Iryana stiffened. “If we aren’t sleeping, why make camp?”
Pyetar narrowed his eyes. “We need to eat and rest for a few hours. Then we’ll walk the rest of the night.”
“Oh, yeah, fine.” She shrugged.
She wouldn’t admit it, but Iryana was happy for a break. Aching muscles from the day she ran the dakii away from the post still bothered her, although her ankle was thankfully fine. Her bruises had all bloomed a dark purple, just now gaining a hint of brown in some places as they healed. In another week she would be back to normal.
Tensing, Iryana remembered that she had no idea what the week would bring. If she’d even survive it.
Ignoring Pyetar ruffling around in his bag at the edge of the clearing, Iryana brushed off one of the rocks and plopped down. It felt good to be off her legs. After eating a wrapped pie from her bag, Iryana realized her body was getting stiff and her aches more pronounced.
Walking through the night, it was likely they would run into scouts at some point, and she wanted to be in as good a shape as possible.
Turning away from Pyetar, Iryana pulled off her cloak and then unlaced her shoulder and chest armor, leaving them in a neat pile next to her. Wincing, she slid her shirt down to reveal the shoulder with the worst of the bruises. The cold air made her shiver.
Pulling out a jar of ointment she had made from arnica, Iryana rubbed it onto her aching shoulder. It would feel a little better soon. When she had worked enough of the ointment in, she pulled her collar back up and moved onto a few smaller bruises that were easy enough to reach without removing much clothing.
It was almost entirely dark, the clearing a puddle of moonlight against a deeply shadowed wood. The night was unusually loud, with squeaking bats flying overhead and forest critters prancing across the twigs and leaves. She would never admit it to Pyetar, but there couldn’t have been a safer time to rest.
The soft hoo of an owl stilled Iryana’s hands as she worked on packing the ointment away. Her eyes squeezed shut. That sound should be a comfort; it meant there were likely no dakii nearby, but it reminded Iryana of her mother.
Breathe, she reminded herself. The dakii’s woods were not a place for pain and regret, and certainly not in front of the enemy. Pyetar would take advantage the first chance he got.
Once she’d regained control of herself, she turned to find Pyetar boiling a pot of water over a small fire.
She frowned, but when he fished out a small pouch, she remembered the plants she had given him.
What would he have done if she hadn’t given him something for his wound? There certainly seemed to be difficulties with operating as Pyetar did, alone among the dakii.
As far as she knew, most of the military gangs still operated in units. The few times the Kleesolds had been desperate enough to trade with them, a full caravan of supplies and soldiers had arrived at the designated meeting place. She’d probably have to work in one of those units if she was allowed to enter the brigade. As much as she would prefer to go out on her own like Pyetar did, it wasn’t worth the jobs she’d have to do. She would not sell the poppies, and she would not “handle” those the 18th thought were stepping out of line. Hopefully she had a choice. The thought made her want to be sick.
Having let the pouch cool, Pyetar pulled up his right pant leg, revealing a neatly wrapped bandage. Iryana debated looking away, but she wanted to know how much of a liability he was. He grunted softly as he unwound the bandage, revealing a nasty-looking gouge on the side of his leg.
“What happened?” she asked. It wasn’t out of pity or worry; she just thought he owed her an explanation after she had accidentally given him medicinal plants for it.
He looked up, brow raised. “Beast.”
“Ah.” How informative.
“What about yours?” He pointed at her shoulder, where she discovered her shirt was still slightly askew, revealing the edge of the nasty bruise.
Iryana yanked her shirt back into place. “Dakii,” she answered, just as helpful.
“From the night you lured them off?”
He winced as he pressed the fresh compress to his wounds, then reached for fresh bandages.
She sighed. She didn’t owe him an answer, but it wouldn’t hurt to be slightly less hostile. It might keep him from killing her and dumping her body in the river.
“Yeah. Got knocked into a few trees. And a cliff.”
“I didn’t expect to see you again after that.” He pulled his pant leg back down over the new bandage. “Didn’t really seem like a survivable stunt from an unforged.”
“Proof you know less than you think,” she pointed out. “But I know those woods like the shape of my hands.”
“So you were willing to sacrifice your life to protect your post and settlement.”
Iryana froze. Was he threatening to tell the 18th? The military would never accept a loyal guardian. Why else bring it up?Damn, she needed to watch her words more carefully.
