"He has good instincts." Thessaly began applying the poultice, the smell of herbs filling the air, sharp and green and oddly soothing. "He also has a wound in his side that he claimed was nothing to concern myself with when I examined him earlier."
Delia sat up straighter. "I stitched it. This morning. Is it—"
"Your stitches held beautifully." Thessaly sounded genuinely impressed. "Cleaner than some of my apprentices manage. Where did you learn?"
"Leatherwork. My uncle was a cobbler."
"Ah. Practical skills." Thessaly nodded approvingly as she wrapped fresh binding around Delia's ankle. "The mountain values practical skills. You'll fit well here."
The casual assumption made Delia's heart stutter. "You think I'm staying?"
Thessaly looked up at her, one brow raised. "You're hiskrenna. He announced it to his officers not an hour ago. The whole settlement knows." Her expression softened at whatever she saw on Delia's face. "Did you think he would hide it? Hide you?"
"I don't know what I thought." Delia's voice came out smaller than she intended. "This is all very new."
"New, perhaps. But not uncertain." Thessaly sat back on her heels, studying Delia with the same assessing gaze she'd used on the ankle. "A woman does not give herself to a man the way you've given yourself to Ralvar unless she is certain of something. Maybe not of forever. But of now. Of him. Of wanting."
Delia swallowed. "How do you know I—thatwe—"
"You smell like his satisfaction." Thessaly's voice was matter-of-fact but not unkind. "And he walked into his officers' meeting looking like a man who had touched the sun and survived."
Warmth bloomed in Delia's chest. He'd been happy. Visibly, obviously happy. Because of her.
Thessaly was watching her knowingly. "You care for him."
"I do." Delia hesitated. "He carries a lot of grief, doesn't he? The warriors he lost.""
"Yes,” the orc woman said sadly. “I was here when it happened. I helped carry the bodies home."
Delia's eyes burned. "He told me about them. What they were like. Not just how they died."
"Did he." It wasn't quite a question. Thessaly's gaze had sharpened again, assessing. "He doesn't speak of them. Not to anyone. The grief sits in him like a stone."
"He wept." Delia didn't know why she was saying this. Didn't know if it was a betrayal of confidence. But something in Thessaly's face told her this woman would understand. "When he told me. He wept."
Thessaly was very still for a long moment.
"Then you have already given him something precious," she said finally. "Release. Permission to feel what he's been carrying alone." She began packing her satchel. "The pull doesn't make mistakes, you know. It finds the one who can unlock what we've kept closed. For Ralvar, that meant someone who could holdhis grief without flinching. Someone who could see his tears and not think him weak."
"I would never think him weak."
"No." Thessaly smiled, rising to her feet. "I don't believe you would."
She moved toward the door, then paused, looking back.
"He's been in his officers' meeting for hours now. Handling patrol reports, coordinating responses to the guards who fled. Duty has always been his anchor." Her smile glinted with something knowing. "But I suspect he's been distracted. Thinking of something—or someone—waiting for him here."
Delia felt her cheeks warm again. "He said he might be gone for several hours."
"Several hours have passed." Thessaly's smile turned teasing. "And I've never known Ralvar to be long on patience when something he wants is within reach."
"He's been... patient with me."
"He's exercised restraint, which is different." Thessaly's smile turned knowing. "But now that you've welcomed him, I suspect his restraint is... somewhat diminished."
Before Delia could respond or even process the heat that flooded through her at the words, the door swung open.
Ralvar stood in the threshold.
