying off the thread, she releases it with the swipe of her sharp claws. Her fingers move in gentle circles as she massages the healing salve over my stitches. “You really would have been better off letting a wolf care for this. I’m not sure how much this will help with infection,” she says.
I hiss as her greasy fingers press into a particularly tender spot. “I’ll take my chances.”
She wipes her hand on her trousers and says, “And what about your friend? I heard he took quite the beating.”
I sit up and look at the bed. Ulric’s chest moves up and down, but every breath is labored. I wouldn’t doubt that he has a broken rib. I struggle to get to my feet and Ashavee takes my hand to help me up. She wraps an arm around me, letting me useher as a crutch. We shuffle to the bed, and I release her to brush my fingers over the short ginger hair covering Ulric’s head.
At Basecamp, he always kept his head smooth, not so much as a stubble to be found. It’s strange to see him like this. He is a far cry from the jovial man who became one of my first friends outside the safety of Lucent’s walls. The Allaji tried to beat him into submission, but I saw a hint of that wildfire in his eyes. Under the blood and bruises is the Ulric I remember. I just have to mend him back together again.
“Can you help me situate him?” I ask.
Ashavee grabs his leg and together we roll him on his back. I cringe when his brows furrow, knowing that sleep isn’t saving him from pain. His back is split open, but his front is battered as well. He won’t find comfort in any position.
