Riding with an open wound like that was a bad idea. Nodding,I ripped open Athena’s saddlebags and grabbed my pouch of supplies before poking my head outside to check for trouble. Seth slipped out behind me, touching my back to guide me toward the neighboring building.
The tiny, cramped inn illuminated by a dying fire felt like the comforts of a king after my time in the dungeons. Doing my best not to appear like a bandit from the night, I hovered by the fire while Seth approached the counter to ask for a room. He returned with a rusted key.
“We’re lucky. They have one left.” He jangled the key, frowning. “But it’s the smallest.”
“Does it have a bed?”
“I sure hope so.”
“Good enough.” Taking the key, I trudged up the spiral steps and found the room with the matching number. Fitting the key in, I pushed the door open and sighed with relief.
Cramped, dusty, barren. But there was a bed. Sitting on the edge of the cot, I patted the spot beside me and opened the small pouch where I kept spare medical supplies.
Eleos had insisted I never use them unless he was indisposed—an eloquent way to say he didn’t trust my skills half as much as his.
As Seth sat beside me, I grabbed the blood knife from his hand and shimmied behind him. He gasped when I ripped it through his tunic, carefully peeling off pieces of fabric that had gotten stuck to the wound.
He spoke to hide the pain. “That was my favorite. You owe me a new one.”
“You poisoned me,” I said, cleaning the wound as best I could. “Lied to me. Betrayed me.”
Nothing witty came in response.
Rubbing my eyes to keep myself awake, I threaded a needle and did my best to stitch the wound closed. My thread work was clumsy compared to Eleos’ neat stitches, but it would keep the gash sealed so long as Seth didn’t decide to thrash about in the night.
“You never apologized for holding me captive,” I said, focusing on the bloody thread. “I don’t imagine you’ll apologize forpoisoning me.”
He exhaled. “How could words possibly suffice?”
They wouldn’t. Watching the muscles in his back tense, I looked at him warily. “Am I safe with you?”
His eyes were fogged when he twisted to look at me. Pain tore across his face. I felt it within my thoughts, as though my own.
Seth started to speak. To tell me he’dneverhurt me.
But he already had.
Biting his lip, he turned away, and I finished tending his wound in silence. Wrapping his shoulder with gauze, I tied it and leaned back, eyes drifting to the swirling black tattoo rising from his elbow to his shoulder, and trailing across his pec.
“Tattoos in Duath Nun mean something,” I repeated something Seraphim had said earlier. “What does this one mean?”
Seth traced the pattern. “Penthos. Mourning. Anyone who paints themselves with it gave a piece of their soul to another and lost it with their passing.”
He stood, testing the bandages. I looked away. “It’s for her, then? The woman you loved?”
“For her and my mother,” he said softly. “To immortalize them, and to remind me of my failure.”
“Failure to save her?” I guessed.
Seth turned his back. “You should get some rest. We’ll need to leave early.” Grabbing his cloak, he eyed the floor, searching for a spot to lay it out.
I shot from the bed. “You’re not sleeping on the floor with that wound. I will.”
He spun around, exasperated. “What kind of man would I be if I letyousleep on the floor?”
“That’s where you draw the line?” I asked, unable to hide the bitterness in my tone.
His eye twitched. “You’re hurt, too.”
