Page 40

She paused at the trunk.

“Oh, um…” I swallowed. “You both seem like good fits.”

Whatever hesitation they’d been harboring dissipated. Amaria stripped me out of the nightgown with efficient movements without once pulling my hair. Shelby guided the thin white dress over my head, tying the neckline at the center of my chest. Then she guided another piece of clothing overtop, one I didn’t identify right away: a set of long stays, nearly identical to pictures I’d seen from the Regency period. Amaria’s fingers were deft as she tightened the laces I couldn’t see. She stopped long before I would call it uncomfortable, and only one spot under my arm cut into my skin in an obnoxious way. They weren’t really all that noticeable and way more supportive than a typical bra. While she was working on them, Shelby took the last bit of fabric from the pile and laid it across the empty cot and then pulled a hairbrush from the basket of supplies that had been covered.

“Let me go get Reuben,” Amaria said as Shelby pulled out the half-done braids that someone had put into my hair after I’d passed out.

Shelby didn’t say anything as she brushed my hair and then styled it, pulling the top back while letting the bottom fall over shoulders. She pinned with a quick expertise and then had me shake my head to make sure nothing would move. When she was content with everything, she grabbed a mirror from the basket they’d brought and adjusted her fire jar so that I could see myself in the reflection better.

My face was bruised and cuts marred my throat and shoulders, but there was a rosy color to my cheeks I didn’t see all that often. She’d twisted my hair away from my face, blending it into a seamless fishtail braid for several stitches before pinning it along the nape of my neck. Between the stitches of the braid were silver leaves and flowers that practically glowed against my black hair.

“Wow,” I whispered.

Shelby flushed. “You like it? The people in the court typically wear little trinkets in their hair like that, but some don’t care for them. My dad doesn’t really wear his hair like that even though he’s been here from the Far Lands for forty years now.”

I swallowed. “Your dad’s from the Far Lands?”

She nodded and quickly gathered all the items she’d used on my hair. “He was an omega selected by Freia for the Rite,” she explained with a small smile. That didn’t bode well for my lie, but I wasn’t about to try to backtrack right now. “It’s been… eight cycles now. Mom always describes seeing him on Magefall as love at first sight. Not all are so lucky, but they’re both grateful to Freia that she brought them together.”

I wasn’t sure at all what to say to that. I focused on my hand, and the question just fell out.

“When will this go away?”

Shelby smiled. “When your marriage is validated in a Freian Temple. Most happen within a month of the Rite, though Callum will wait until the others complete theirs, so it might be more like six weeks or so.”

Marriage.

Sloane had been right after all.

The entrance of the tent opened, letting in enough light that I squinted against it. Reuben stepped in with Amaria close behind, settling the entrance flaps back into place behind her.

“You’re well?” he asked.

I swallowed and then nodded, not quite sure what came next. He sat on the edge of my cot again, his hands quick to press against either side of my ankle. The electric touch was worse than before, and I sucked in a ragged breath. Amaria dodged around Shelby, circling her fingers around my wrist. Reuben moved his hands, and the electric pulse turned into a white-hot lance of pain. This time I screamed, the sound hoarse, bringing back bits of yesterday—screaming as someone touched my head, blinding pain as he evaluated my leg, blood covering his hands. Amaria’s hold on my wrist tightened and then disappeared, nearly in sync with the pain dissipating.

“Holy Jesus Christ,” I muttered once I could breathe again.

Shelby giggled. “Who’s Jesus Christ?”

The question drew me up short. I looked between the three of them. They all had curious expressions, like they’d never heard that particular phrase before. I swallowed and then shrugged.

“It’s… just something we would say,” I said. “To express shock or frustration, mostly.”

“Ah, well, it suits the situation well, then,” Reuben said. “Mending is not something that is often considered comfortable.”

He pulled his hands away and then readjusted the bandages, quietly instructing me to try to move my foot. Despite all the pain, I was able to point my toes.

“Good,” Reuben said, a small smile tilting his lips. “Let me splint your ankle, and then I’d like you to attempt to stand.”

His fingers practically danced as he set a smaller pair of metal rods against my ankle, the edges hooking under my foot, and then wrapped them, keeping a layer between them and my skin. Outside the tent was a lot of movement, like people were rushing around. No one looked up in alarm, so I tried to ignore the sounds. When Reuben was finished, Amaria held out her hand in offering. It took me a minute to figure out how to adjust so my legs draped over the side of the cot, but no one pestered me to go faster. Shelby edged back so she stood at the foot of the other cot, her hands held loosely in front of her. It was only then I noticed her dress—a deep indigo with silver thread work like Reuben’s cloak that brushed the floor and long sleeves that extended onto the backs of her hands. Amaria’s was similar, though the fabric was different, almost a velvet.

“Ready?” Amaria asked, bringing my attention back to what I was supposed to be doing.

I carefully eased to my feet, not trusting my left leg at all.

“Is everything all right?” That same person as before.

Reuben soaked in my every movement, a frown curving his lips again, a line between his eyebrows as they pressed low above his eyes.