My cheeks sting so hotly I fear I will melt. It is a difficulty I did not anticipate, dragging my focus from his face. “Turn around while I undress.”
He follows my instruction without complaint.
I am but a body in motion. As my mind detaches itself from my limbs, I loosen the buttons running down my nightgown and lie across my bed, the fabric parting over my back, ruined skin exposed to the chilly air.
“You can look,” I whisper.
A soundless step brings Zephyrus to my bedside. My skin tingles from the proximity.
“How bad is it?” I ask.
In my periphery, I watch the hand dangling near his thigh form a fist. “There’s an infection near the base of your spine.” He exhales through his nostrils. “My brother received a similar lashing… a long time ago.”
“A switch to the back?”
“A whip.”
The word stings—whip. With a deep breath, I force down the curdling sensation in my stomach. Discipline is expected in the church, but it has never sat right with me. “How many brothers do you have?” A test, to see if his information aligns with what Lissi told me.
“Three.” A curt response. “My eldest brother once took responsibility for a punishment I should have received, just as you have done.”
Five fingers skim my spine. I flinch, my muscles clenched. Zephyruswears his gloves, I remind myself. His flesh will not touch mine, though I cannot deny my curiosity of his skin’s texture, its unexpected heat.
“Why should you have received the punishment?” I stare at my desk, the blocky Text, my leather-wrapped journal.
“What does it matter?” he says. “What’s done cannot be undone.”
The sheets sigh beneath my shifting legs. I curl my hand into a fist, tuck it against my cheek. “You sound sad,” I whisper. The sadness must be something he carries, just as my loneliness is something I carry. I understand its weight: a stone around one’s neck.
“Many would argue I don’t deserve the privilege of sadness.”
It is curiously vague, his response. “In times of trial,” I offer, “I turn to the Father. Through my faith in him—”
“Do not speak to me about faith.” He practically spits the words, and I feel the trembling of his hand, pressed to my shoulder. It is so silent I hear the tolling of Kilkare’s town bell ten miles away.
“Do you believe in faith?” I ask softly.
“No,” Zephyrus says. “I do not.”
I’m suddenly cold. Frighteningly cold.
I shove myself upright. “Stop.” The motion tugs on my inflamed skin, and I hiss out a breath.
Shadow eats half of Zephyrus’ face. “I cannot heal your back if you do not allow me to touch you,” he says. Gone is the mischievous, cunning creature I saved from the woods. This version of the West Wind is decidedly haunted.
Pushing to my feet, I snatch the cloak hanging from its hook on the wall and wrap it around my curves. I should have sent him away the moment he entered my room. What was I thinking? Does this faithless immortal hold sway over me, my will? Have I allowed his power to skew my own devotion? But no, I made the decision, however poor, on my own.
“You have overstayed your welcome. Please go.”
Wordlessly, the West Wind places the salve on my desk before taking his leave. “Smooth it onto your wounds, if you can,” he murmurs. “It should nullify the pain by morning.”
The shutters clap shut following his departure. I pluck the glass vial from where it lies beside my journal, lift the substance to my nose. Its harsh odor clears my head. Silly, foolish girl. Never again will I trust a man. Never again will I place my well-being into the hands of one so careless. Let this balm be a reminder. With these scars, I will never forget.
9
IT TAKES TIME, BUT EVENTUALLY, life returns to its previous rhythm. Meals, chores, service, the forge, all in an unending blur. Unfortunately, a gulf separates me from the other novitiates. With no explanation for my disappearance, they resort to gossip. They do not ask me about my day. They do not greet me in the halls. They assume that I have lied, and they are correct.
What do they give me? Silence.
