“Lucky,” the woman repeated a bit sadly as the footsteps receded.
Then the voices grew too quiet to make out as the dressing room door closed, returning the space to darkness and quiet. Neither of us moved for another few beats.
When Skye finally stood, she blew out a breath. “Where in the hell is that string?”
She must have found it because the hidden room suddenly flooded with light. I flopped back onto the floor, relief washing over me even as my hand slipped on my leg.
“Son of a frostbitten prick,” Skye muttered as she looked at me and the blood pooling around my leg.
Then she was at the bed and pawing through the supplies she’d found. When she returned to me, she uttered a few more curious curses under her breath before pouring something powerfully astringent over my gash.
I bolted to a sitting position. “Tvekkinghell, woman!”
“Sorry.” She dabbed cloth on my wound, not looking at all sorry. “I had to clean it so it won’t get infected. I thought Vandar were supposed to be badasses who felt no pain.”
“Who said we felt no pain?” I said through gritted teeth.
She shrugged. “I always thought it was implied.” She fluttered her fingers at me. “You have enough scars to tell me you’re no stranger to getting hurt.”
That might have been true, but I had no memory of getting any of my scars. I felt reasonably confident they’d all hurt. “I am sure I did not try to accumulate scars.”
“I don’t know about that. You raiders are pretty proud of being battle-hardened.”
My only reply was a grunt as she patted my leg dry and unspooled a length of silver tape, cutting it with her teeth.
“I know this isn’t typical treatment,” she said, hovering the tape over my leg, “but I’m not a trained medic so I don’t think you want me attempting to sew you closed.”
“I do not.”
She nodded. “Thought as much. I’m going to close the wound with tape and then wrap it. That should do the trick.”
I eyed the tape and the brightly colored fabric. “You are using theatre supplies?”
“They don’t exactly have a med bay here. It’s either stage supplies or nothing.”
I wasn’t sure which option was preferable, but I let her continue. At least the bleeding had slowed. She was correct that my two biggest risks were infection and bleeding out. Ifshe could stop those, the rest could wait until I returned to a Vandar warbird.
Warbird. That was what we called our ships. I smiled at the familiarity of the word and the hazy images it provoked. More than images, sounds. Thinking of a warbird brought to mind the echo of shouts and the thundering of boots on steel.
“You okay?”
I glanced up and saw that Skye was finishing wrapping my leg. She’d wiped away the dried blood that caked my thigh, and she handed me a clean cloth damp with astringent.
“I remembered something,” I told her as I took the cloth. “Vandar ships are called warbirds.”
“Yep. They’re supposed to be massive.”
“You’ve never been on one?” I asked.
She wrinkled her nose. “You guys don’t exactly give tours. The only way a human woman gets to see the inside of one is as a captive, or war bride, as you call it.”
The tone of her voice made my spine prickle, but I bit back a response as I wiped the blood from my hands.
She stood after cleaning her own hands and gathered the supplies. “Feel better?”
“I do.” My voice cracked. “Thank you.”
She brushed aside my thanks with a flick of her hand. “The last thing I need is for you to keel over. You aren’t much use during an escape if you can’t move.”
