She hobbles to her feet, her free hand wrapped in Thoren’s. “I didn’t finish bandaging your wound.”
He doesn’t let her go and she doesn’t tug away.
“It’s okay,” he says.
I clear my throat. “It might be best if we leave as soon as possible. I don’t want those Blacksmiths to target any of you because we’re here.”
My reasons aren’t completely altruistic. The longer we stay, the more questions we’ll be asked. We did what Malak asked us to—we came here. He didn’t specify how long we had to remain or if we needed to have our wounds fully tended to.
“Could we take a small pot of salve and some bandages?” I ask. “We can deal with the wounds ourselves.”
After all, we know how to tend our own wounds. We only came here under orders. Just as we’ll return to the castle tonight and then tomorrow we’ll go to the coal house. Again, because Malak ordered it.
Petra gives a quick nod. “Of course, but…” She glances at Thoren. “I work here at nights and if your wounds don’t heal… and if you’re permitted… I’ll be here.”
In the course of gathering supplies, she lifts Thoren’s coat off the bed, pausing as her hands brush the warm fur on its inner side.
“Is this fur?” she asks at a whisper.
Thoren has stayed close to her side while I wait in the aisle, keeping the rest of the room within my sights.
“Only Blacksmiths have fur.” She lifts the material to her cheek before she turns her questioning eyes on Thoren. “How do you have this?”
“It’s yours if you want it,” he replies, his head tilted to hers.
She presses her lips together but gives back the coat, shaking her head. “The Blacksmiths would kill me if they saw me with it. They’d think I stole it.”
Is she now wondering ifwestole the coat? Along with our fur-lined pants and boots?
Thinking quickly, I say, “Malak gave us these clothes.”
She nods, but worry floods her eyes as she turns back to Thoren. “Whatever Malak made you promise in exchange for this clothing, be careful.”
Thoren is tense, but he doesn’t correct her assumption that Malak gave us the clothing as some sort of incentive. I’m sure my brother realizes it’s far safer for us if we accept whatever conclusions these humans draw that fit within the workings of their world.
After Thoren pulls the coat back on, Petra hands him the supplies, along with the two apple cores.
“Don’t waste these,” she says. “It’s rare to have fresh fruit here. The Blacksmiths keep it for themselves.”
“You can have them,” Thoren says before he grimaces. “I mean what’s left of them.”
This time, Petra doesn’t immediately sayno.
Thoren reaches for her hand, lowering his voice. “I can bring you more.” A crooked smile grows on his face. “Fresh ones. Not half-eaten.”
She worries at her bottom lip. “Only if you won’t get into trouble.”
He nods. Then pauses again. “I’m sorry about your friend.”
She blinks away fresh tears as her focus shifts to the bed where her friend lies. “Maybe one day we’ll be strong enough to fight back.”
Dangerous words.
She must realize it because she glances at the rest of the room before she speaks again, clearing her throat, but this time with a little hope in her eyes. “I don’t know your names.”
Thoren hesitates. “I’m…”
He looks at me, but I won’t deny him the right to choose what others call him.
