Both Delaynie and Rylla barked their laughter. “I think you’ll be lucky if she doesn’t castrate you,” Rylla said. “But also”—she smirked— “yes. She will be proud.” The Kreah warrior bade them both a goodnight and left the room. There was a flash of blue light, then a near silent click as the bedroom door closed behind her once more.
“Please don’t tell me you started a fight because you heard people discussing a coup.”
Quentin made an indignant noise. “Actually, no. And I neverstarteda fight. I simply stood up for my queen, as any of us would’ve done.”
“Stood up for her how?”
Ah. yes. Quentin picked at an invisible mark on the lip of the bath.
“I might’ve put a knife to a man’s throat. But trust me, he deserved it.”
Delaynie was silent for a long moment before letting out a heavy sigh. She stood, gesturing to him.
“You need to dunk your head. In case you didn’t know, there’s blood in your hair, too.”
“Little wolf, that’s just my hair. In caseyoudidn’t know, it’s red.”
Delaynie rubbed her eyes. “Quentin, for once in your life,pleasejust take something seriously.”
He chuckled, then winced at the way his bruised ribs expanded. “Don’t think I will. Sounds terribly boring.” Still, he did as she asked. Closing his eyes, he dropped below the surface of the water. It rushed over his face and into his hands. He scrubbed quickly through the lengths, pulling out the blood and sand matted there, desperately trying to ignore the flames of pain licking across his back.
He emerged, wiping the water from his eyes. Delaynie stood over him, holding out a clean and deliciously soft-looking towel.
“Wrap yourself in this then meet me outside.”
Quentin looked at the towel then back at her. “So…I can take my pants off now?”
Delaynie dropped the towel. It pooled on the tile beside the bath. “Just stop testing my patience so I can clean your wounds.” She nearly sprinted from the bathroom, scooping up the basket of supplies Rylla had left and closing the door behind her.
Quentin smiled to himself again, his pain again momentarily forgotten. He slipped out of his soiled pants and carefully dried himself with the cloud-like cotton, avoiding his back where slowly clotting blood oozed from his torn and ragged skin.
Testing her patience was just so muchfun. He didn’t think he would ever be able to stop.
Delaynie was organizingthe healing supplies on her bed when Quentin emerged from the bathroom, dry with the towel wrapped around his hips. She’d slipped into a long robe, all that creamy skin hidden once more. He watched her for a moment as she worked, fighting to keep himself from swaying on his feet.
He felt remarkably better after the bath. While his wounds were starting to clot, blood still trickled down his back. His once-white towel was stained and spotted with ruby red.
“Stop lurking.”
Quentin started at Delaynie’s words. She gestured to a chair she’d moved beside the bed. “Sit there, back facing me.”
“As you command, little wolf.”
A grin pulled at his lips as she grumbled something under her breath, still refusing to turn to him. Quentin limped toward the chair, pain rippling through him as each step tugged at his injured skin. He settled into it—chest against the cool wood, knees notched on either side—and adjusted his towel, making sure his more sensitive places were covered.
Not that he cared, but he’d seen the needle Delaynie was threading through with healing twine. He didn’t particularly want to push hertoofar while she had that thing in her hands.
They were quiet, only the sound of the rustling and clinking of supplies filling the room. Finally, it stopped, and Quentin heard Delaynie draw in a deep breath.
He felt her eyes on his back. Assessing. Soft fingertips traced gingerly down between his shoulder blades, outlining the path ofOralla’s claws. Testing his flesh where the wounds were deepest, feeling for signs of heat and early infection.
It should’ve hurt. They were open wounds, for gods’ sake. Instead, Quentin’s breath caught in his throat, and he had to fight the shiver that wanted to climb up his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck raised as Delaynie’s sweet, warm breath skated over his skin.
Her fingers left him momentarily before a glass bottle was shoved in his face.
“Drink this,” she commanded.
Was he imagining the slight hoarseness in her voice?
