“Fine,” she groaned, grabbing the fade chicory from the basket.
He took the jar from her, giving her a narrow look as he gently held her waist and urged her to lie down. She settled beside him before her mind could protest. He scooted closer, his body almost pressing against her back. He practically radiated heat. She forced her breaths to remain cool and steady. His fingers wedged themselves around the knife, ripping and prying her pants apart.
“These were my only pants,” she complained, hoping the humor could distract her.
“That’s what you’re worried about?”
“Well, duh. I’m not wearing a dress from here on out.” She nervously chuckled as she turned her head.
His brow lifted to the slight crack in her voice, but she returned her focus to the dagger still embedded in the back of her thigh.
“This is going to hurt.”
“See what I mean?” Amaris began. “Telling me it’s going to hurt only makes me more on edge and—”
She yelped as he pulled the knife out. She gripped the edges of the cot, wishing narcotics existed here. He grabbed a piece of linen, pressing it firmly against her thigh. She sank her nails into the thin fabric of the cot. Again, she fought the flush in her cheeks as his hands pressed harder against her leg. His fingers skimmed her inner thigh. She shouldn’t have liked the sight of his hand wrapped around her leg or how close he was.
When he pulled back, her body instantly yearned for his warm touch. He trickled the herb over her wound, extinguishing all thoughts as a burning sensation seared through her thigh. She grasped his arm before hecould sprinkle more of the burning hell into her wound.
“That’s enough,” she breathed.
“It’ll burn.”
“You don’t say,” she grumbled through the pain, her nails no doubt creating crescent moons in his skin.
He hefted her thigh up, pulling out a string of linen. He wrapped it around and tied off the end before falling back to the cot. “You should rest.” He released a deep breath.
Amaris stood, expecting him to grab her again and drag her beside him, but he didn’t. He shut his eyes, laying a hand across his chest.
“So should you,” she whispered.
She pulled away before she listened to him and curled up beside him on the cot. Pulling her hair behind her ears, she fanned her heated cheeks.What am I doing?Her thumb fidgeted with the ring wrapped around her finger as she desperately put distance between her and Theodoric. Once at the edge of the room, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She couldn’t feel this way. It’d only been a few weeks since she’d run out on Derek, but hours ago, in the tower, she’d allowed herself to wonder. She turned back around, and her thoughts drifted as she assessed the scene around her with all the injured scattered. She rolled her shoulders and cracked her neck. She had a job to do. Everything else could wait.
She limped to the kitchen to gather what information she could from Ms. Borstad and check their inventory levels. Alan appeared as though he’d never left. His sword was sheathed at his back without a single drop of blood, but his clothes were covered in it. He carried an injured Luana soldier from the kitchen doors and disappeared into the dining hall.
She looked down at her own shirt. It was ripped, showing her corset, and covered in blood, most likely from Theodoric and the man he’d rammed with his sword. She braided her hair again. Her hands needed to move through the strands like they always did, preparing herself for the call.
Well, now was the call of a lifetime. She moved to a sink and splashed the lukewarm water over her skin. Blood dripped down her cheeks, sliding along the edges of her lips. She spat out the coppery tang and glanced over her shoulder at the biggest disaster she’d ever seen.
Ms. Borstad caught her eye as she tended to one of the patients. Amaris rolled up her sleeves and approached the woman, begging the pain in her thigh to disappear. It was Ediva.
“Gave her cudweed and placed wrap around wound. Yuxiway should fend against festering. Fade chicory to staunch bleeding,” Ms. Borstad said, peering at the wrapped stump of the Ediva’s leg.
Amaris’s hand braced her shoulder, but she didn’t stir. She studied Ms. Borstad’s work, taking note of the missing tourniquet. No blood seeped through the bandages.
“Cornelius required hands now and then,” Ms. Borstad whispered. “He no like flower child. Need strong hands and no singsong voice.”
Amaris wanted to speak, to ask her everything she knew about what a mystique did in Magoria, but that would have to wait. She only smiled at her description of Pricilla. She eyed the belt still wrapped around her own leg. She released the buckle and held the edge of the table as the blood refilled her system. Pins and needles started in her toes and worked its way up her leg, but blood didn’t seep from the wrap Theodoric had placed around her thigh.
“Three down, way too many to go,” she whispered to herself.
She swallowed the lump in her throat as several soldiers carried over a large fellow. They set him on the ground at her feet. He was pale as a ghost, but she had to confirm what she knew to be true. She lowered herself, but there was no burst of breath on her cheek or a bounding of a heartbeat beneath her fingers.
“He’s gone,” she said quietly.
The men bowed their heads. One kneeled next to the cold and dead man. He placed his hand over his eyes and whispered something thatsounded like a prayer. They picked up his lifeless body and carried him into the hall, where Amaris guessed they had a spot for the dead.
She closed her eyes, pushing the morbid thought from her mind. When she used to have rough calls, they’d sit around the kitchen table, allowing their dark senses of humor to get them through the night, but she didn’t have Charlie beside her to look at a pile of intestines and ask if they were having sausage for dinner.
