Ellina continued to weaken. As they descended into the foothills, Venick saw how she curled into herself, as if in pain. He kept asking what was wrong. She kept waving him off. Finally, he couldn’t bare it any longer. He dragged Eywen to a halt and dismounted, waiting for Ellina to follow. She did, slowly, too slowly, relying heavily on her left arm. Not her right.
She had done this in the water, seemingly favoring her left side. She’d done it again as they’d climbed the cliffs, her face thinning in pain that he’d mistaken for determination, though he’d asked her then too what was wrong and she hadn’t answered, not with words or hand motions or anything else. But it was obvious to him now.
“You’re hurt.” He should have noticed it sooner. How stiffly she was moving, how reluctant she was to use her right arm. “Where?” She shook her head again as if to sayit’s nothing. “It’s not nothing. Ellina.” He wouldn’t force her. He was afraid of what would happen if he did. “Please.”
She held his gaze. Slowly, with shaking fingers, she undid the draw at the collar of her shirt. Venick made a noise, ready to stop her, but then she was spinning around, pulling the shirt over her head and holding the fabric to herself.
Venick inhaled sharply, and swore.
Her back was a maze of scars. He’d seen them before, but it was somehow worse seeing them now. Knowing the scars were there and having thought he remembered. There was a web of crisscrossed lines where she’d been whipped, the marks on the top the reddest where she’d taken a beating for him last summer. Beneath the scars, he could see each rib clearly.
But there, up in her shoulder…it looked like a knife wound. Perfectly punctured, like the blade had gone in and out again without any drag. It was old, clotted over, scaly around the edges. Partially healed, maybe a month old, but still swollen and red. He’d seen wounds like that before. Had a scar in his own hip, as proof.
Venick felt like he was swimming through time. He knew that he wasn’t processing this, that he hadn’t fully accepted the depth of what had happened. He saw Ellina, the skeleton of her frame, the way she began to tremble, and he knew in that moment that he would never, ever forgive himself.
He flipped open Eywen’s saddlebag and rummaged inside for a fresh shirt, kicking himself for not having come better prepared. He hadn’t anticipated this. He’d had no idea. But: the bundle.
Inside were a few items. A salve sealed in a glass jar, sticks of witchroot, another ointment of some kind. Venick unstoppered the bottle and sniffed, recognizing the scent of yarrow mixed withlhaivsa. He wasn’t a healer, and a few late nights reading Traegar’s book hadn’t made him an expert, but he was grateful for what little knowledge he did possess.Something to help.
He used his knife to cut one of his spare shirts into strips. “I’m going to wrap your wound. It will hold for now, until we can get to a healer.”
He worked quickly, rinsing the puffy skin with water from his canteen, applying both ointments, then wrapping the makeshift bandage around her frame and over her shoulder, tucking the edges into itself. He made sure that his movements were precise, his touches light and quick. He didn’t linger.
When he was finished, Ellina pulled her shirt back over her head. She fussed with the sleeves, avoiding his eye. Venick watched her sudden self-consciousness, wondering what had affected her.
Can’t you guess?
That tightness still hadn’t left his throat. He tried to swallow around it.
Keep staring, why don’t you?
He forced his gaze away.
Ellina approached Eywen and gripped the pommel with one hand. This time, Venick didn’t hesitate. He moved to help. He lifted her up onto the mare’s back, his hands at her waist. He remembered his hands going to Harmon’s waist and felt instantly ashamed.
He should tell her.
Later, said a voice in his head.
Coward, said another.
Venick mounted Eywen behind Ellina. He took up the reins and spurred them on.
???
They rode. Melted ice slushed mud around Eywen’s hooves. The sun wavered as it touched the horizon.
The pain and exhaustion was wearing on Ellina. She held her pain close, cupping it to herself like a fragile bird, careful to keep it hidden, but Venick knew better. He knew how Ellina was gritting her teeth when he couldn’t see. He knew how she’d be counting the horse’s hoofbeats to help steady her thoughts, how she’d dig her nails into her own palms until the skin broke, one pain to distract from the other. Venick knew how pride tended to be Ellina’s undoing. He knew her.
Not well enough.
No, Venick thought, not well enough. If he’d really known her, he’d have understood her schemes, seen her game. He would have insisted on her integrity from the first, as Dourin had.
Dourin.
Again, Venick had the thought: he should tell her.
Later, said that same voice.
