The wound looked worse than I'd feared. The edges had gone from angry red to something darker, almost purple, with streaks of heat-colour radiating outward like the roots of a poisoned tree. The flesh around the deepest part of the gash was swollen tight, the skin shiny and hot, and when I pressed gently beside it, a thin line of yellowish fluid wept from between the torn skin. The smell was unmistakable now, that sickly sweet undercurrent beneath the copper of blood. The curse spirits had found their way in, burrowing deep where my poultices couldn't reach.
My jaw tightened. This was bad. Not yet deadly, but it would be if I didn't act now. The poultices I'd been using were good for fresh wounds, for keeping the cursed spirits at bay while the body healed itself. But once the curse was in the blood, once those red tendrils started spreading, I needed stronger medicine. Fireweed root. Ghost moss. All supplies I had at my hearth at home, but not out here.
Ellie stirred at my touch, a small sound escaping her that made my chest constrict. Her eyes opened, unfocused and glassy, and for a moment she just looked at me without recognition. Then awareness filtered back in and she tried to sit up.
"Daska?" Her voice was rough, barely more than a whisper, and she shivered despite the furs piled around her.
I pressed my hand gently against her shoulder, easing her back down. "Shh," I murmured, the sound meant to soothe even if the words were meaningless to her. "Stay still."
She didn't fight me.
Jarak appeared at my elbow with a bone platter of cold cooked venison and a water skin. "She looks worse," he said quietly.
"She is worse."
"Rivik won't like that."
I shot him a look. "Since when does Rivik care about—"
"Since we met them. Haven't you noticed?" Jarak glanced over at where Rivik was now up and getting organised. "The way he watches her."
"He watches everyone. It's what he does."
"Not like that."
Something uncomfortable twisted in my chest. I pushed it down, focusing instead on the practical concerns in front of me. "She needs rest. Real rest, not just a few hours between forced marches. And I need better supplies."
"Tell him that." Jarak gestured toward where Rivik stood with Miska and Fen. Torin was still sleeping. He'd had the watchbefore and Rivik was clearly allowing him to sleep in while the others knocked down the camp.
"Ellie." I kept my voice low, gentle. Her name felt strange in my mouth. The sounds didn't flow the way our words did, but I'd practiced it quietly until I could say it right.
Her eyes found mine, hazy with fever but trying to focus. "I'm..." She said something in her language, but I caught the tone.I'm fine. I'm okay. Don't worry.
"No," I said firmly, gesturing to her leg. "Not okay."
She tried to sit up. The movement made her face go grey, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out across her forehead despite the cold. She caught herself, breathing hard, and I saw the moment she realized she couldn't hide this anymore.
Good.
I worked as quickly as I could without being careless. Cleaned the wound with fresh water from a nearby stream mixed with cleansing herbs, the liquid running red and then clear. She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, but didn't cry out. Didn't pull away.
The damaged tissue had to come out. I used my smallest, sharpest flint, removing the dead flesh with the precision my teacher had drilled into me over years of training. She shook under my hands, her breathing coming in short gasps, but she stayed still.
Too still. She's going to pass out.
"Breathe," I murmured, even though she couldn't understand the word. I placed my free hand on her shoulder, grounding her, reminding her she wasn't alone. "Breathe. Almost done."
Her eyes focused on mine, clinging to the contact like a lifeline.
I finished cleaning the wound, applied the strongest poultice I had. She jerked when it hit the raw tissue, a small sound escaping despite her attempts at control.
"Done," I said quickly, wrapping the leg with clean bandages, making sure they were secure but not so tight they'd cut off blood flow. "Done. Good."
She sagged back against the furs, her whole body trembling with exhaustion and pain. Sweat dampened her hair despite the morning cold, and I used a damp leather to wipe her face clean. I made her eat, even though she clearly didn't want to. Made her drink. Checked her temperature by pressing the back of my hand to her forehead, then her neck, feeling the fever burning through her.
I should have caught this. Should have realised how warm she was in my arms yesterday.
The thought kept circling back, accusatory. I'd been trained better than this. I knew the signs of the blood curse, knew how quickly humans could deteriorate. But I'd missed it because of how I’d been feeling having her close.
