“No,” Iryana gasped, mind spinning. Pyetar couldnottell Karvek. “You can’t say anything to him.”
“Why not?”
She couldn’t quite make out his expression, the moonlight gathering against his back leaving his face in even darker shadows in contrast.
Why not?What could she even tell him that would not dig her deeper? She hadn’t a clue.
“Karvek didn’t send you, did he?” His voice was tight.
Again, what could she say? So she said nothing.
“Who sent you?”
Iryana slowly stepped to the side. Maybe he would just let her pass like he did earlier.
“Who sent you, Iryana?” he demanded, cutting her off.
“No one!” she snapped, looking past him.
She didn’t think she could stay upright much longer. She needed to get away from him.
He kept watching her.
“No one sent me,” she pleaded, voice losing strength. “Isent myself.”
“Why? Do you have a death wish?” Pyetar’s hands grasped her shoulders. “Where the hell did you—”
Iryana gasped when his hands squeezed, pain flashing through her body. She tried to hide it, smother it, but her knees nearly buckled and a wave of nausea stole her breath.
His hands flew away from her. As she sucked in a few breaths to clear her head and wait out the burst of pain, Pyetar kept staring at her.
He had been blocking the moonlight, keeping her in shadow, but then he stepped aside.
She knew how she must look. She was freezing, her hair and clothes still damp from her dives into the Yuresh River to escape the dakii. Her right arm was drenched in blood despite the cloth she had tied around the gash just below her shoulder. There was a cut on her side, too, but he wouldn’t be able to see that, not with the mud splattered across the rest of her.
“You’re covered in blood.” His voice was soft, so different from his earlier tone that Iryana blinked with surprise.
Had she bled that much again?
“Don’t worry about it,” Iryana answered, just as lightly.
Could he see her shivering, see the way her arm hung? She was trying to stand straight, but was she hunched over her battered side? She just needed to make it back to the barracks, and then—Iryana winced. Vaneshta would be there.
She would think of something.
Iryana tried to move around Pyetar, hoping he would just let her go, but her muscles were stiff and barely responding, and she stumbled.
Pyetar’s arms were around her before she could fall. He pulled the bow off her shoulder and slung it over his before scooping her into his arms. Iryana’s head tilted back with a grunt as her body protested the movement.
“I don’t need your help,” she groaned.
He looked at her, his face inches from hers. “You’re bleeding, you’re cold, and if anyone sees you, you’ll have to answer for sneaking out. As your captain, I’m responsible for your mistakes.”
Iryana didn’t have an answer.
“I’m going to help you.” His voice was tight, uncompromising.
She should say no, try to keep her distance. There’d been a moment when they were dancing where she’d truly wondered if he wasn’t that bad. But she’d been drunk, and he still had to obey his brother. Had to keep everyone in line.
