Page 118 of The Pakhan’s Debt by Leona White

Maksim obeys on my behalf. His hand settles at my back, and he guides me into the east sitting room, the plush one with heavy curtains, deep chairs, and a fire already built. Mrs. Wentworth sets the tray on the dark wood of the carved side table beside the sofa.

“Tea,” she says. “Chamomile. For the nerves.”

“My nerves are busy.”

“Then stop giving them management duties,” Mrs. Wentworth says, setting the cup closer. “Drink.”

Maksim exhales through his nose and glances at the cup like he has bigger problems than chamomile.

Abramov comes in with Yelena carrying a medical bag, gray hair pinned back, glasses on a chain. Abramov stops at the door. “Doctor is here. Outer hall sealed.”

“Good,” Maksim says. He turns to the doctor and says, “Check her.”

Yelena gives him one look. “You’re bleeding through your shirt.”

“Her first.”

She kneels beside me. Lidiya holds my sleeve while Yelena cleans the cut on my forearm, and my fingers curl into the blanket when it stings.

“Pulse is fast,” Yelena says.

I say nothing.

She checks my eyes, my wrist, then rests her hand over my lower stomach with care. Her face softens.

“The baby held,” she says. “Strong-willed, this one.”

“Like her mother?” Mrs. Wentworth asks.

Yelena smiles, her eyes crinkling. “Exactly.”

I look down before anyone sees my face break.

Grachev arrives next, bald, wide, and already annoyed. He cuts Maksim’s shirt open without asking. Maksim looks offended enough to start another war.

“Shallow,” Grachev says after cleaning the wound. “Messy, but shallow.”

“I know.”

“Then stop bleeding on good furniture.”

Lidiya presses her lips together. I almost laugh.

Mrs. Wentworth returns with broth, soft bread, butter, weak tea, and boiled potatoes with salt. She sets it before me. “Eat.”

I manage three spoonfuls before my stomach turns.

“I want bed,” I say.

Maksim stands at once. “Then bed.”

He walks me upstairs himself. I don’t argue when his arm comes around my waist. The hallway feels longer than usual, and every lamp looks too bright. In the bedroom, he helps me out of the ruined coat and waits while Lidiya brings me a clean nightdress. He turns his back, but he doesn’t leave.

When I’m under the covers, he sits on the edge of the bed.

“You need to sleep.” He adjusts the blanket over my feet.

“So do you.”