Pyetar pulled a dagger off his belt and slowly reached for the fabric at her neck. He pulled the dress away from her undershirt, slipped the dagger underneath, and cut.
She wore one of her long white shirts beneath the dress, and a pair of felt leggings which were like what she trained in, but it didn’t feel the same when he pulled the ruined dress away from her. It didn’t help that the soaked undershirt clung to her body.
She almost tried to hide the injury on her side, but what was the point anymore?
Before she could second-guess herself, Iryana reached down, bunched the fabric at her waist into her fist, and yanked it up over the wound she hadn’t had a chance to look at.
They both stared at her side.
There were a few different gashes, all clustered together. None of them were particularly deep, but the surrounding skin was angry and red. It was impossible not to notice any of the scars that decorated her with the mess.
“Can you at least tell me how this happened?”
“Pretty sure that was a tree.” She could remember being thrown at it, how her side had quickly run red.
That blood had been useful, at least. Probably saved her life.
He gave her a look of tired disbelief.
She sighed. “I had to outrun some dakii. It was a closer call than I would have liked.”
Pyetar pressed his fingers lightly against the bruises forming around the gashes, and Iryana jumped. He shot her a glance that said,hold still. She clenched her jaw while he gently pressed up her ribs.
She wished the potion hadn’t been so good, that his touch hurt more. She would have welcomed the pain in that moment.
“Nothing’s broken,” he said, his voice rough. “I need to look at your arm.”
Her throat bobbed. “Turn around.”
Once he was fully facing the other way, Iryana pulled at the ties at the top of her shirt, loosening it enough to pull over her injured arm. The shirt was bloody and damp, but she pulled it up over her chest, clutching it in place with her good arm.
Looking at it now, the cut wasn’t too bad. It was still oozing blood, but it wasn’t as deep as she had thought before.
“Okay, you can look.”
Pyetar’s gaze went straight to the wound, avoiding her eyes. Avoiding the scar on her shoulder too. The one she knew would be visible no matter how blood-soaked she was.
“Let me guess, this was a tree too.”
“Uh, no.” She wasn’t sure why she was even telling him the truth. “Claw got through my shield.”
His eyes flicked to hers, but he glanced away. “I can’t believe I let you leave on your own.”
“You didn’tletme do anything.” Although hecouldhave stopped her… could have told someone. Even suspecting she was on a mission for his brother, he had kept her secrets. Again.
Pyetar sprang into action with quick precision.
He poured some water into a bowl and took a clean cloth to wipe down her arm. Then he rubbed a pale ointment around the cut, and it numbed the skin.
She stared at the stove while he carefully stitched up the wound and rubbed more ointment over it. She barely felt it. This was hardly how she’d expected her evening to go. To have Pyetar of all people tending to her injuries. But her family was safe, and her eyes fluttered shut at the reminder.They were safe. For now.
After he had bandaged her arm, Pyetar paused with his fingers still gripping the edges of the cloth. “Whatever you’re doing, you need to stop or you’re going to get yourself killed,” he sighed.
“I know.” She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to calm her racing heart. “But I don’t have a choice.”
She felt so tired.
“And what am I supposed to do? You won’t ask for my help, but I can’t just watch you die or rip this place apart helping my brother. Or both.”
