My heart turned in on itself. She had swallowed down so much suffering up until this point. The searing agony she must have been in for her strength to falter like that; it must have been horrific.
“Do you think you can turn to face the wall?” I asked her. The chairback blocked access to her injury, but I didn’t want to move her myself and risk making things worse. She nodded slowly, trying and failing at steadying her breaths.
Her back now faced me, her breaths coming out in rasping shudders. A cold, sinking feeling settled into me. For all Hesper’s sauntering today, even going so far as to offer to sleep outside, she was in much more pain than she had let on. Pain she was experiencing because of me.
“I’m going to take your tunic off now,” I said gently. “Is that okay?” Hesper grunted a yes, and I began.
My hands shook as I grasped the ends of her tunic, easing it up higher and higher. We were up to her shoulder now; the hardest part would be getting it over her head and onto her arms. She shifted in an attempt to help me, but I stopped her.
“Try not to move,” I said, edging the tunic around her shoulders.
Goddess, every part of her burst with muscle, with thickness, with strength. I wondered how many bones she had to have sundered before this if she could bear a fracture like that all day without passing out from the pain.
I inhaled, willing that same type of fortitude into myself. The tunic was so tight—Goddess-damned Hesper Altanfall and her form-fitting clothes—any wrong move could result in worsening the injury. My heart thundered in my chest, but I managed to slow the trembling in my hands. I wiggled the shirt off bit by bit, working on one shoulder then the next until it finally slid free.
The tunic slid off her head and onto her arms.
We both let out a relieved sigh. My heart beat wildly in my chest, and I held on to the table to steady myself. I couldn’t tell if it was from the stress of today, Hesper’s injury, or just Hesper in general.
I dipped my hand into Sylvie’s salve once more.
As I waited for the balm to warm, I surveyed Hesper’s back—as chiseled and deeply tanned as the rest of her. Only a few scars speckled her skin.
That’s not what you’re supposed to be paying attention to.
Bruising, yes, any bruising? That’s what I needed to check for. Not how well-built she was. Not the hint of softness that spilled out from her tight waistband. Not her deep breathing accentuating the cords of muscle running all along her spine. Not her skin reminding me of steeping tea and how desperately I wanted a sip.
That’s definitely not what you’re supposed to be paying attention to.
It was just a bodily reaction, nothing more.
She was Eldrene’s servant, nothing more.
All that she did today was because of her duty, nothing more.
The balm was ready and pliable now, oozing along my fingers. I shook my head, forcing any untoward thoughts right out.
“I’m going to touch you now,” I said, all business, eager to get this over with.
Hesper tensed.
I put one hand softly on her shoulder; the other hovered right above the injury.
With no more hesitation, I pressed the balm onto the rib. Hesper diligently tried to remain at ease, but she white-knuckled the sides of the chair so hard, the wood began to splinter. I absentmindedly began tracing small circles on her shoulder with my thumb. It seemed to ease her tension, so I kept going.
The balm worked its magic, but I soon realized that the injury was significant enough that I needed to add a few layers for it to take full effect. So for the next twenty minutes, I stood behind Hesper, caressing her shoulder and massaging the injury with salve. Eventually, her breathing began to ease, and her neck and shoulders released their tightly wound tension.
I worked the last bit of the salve onto her back with both hands, applying full pressure. When Hesper didn’t groan in pain, I knew the healing was complete. But my hands still lingered, pressing into the heat of her back over and over again.
Hesper stretched, testing the injury. I jerked my hands back, worried I’d hurt her again and slightly embarrassed that I’d dawdled for longer than needed.
She caught both of my hands in one of hers, her face still turned away from me.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, gently squeezing before letting them go.
I quickly cleaned the table, placing the bloody rags in a washbasin for overnight soaking. She put her tunic on while my back was turned. I laid out a loaf of bread, a few hard cheeses, and apple slices for dinner, avoiding looking at or talking to her. But I could feel her watching me as I busied myself. Usually, I would eat peacefully in my kitchen while reading a book.
Tonight, I prepared a plate to take to my room, which I hated doing—all those crumbs right by my bed—but being near Hesper would doom my nerves altogether.
