Alan and Esaias refused to leave his side while she worked. Esaias perched on the table, lost to his own thoughts. She had Alan fetch a basinof water, and when he returned, he leaned against the window, watching her every move.
She began cleaning out his cuts, blood instantly soaking the rag and her hands. It turned the water a dark shade of crimson. Alan and Esaias started a cycle of fresh water every few lacerations. Amaris kept to a rhythm, silently humming a song her mother had sung to her a dozen times over. It aided her quick pulse and soothed her trembling hands. The room was otherwise silent.
She dragged the back of her hand against her forehead to wipe the sweat dripping into her eyes. She didn’t know whether to be thankful for the silence or spiteful. Basic first aid was all she had to go on. She cleaned the mud from his cuts, but she didn’t know the lasting effects of flogging injuries. He’d have more scars to add to the collection across his back. She kept going, continuing to move her hands and clear her mind. It was all she could do.
After she’d cleaned out each wound, she applied the pink paste, moving gently in case he woke abruptly. Cudweed had been one of the herbs she’d skimmed over but tabbed to read about later. She was kicking herself for not further digesting the material. She’d briefly read a line about injecting the herb. It was good to know needles and syringes had been invented. She moved to the fleshy parts of his skin. The cuts weren’t as deep as she’d thought and were already beginning to clot.
She forced her body to relax, deeply breathing. It was startling to feel like this, protective. Maybe it was the guilt. She was the reason for it. Her fingers moved over the ridges of his back, covering every injured part with the paste. Her hands continued to shake as she secured clean cloth over the open gashes, but she positioned herself to keep Esaias and Alan from noticing.
She trudged to the last clean pitcher of water and poured it into the bowl to wash his blood from her hands. It seeped like ink off her fingers and the tendrils swirled in the water. Her hands wouldn’t cease theirtrembling. It infuriated her, but she knew it was only the effects of the adrenaline leaving her body. She dried her hands and used the remainder of the paste on her own welt. The spiral of red stung as she rubbed the begregane paste over her skin.
“That was a brave thing you did,” Esaias said, breaking the everlasting silence between the three of them. He and Alan lounged in the chairs on the other side of the fireplace.
“I did what anyone else would’ve done.”
Amaris didn’t bother to look at him. She was too exhausted from the lack of sleep and the commotion of the morning. She bound her forearm in cloth, tucking in the edge to tighten it. Kneeling at Theodoric’s side, she monitored his vitals. His breaths were regular, his back slowly rising about every five seconds. She held his wrist, her fingers searching for the beating pulse of his heart.
“What was that?” Amaris breathed, coming back to her disbelief about everything that happened.
“Your punishment,” Esaias whispered grimly as he dropped his face and a shadow painted his features.
“My what?” She turned to meet his eyes.
“The duke knows about whatever happened between the two of you last night and sentenced you both to twenty-five lashes. He took all of them, at least before the duke stepped in.”
“Why did he step in?” Alan blurted out.
“I don’t know and don’t fucking care. The duke can burn in After,” Esaias growled. He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand. “Has he told you anything about the war?”
Amaris swallowed the lump forming in her throat and whispered, “Barely.”
“Bennet called Theo’s actions treasonous. Gerard made a move to grab him, and Theo reacted.”
“He wasn’t committing treason. He protected me when Bennet triedto blame me for another case of scrying fever.”
“Luckily, Sephardi stepped in to confirm the truth, but he should’ve known. Bennet has his eyes set on you, and Theo is stepping in the way.”
Everything was turning into one big dumpster fire. She’d never asked to be thrown here, to be sucked from her life.
“Theo was imprisoned for over two seasons. He was captured during a mission at the end of Crimsonreign. With the bitter cold and snowstorms, we couldn’t get him out until Stormreign. I fought for a rescue mission, but our superior officers said it was too dangerous. Gris and I gathered a few from our squad willing to make the trek to Rongstad to break him out.” Esaias paused then sighed. “I don’t know the details, but I do know he was tortured. Today, the soldiers in the duke’s study went to grab him, and he flashed back to what I’m presuming happened during his imprisonment.”
“How do you know that?” she asked.
“He has nightmares and fits of panic. He was the sole survivor.”
“He dreams about it?”
Esaias nodded, reclining back in his chair, crossing a foot over his knee. “He doesn’t talk about it.”
Her eyes drifted behind her. Theodoric’s dark strands were soaked with rain and sweat as they clung to his forehead. He tried to warn her, but she didn’t listen. He only wanted to protect her from Bennet and his father.
“Why did you take the whip?” Alan asked, pulling Amaris from her thoughts.
“I don’t know.” She sighed and leaned back against the wooden frame of the cot. Theodoric’s even breaths brushed her neck, calming her growing nerves. It was a reminder of his stable state.
Alan took a swig from a flask he withdrew from his jacket. He offered it to her. “You look like you fell into the cracks of the realm.”
“Thanks,” she muttered, snatching his flask and taking a drink. Rum coated her dry throat, burning and leaving a spice to tingle her tongue.
