Besides, he was right about the state she was in, and she wanted desperately to not have to worry about anything, even if it was only for a few moments. So she answered weakly, “Fine.”
His breath rushed out, and his eyes furrowed, as if surprised. Quietly, he carried her down the stairs and into the passageway through the wall.
It was dark, but Pyetar seemed to know exactly where they were going, walking quickly around the fortress. He seemed as used to sneaking around as she was, and that surprised her even though it shouldn’t have. If he was trying to stop Karvek from starting a war, he’d have to do so from the shadows. From behind his brother’s back.
There was a chill inside the wall, and Iryana couldn’t keep herself from sinking into Pyetar’s chest, into the heat his body was giving off. She drifted off a few times as he carried her, missing where he came out of the wall, but she felt his cloak going around her as he snuck across a path and into one of the fenced yards.
Iryana could see the barracks; they had gone past it, and Pyetar was approaching the back of a house.
Where was he taking her?
Pyetar slipped in through the back door and let out a deep breath once it closed behind them. Iryana couldn’t see much at first—there were curtains drawn across the windows, blocking most of the moonlight.
He sat her down on what she was pretty sure was the table, and Iryana grabbed onto him as another wave of pain moved through her. When she opened her eyes, she found him waiting, watching her, and she snatched her hands back, pretending she hadn’t seen the concern all over his face.
He kneeled before the stove, grabbing a few pieces of wood from the alcove below, and opened the stove door to push them inside. Iryana felt her eyes shutting again as warmer air hit her. When she opened them again, Pyetar was putting a lantern and a basket of other supplies onto the table.
He handed her a small bottle. “This will help with the pain.”
She uncorked it and sniffed, recognizing some of the plant smells and the tingle of magic that hit her nose. It had been made by an earth-forged healer.
She quickly drank it down, feeling the slight prickling sensation spread through her body. Like it was thawing her out, too.
It felt wonderful.
“Other than your arm, where are you hurt?” He was still tense, his voice strained.
She reached down to unclasp her armor, but her fingers were sluggish, and the leather straps were tight from being submerged in the river.
Pyetar pushed her hands away and started undoing each clasp. Most of those on her right side had been ripped off already, so it wouldn’t take long.
She couldn’t move, equal parts unsettled and surprised.
The potion Pyetar had given her was strong, and the edge of the pain almost completely dulled. She stared down at Pyetar sitting below her, his chest pressed against her knees and his head tilted down, entirely focused on her armor. Her chest was tight, and her body confused. She squeezed her jaw shut tightly, trying to clear her head.
It was Pyetar, who she had the opposite of a fondness for, and she didn’t let people close to her very often.
She couldn’t help but remember the first time she’d seen him. Tall and strong, with a body used to training and fighting. And a face that was gentler than it was now. Less sharp, no stubble darkening his jaw. She’d been reckless and lonely, and thought he’d be a fun way to pass some time.
He’d actually smiled at her, watched her with interest, knowing who she was even though she had no idea who he was. The thought of it was still hugely embarrassing.
But she was glad then that she’d discovered who he was before they’d been alone together. Before she could kiss him, feel him against her. Those memories would have made this moment far more difficult.
She was hyper-aware of him, of every move of his hand as he worked down one side, and then the other.
It was horribly inconvenient.
Strangers came to her village now and then, and there had been a few she’d snuck away with, letting their hands and bodies distract her for a few hours before they moved on. It had always been purposeful and quick. Their touches hadn’t lingered. But it had made the years more bearable.
Moving to the straps over her shoulders, his hand brushed against her collarbone, and Iryana sucked in a breath with surprise.
Pyetar’s eyes flashed to hers, and he stilled. Then, as if it had never happened, he went back to work. Iryana forced herself to look at the ceiling.
Then he peeled her armor away from her dress, which she knew was completely ruined, and removed the belt from around her middle. The freedom felt good. He untied the bloody cloth she had wrapped around the gash in her arm, but then he stopped.
When she looked back down, Pyetar looked unsure, and she realized the hesitation.
She sighed. “I won’t be able to get the dress over my head with my arm. Just cut it off. It’s ruined anyway.” The white of her dress was stained black and red, and the fine embroidery was fraying where it wasn’t completely ripped out.
