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This time he obeyed and laid the tiny form on the cold, hard ground. Anrid arranged her arms and legs gently, squeezing the limbs to check for broken bones. She moved along the girl’s rail-thin torso and up to her neck and chin. She tilted her head and noticed the profusion of blood along Medda’s hairline. Using her apron, she tried to wipe it away, but more blood oozed from the jagged gash on the girl’s head. She ripped her apron free of her body and balled it into a wad to press hard against the wound. She needed to stop the bleeding.
A hand pressed down on her shoulder. “Is she—she’s not—” Kora broke off and reached out his other hand to press against Medda’s throat. A puff of air from his mouth suggested he’d found a pulse.
Perhaps the injury wasn’t as bad as it appeared. “Head wounds always bleed a lot,” she said, to convince herself as much as them. “It probably looks worse than it is.”
A strangled sound tore free of Jael, but she didn’t have time just then to try to comfort or console him. “Pull yourself together.” She snapped the words at him.
Jael gawked at her, eyes so red and watery she thought he might be on the verge of crying.
“This is your fault,” she continued, her voice high and strained.
“My—my fault?”
“Yes. If you hadn’t lost your temper…if you hadn’t started that fight...”
He seemed at a loss for words, which was fine by her, because for once she knew what she wanted to say. “I didn’t ask you to come to my defense like that, to fight for me. Why couldn’t you have just let the matter go? This isn’t the first time I’ve been insulted, nor will it be the last. I’m a grown woman: I can take it. I don’t need you to fight my battles for me.”
Still, he said nothing, only stared at her as a haunting sort of understanding seeped over his expression. Horror, guilt, pain…they all battled for possession of his expression. Under other circumstances, she would have tempered her tone and tried to console him, to find a way to salvage the situation. But right now…anger overran reason. He had done this.
“Perhaps—” Kora coughed softly from behind them, where he stood with Math and the elves, who had fallen silent. “Perhaps we should get her to the housekeeper. That gash is going to need stitching.”
Anrid shot a look over her shoulder. “Do you think it’s safe to move her?”
The goblin’s expression twisted as he considered. “I’ll fetch her to us.”
“This is ridiculous!” Lord Talos snarled. He spun away and cupped one hand on the back of his neck, almost as if he’d reached the end of what little patience he possessed.
Hot, angry tears pricked at Anrid’s eyes, but she focused on Kora. She nodded that she approved of this plan and returned her efforts to staunching the flow of blood. If she couldn’t stop it…she shuddered to think how quickly a child this small might bleed out. The thought made her want to wretch all over the floor.
It felt like an eternity until heavy footsteps entered the meeting hall. Anrid didn’t bother to look up. She recognized Trap’s heavy breathing. The housekeeper dropped down beside her and performed a hurried examination of the goblin child.
When Anrid didn’t move to get out of the way, Trap took her wrist in a firm grip and dipped her head to catch Anrid’s eye. “I’ve got her now, lass. Let me have a peek.”
Anrid hesitated before she released her hold on the wadded apron.
The minutes stretched by as Trap continued her ministrations. Anrid’s hands shook in her lap while she tried to wait, but her arms ached to reach for Medda, to scoop the little one onto her lap and hug her tight until all this blackness faded away. How could she have let this happen? How had none of them noticed that Medda had sneaked out of the kitchen and followed them?
Kora returned with Trap’s medical basket. It was filled with neatly rolled bandages, corked amber vials filled with liquids, sachets of dried herbs and flowers, as well as more unpleasant tools such as scissors, needles and thread.
In all this, not one of the dark elves had offered to help. Most of them watched in stony silence while her husband and one of the older elves whispered furtively between themselves.
Perhaps plotting and scheming how to use Jael’s unfortunate display of temper to their own advantage.
What had he been thinking?
Anrid avoided acknowledging the elves. There would be time to deal with them—with him—later, but right now Medda needed her full attention. She held the girl’s hand while Trap cleaned and stitched up the ugly gash on her skull. She worked with skilled ease, as if she’d done these tasks many times before.
In all this, Medda didn’t so much as blink. Her chest rose and fell with shallow breathing, but she exhibited no other signs of life. It was as if…as if she were caught in a moment between living and dying and hadn’t decided which direction she would go.
Tears trailed down her cheeks at last.
Trap sat back on her heels, bloody hands falling idle in her lap. Her mobcap lay cast aside on the ground, revealing the housekeeper’s unruly head of curls in their full glory. Two spots of color warmed the goblin woman’s cheeks as she caught Anrid’s eye.
“I’ve done all I can.” Her voice held a wobble, but she cleared her throat and steeled herself.
How quickly this tiny, feral creature had wormed her way into all their hearts.
“When will she wake up?” Anrid forced the question past trembling lips. She wished she had an iota of the goblin woman’s strength.
