Time seemed to skip. Without her realizing, Xander was at her side, his hands gentle on her shoulders as he sat her down on the table by Luna’s legs. In a daze, Bisma watched as he fed Luna more of the fortifying potion, then was transfixed by hislong, clean fingers stitching up the cuts. Her gaze then went to her own hands, which were coated with black blood.
‘You did excellent, Bis,’ Xander told her, but he sounded very far away. ‘Bisma …Bisma.’
She startled, turning to look at him. The room came back in brutal focus.
‘She’s going to be okay,’ Xander said. His fingers were gently touching Luna’s neck.
‘She lost so much blood,’ Bisma whispered.
‘I know, but look,’ he said, reaching for her hand, which was limp. She allowed him to bring her fingers against Luna’s throat, pressing against her pulse.
For a moment, Bisma felt nothing, and her chest cleaved in two—until the pads of her fingers picked up a pulse. It was faint—so soft!—but it was there. She released a long breath, relief pouring over her.
‘Why don’t you get her more of the sleeping syrup while I finish up here?’ he asked, busy cleaning Luna’s arm. There were six ugly wounds along her arm, where Bisma had cut her. ‘It’s just there by the juniper berries. I’ll apply more of the numbing jelly so she doesn’t feel any pain in her sleep.’
She went to retrieve the vial, then emptied a dose into Luna’s mouth. While Luna was still asleep, this second dose would help ease her into another cycle of sleep.
With nothing else to do, Xander and Bisma both stood back, exhausted and stunned.
Luna had almost died. The realization struck her like a physical blow. Suddenly the smell and sight of blood was too much. Nausea overcame her, and before she could stop herself, she doubled over.
She had just enough time to aim into a nearby dustbin before vomiting. The sound was awful. Her throat burned, but shecouldn’t stop until the contents of her stomach were emptied. Even then she stood dry heaving, gasping for breath.
It was only afterwards that she realized Xander was holding her hair back, gentle hand in her hair. She straightened, embarrassed, and he released her hair. It fell forward, and she wanted to hide, to bury herself in the soil.
Xander brought a clean cloth forward, raising it in his hand as if to wipe her face, but she turned her face, ashamed of the spectacle she’d made of herself.
‘Bis,’ he said, his voice soft, but still she would not look at him. She was on the very edge; even so, she did not wish to break down in front of him. Her body trembled.
As if realizing, he dropped his hand, stepping back. ‘I’ll just get some clean towels,’ he said, but she hardly heard him. She didn’t watch him walk away, only listened for the door closing shut behind him.
Once it sounded, she was alone. Pain spread through her and tears shot to her eyes. A sob rose in her throat, and she clamped a hand over her mouth, keeping it shut, not allowing it to release.
There was no one around to hear, but still, she would not allow herself to be vocal. The sob threatened to break, but she forced it back with both hands, as if she could stop this agony from overcoming her.
This was all her fault. Her entire body shuddered with the suppressed cries. She quickly wiped the tears away as they bubbled up in her eyes, catching them before they fell.
When the tears finally stopped, she uncovered her mouth, gasping for breath with only one thought going through her head:
What have you done?
12
As if sensing she needed time alone, Xander was gone for some time.
Luna slept while Bisma stared off into the distance, unmoving.
Xander returned about an hour later, and this time, she actually saw him. He had changed and freshened up. With him, he brought a tray of food balanced atop a pile of clean cloth.
Around him, things came into focus again: the greenhouse, the aftermath of the bloody procedure, and she realized the bedraggled state she was in. Her clothes were covered with blood and reeked.
Xander set the tray of food down on the table, then approached her with something else in his hands.
‘Here,’ Xander said, holding a folded piece of clothing out to her. His voice was kind.
‘Oh.’ She blinked, taking it. The fabric was thick and soft, obviously expensive.
‘It’s an old dress of my mother’s,’ he explained. ‘Don’t worry; she won’t miss it.’
