I pull Shaw’s legs out from under him, setting them straight as if he’s merely fallen asleep. I settle myself next to him, eyeing his shoulder warily. Though small in width, the wound is deep and gaping, exposing fascia and muscle. I swallow down my nausea and pinch the needle between my fingers. Before I can reconsider, I plunge it into his skin.
He doesn’t even stir and fear presses against my chest. What if he never wakes up?
I work quickly, watching the wound close beneath my ministrations. I tie off the thread with a neat knot. Hitching a breath, I examine which injury to sew up next. The gash across his stomach from Shivhai’s sword or the stab wound inflicted by yours truly. The tattered remains of his shirt barely cover him, but they’ll need to be removed if I’m to reach the wounds properly.
I hold a deep breath, my lungs feeling oddly devoid of air, and work the fabric up gently. I curse the heat that creeps up my face as my fingers brush Shaw’s skin. He is like ice. Worry twines through me. On the few occasions I’ve touched him, he has always burned. Steeling myself, I tear his shirt, pulling it apart to reveal the planes of his chest and stomach. The slash from Shivhai’s sword spreads from his sternum to his ribs, but it isn’t deep.
Old scars litter his body, but it’s the one that sits on the left side of his chest, gnarled and angry that snags my attention. The man without a soul has a heart.
And at some point, he was stabbed through it.
“So youdidsee something you like!”
Shaw’s voice sounds as though it’s been dragged over hot coals and is so unexpected that I nearly fall over. My face flaming, I avert my eyes toward the stream, but not before missing the look of pure delight that crosses over his blood crusted features.
“In that case, Lemming, you should light that lantern and get a better look,” the haughty tone has returned, but it’s edged with exhaustion. As if he doesn’t quite have it in him to maintain his obnoxious persona. It would probably take death for him to abandon it completely.
“I am not getting a better look at anything,” I snap, failing to keep the scandalized tone from my voice. It’s silly that skin has such an effect on me so far out of Similis. Considering the things I’ve seen in the Dark World, skin should be positively trite at this point. But I can’t help but think of it the same way I always have; as something intimate. Private.
Shaw’s fingers wander over the needle I discarded in my shock. He raises an eyebrow. “If we don’t stitch and wrap this, I’m likely to die of exsanguination. Or at the very least, infection. Seems silly, after all the trouble you went through to save me earlier, to let me die now because of your attraction to me.”
I jump and snatch the thread from his head, getting a good look at the victorious glow on his face. Even minutes from unconsciousness, and maybe even death, he’s still a bastard. “You can spare me your overblown soliloquy,” I mutter. The cool cave air suddenly feels stifling. Shadows dance across the carved planes of his abdomen and I feel a foreign tightening in my own.
“I don’t think anything I say is overblown,” Shaw replies thoughtfully. He takes a large swig of whatever is in the canteen and then pours it over his wounds with a hiss.
“That’s because you’re an arrogant ass.”
He grins wickedly as I set the needle to him. “I do like the colorful vocabulary you’ve picked up in your time here.”
I shoot him a withering look and pull the needle back out. Stitching a conscious person is much different than an unconscious one and I try not to wince as the wound spills more blood. But Shaw’s face is set in stone. A slight twitch of his jaw is the only indicator he feels anything at all.
I work slowly, trying to keep my stitches neat, though I get the feeling Shaw doesn’t care either way. His body is a mapwork of scars, all leading to the giant knot stamped above his heart. My mother used to say that every scar is a story. If that is true, Shaw’s is a story of pain.
He grunts, startling me from my thoughts. His lips are white, and I wonder if he’s going to pass out again. How much blood can someone lose before it can’t be replenished? I work quicker. There will be no accolades for neat stitches if he dies before they can be completed.
“You’ve picked a hell of a time to be silent,” Shaw says through gritted teeth, and I realize what he’s asking for. A distraction from the pain.
“Why did you kidnap me?”
He lets out a rough laugh. “Going straight for the heart, eh, Lemming?” I only push the needle in once more. “Very well,” he agrees as I tie off the final stitch.
I sweep my hands to his side, where the small stab wound puckers. I still don’t feel badly about it. Shaw waits, his breath bated with my touch. I press the needle in once more and he lets it out slowly.
“There is a warlord who rules the mountains of the West. They call him theirAchijj. He’s taken someone I care about, and I needed a way to get him back.”
“And I’m the way?” I ask doubtfully, meeting his gaze. He studies me somberly and then nods.
“His territory is small, but well-guarded. Yen Girene is surrounded by a stone wall, taller than Boundary and there’s no way to sneak in. The only insiders granted permission to enter are traders with…uniquewares.”
I shove the needle in far more roughly than needed. Shaw growls, but there is nothing contrite in my movements as I yank it out and shove it in once more. “Hey!” he cries but falls silent at the mutinous look on my face.
“You were going tosellme? That’s your plan? Because if you think I’m just going to allow myself to be sold like cattle—"
Shaw shakes his head wildly. “No! I was never planning to sell you and I’m most certainly not going to now. But I need topretendI’m there to sell you. The Achijj has a harem, and he prizes rare women. You will spark his interest and grant me access to the city.”
I shake my head in disgust. “The way human life is treated here is despicable. Is this because of the curse? Is that why everyone in the Dark World thinks that lives are a meaningless commodity to be bought and sold?”
Shaw watches me sadly. “It’s because in every society, there are always those who value profit over humanity. And stop calling it the Dark World. It’s Ferusa.”
