Teryn and Lex exchanged a glance. Of course they didn’t. According to Teryn, both men were princes. Royals had no need to learn first aid. The Forest People, however, were well versed in healing, even those whose Art didn’t specialize in the craft.
“Have you any particular fondness for that arm?” she asked.
Lex huffed. “Of course I do. What kind of question?—”
“Unless you want it amputated after infection sets in, come with me.” She left the camp and didn’t wait to see if they’d follow.
25
“I’m not drinking that,” Lex said, scowling at the clay cup Cora handed him.
Teryn watched their icy standoff with a mixture of amusement and trepidation. They were seated around a modest fire in the middle of a secluded clearing by a stream. He was pretty sure it was the same stream he’d met the woman at the day before, and—from the way Cora brought out cups, flasks, and pots from behind a bush—he assumed it was where she’d made camp for the last several days. They’d trusted her enough to follow her away from the scene of the bloodbath and obeyed her instructions to start a fire, boil water, and soak fresh strips of linen torn from yet another of Teryn’s shirts. She’d told them her name, briefly introduced them to her unicorn companion—much to Lex’s awe and incomprehensible stammering—but that was to the extent that they knew her. Well, that and the fact that she’d poisoned nearly an entire hunting party. Teryn couldn’t blame Lex for his trepidation.
“It will help calm your nerves and ease your pain,” Cora said.
“Yes, being dead certainly puts an end to nerves and pain. No, thank you.”
Cora rolled her eyes. “It’s not poison. It’s tea. Lavender, chamomile, and willow bark.”
Lex gave Teryn a pointed look, drawing Cora’s attention to him as well.
Teryn sighed. “Surely you understand why we wouldn’t want to drink anything you offer.”
She pursed her lips and held his gaze. He only shrugged. “Fine,” she said, setting down the cup and taking Lex’s arm. “Suffer through the pain if that is your wish.”
Lex blanched a little but made no further argument.
“Are the bandages dry yet?” she asked Teryn.
He ran his fingers over a corner of one of the strips of cloth she’d asked him to dry by the fire. “Yes.”
“Bring them here.”
“You make demands like a queen,” he muttered as he gathered the cloth and brought it to her.
“No,” she said as she began untying the blood-soaked bandages from Lex’s arm, “just someone who has no reason to help you but is anyway.”
The unicorn named Valorre tossed his mane. The creature had maintained his distance from Teryn and Lex, keeping to the opposite side of camp. Even so, Teryn caught the unicorn watching him from time to time, likely holding a grudge over the spear incident. Berol, meanwhile, took up post as far from the unicorn as she could get. Every so often, she’d shift in the branch overhead as if to remind both Cora and Valorre that she was watching.
Cora paused her ministrations and looked at Valorre. Then, resuming her removal of the bandages, she said, “Why should I be nice? I don’t see you being warm and cuddly.”
Teryn frowned, eyes darting between the girl and the unicorn. “Did you just…talk to Valorre?”
Her face went slack with surprise. Perhaps she hadn’t realized she’d spoken out loud. She quickly covered the expression with a look of nonchalance. “Don’t you talk to your feathered companion? What’s her name? Barrel?”
“Berol,” Teryn corrected. “Like the?—”
Her gaze darted to him. “Like Berolla, the fae queen’s legendary dragon.”
Teryn was surprised she knew. Faerytales were common enough, but he’d only heard about this one from Larylis. When he’d first found the falcon as a hatchling, he knew she needed a fierce name. Part of him thought it would improve her chances of survival. So when Larylis shared the tale of Berolla—the dragon who once ruled the skies in the days of the Elvyn and Faeryn—he knew it was the perfect namesake.
Cora averted her gaze and steeled her expression, as if she regretted showing interest in their conversation. She finished unwrapping the bandages and reached for a flask.
“What’s in that—” Before Lex could finish, Cora poured it over the wound. The smell of strong spirits wafted into the air. Rum. Teryn could only hope it bore no poison.
He watched as she cleaned Lex’s wound and began to stitch it closed with a needle and thread she’d taken from one of the pouches on her belt. When Lex began whimpering, she wordlessly handed him the mug of tea. This time, he accepted it. Her every move was steady and methodical as she continued her work. She’d clearly done this before. After the final stitch was made, she spread a mushy paste over Lex’s arm, its odor pungent.
Lex wrinkled his nose. “This is disgusting. What is it?”
