“She was so kind,” the woman said softly. “So good.” Silver spilled onto her cheek, and she cleared her throat. “If she remembers what it was like to love, she does not care.”
Thia’s blood chilled. “That’s awful,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She stared at the door to the other room as if she could see the girl through it and wondered if she should ask to stay elsewhere.
Sorscha cleared her throat again, straightening her shoulders. “Thank you.” She reached a hand for Thia, still looking at the cloths, and Thia took it. “I’m sorry to ask this of you, but could you check in on her wound?”
Thia did not relish the thought of examining Oskaren’s bare stomach after everything the girl had implied, and everything Sorscha had just told her, but she could not say no to the woman after all her help. “Sure.”
“Thank you,” Sorscha replied, with genuine warmth. “I’ll fetch some breakfast to go along with our wyrtwala.”
Thia watched her retreating form and took a few breaths to pluck up her courage, then crossed the room to rap lightly on the door where Oskaren had gone. “Oskaren?”
“Come in.”
Thia pressed through, the wood rough under her fingers. Oskaren was seated on the bed. She had discarded her tunic, leaving her collarbones visible between the untied laces of her white shirt. Thia looked away, cheeks hot.
“Come to play nursemaid?” Oskaren wore the same smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
“Something like that.” Thia glanced around the room. Sorscha had left the wine and bandages on the table. Good. “Can you lie down?” she asked, forcing her voice to stay clinical. “I need to check your wound.”
“Stop the ruse, Faelyn. If you want me to undress, just ask.”
“My name is Thia,” Thia said, ignoring the rest.
Oskaren just flashed another grin that was halfway to a snarl, but she did obligingly lie back.
Thia stepped up to the bed. “May I?”
Oskaren reached down and pulled her shirt up, revealing the bandaged wound. “Go ahead.”
Obnoxiously, the girl wasn’t wrong. Under other circumstances, she probablywasthe sort of person Thia would have liked to see undressed—tall and broad and lean, the opposite of her own short, round form. But that fact could not make up for the sense that the girl was toying with her, not for fun but just to have something to do. And Thia dreaded being laughed at.
Keeping her face neutral, she untied the bandage, a little clumsily with the slice through her own left palm. Oskaren’s wound looked good, or as good as it could all things considered. It was no longer bleeding, indicating that it had clotted nicely, and the discoloration had faded entirely. Thia pressed a finger lightly around the edges, and Oskaren hissed. “How bad does it hurt?”
“Sweet of you to worry,” came the reply, with enough sarcasm that Thia rolled her eyes. The skin was warm but not so hot as to be concerning. At this point, it would probably be fine to clean the wound with soap and water, but she didn’t have soap, and she didn’t trust the water. She soaked a fresh cloth in wine and handed a second dry one to Oskaren. “Bite down.”
“There are better ways to shut me up,” Oskaren informed her, and Thia tried not to enjoy it when the girl growled in pain as she pressed the wine-soaked fabric to the wound.
When she was confident it was clean, she fetched another long cloth and wrapped it around Oskaren’s waist.
“Well, Faelyn? What’s the consensus?”
Thia frowned. It was the same word again, which meant it was a nickname, not a mistake. She moved back to allow Oskaren to pull down her shirt. “You’ll survive.”
“Pity.”
Thia inspected her, puzzled. There was bitterness in that word, she was sure of it. In the way the girl’s shoulders curved in for a brief moment as she carefully sat up.
If she remembers what it was like to love, she does not care.
“Do you—” she began, but Oskaren suddenly snarled.
“Get out.”
“What?”
“Getout.” Her hand was on her chest, breathing shallow.
“Are you in pain? Your wound—”
