“What’re you doing?”
There was panic in the Kinslayer’s voice and I batted away the large hands that grabbed at me, that attempted to keep the blade away. My voice stern, “Either let me work or watch him bleed out on this damn floor, Delmar.”
My blade sliced through the fine fabric of Prince Kairen’s shirt, revealing the golden tattoos that swirled on every inch of skin beneath. “Bring the lantern closer,” I commanded, my inhale sharp when his wound became clearer. Deep and jagged, it cleaved the skin and muscle in two. I couldn’t heal it, but I could at least slow the bleeding until Rena arrived.
“He was stabbed?” My throat strained with panic, an octave higher than usual. “Bring me that satchel and fill that bowl with water, okay?”
Why do you panic?
The shadows curved through my mind, their hissing soft and curious.
Is this not what you have practiced for, little shadow?
So many years you have spent at the bedside of those who await death; he is not any different.
A Solerian Prince is who bleeds upon your floor, perhaps you should let him slip away.
A dead Soliel is the only good Soliel.
I ignored them.
As soon as my potions bag was beside me, I unlatched it with practiced, precise fingers. No longer were they shaking, my mind and body a tool honed for this. Iknewpotions, I knew how to care for the ill.
I could do this.
Prince Kairen groaned as I grabbed the first potion, a vial of clear liquid. Uncorking it, I tilted his chin back gently with a finger and said, “The taste won’t be pleasant, but it’ll help to clot the wound and replenish the blood you’ve lost.”
His throat bobbed as I pressed it to his lips and poured. He coughed, face twisting with pain as he gagged when the vile taste hit his tongue.
Grabbing the next potion I promised, “This one will be muchbetter. We call it the Elixir of Euphoria. It’ll ease your pain as I clean your wound and make it bearable until Rena returns to heal it. Though, it’ll also make you higher than Soli’s Kingdom in the sky.”
I flicked the vial gently, eyeing the shimmering golden liquid within before I brought it to his lips. He took it with ease compared to the last, a quiet groan releasing as the elixir took effect.
Slowly his breathing grew less ragged, the creases of pain easing as his eyes opened and golden irises stared back at me, unfocused and hazy. His hand reached up, fingers catching in the inky tresses that fell over my shoulders.
Eyes narrowing, his words slurring, he whispered, “They dance like a shadow.”
A throat cleared and I pulled away, a rough exhale rushing out. My eyes darted to the Kinslayer who sat upon Rena’s bed, arms crossed as he glowered upon us. Not a word was said as I quickly began searching through my bag once more, pulling out strips of clean cloth. Dipping them into the water, I set to cleaning gently around the edges of the wound, the potion working quickly to clot it.
After a few minutes, I sat back, chewing my lip. “I think that’s the best I can do for now. I won’t be able to tell how much internal damage he has though, only Rena will be able to heal that. Are you sure we shouldn't take him to—”
“No Master Healers.”
My lips pinched shut. With a sigh I took the bowl to the little sink we had within our room and poured it, cleaning it and filling it with new water.
Grabbing fresh strips of linen, I approached Roan Delmar cautiously, as I would a wild animal. His eyes watched me carefully, as if any sudden move I made would cause his retreat.
“Your turn,” it was more a demand than a question as I set the bowl upon Rena’s desk, dipping the cloth.
“I’m not injured.”
Rolling my eyes, I stepped closer, lips pursing as I ran the cloth against his cheek with focused precision. “You’re covered in blood. Injury or not, it’s unsanitary.” He let out a snort at that, but fell quiet as I worked. The cloth moved across his jaw next, the blood disappearing beneath my careful ministrations–down his throat that swallowed as it dragged lightly over his pulse point. I turned to his hands next, gentle as I wiped the blood from them. Scars littered the rough skin beneath the golden tattoos, little ones that seemingly had no rhyme or reason, and as I flipped his hands to clean his palms, rough callouses scraped against the cloth.
Now washed of blood, my eyes narrowed upon the cuts on his knuckles, the skin torn and bruised and Itskedquietly.
“Not injured, huh?”
I moved back to my potions bag, grabbing an ointment that I kept on hand at all times.
