“Adalbrand,” he said tightly, his breath gusting out warm in the air between us as he huffed another laugh. “Sir Adalbrand.”
“Is this truly funny, Sir Adalbrand?” I asked as he pulled away from me, swaying, letting out little hisses of pain from between his lips. He was about as heavy as I’d expected, given that he was a knight in half armor, but he was far leaner than Sir Branson had been.
Excuse you.
And his close proximity to me felt … uncomfortable. But not entirely in a bad way.
I order you not to be attracted to this man. It will only embarrass us all.
You and the demon will be embarrassed? How terrible. I’m sure I’ll do everything in my power to spare you.
Little morsel, tasty morsel.
Oh great. The other one was going to weigh in.
We read the inscription the sorrow-drinker was trying to parse out, tasty morsel. His Indul is rusty, I think. We can use what it said to secure a place here. If you want to do that instead of tasting sugared plums.
“There’s something very wrong with your dog,” the Poisoned Saint — Sir Adalbrand — choked out.
“I won’t kill him,” I said immediately, frowning. “He belonged to Sir Branson.”
Sir Adalbrand held up his hands as if to ward off the thought. He was — I realized — treating me as if I were just as rabid as the dog might be. Just as likely to bite him. He couldn’t seem to tear his eyes from my face, as if it would warn him before I leapt.
“I’m not asking you to kill the dog.” He hesitated, like maybe he was asking that but wasn’t sure if that was going too far. “But if you won’t let me heal your injuries, then will you at least let me restitch your wounds and apply a poultice?”
My mouth fell open.
“I think maybe we should be worried about your injuries. The bite in particular.”
“Oh, don’t think for a moment that I can forget that.” The look on his face was wry as he prodded at the area around his wound. “Saints and Angels. It hurts like a bear.”
He gusted another laugh and I couldn’t help that I warmed to that, could I? Something about humor in the face of tragedy had that effect on me.
Mmm, you never told me you could be lulled by honeyed words and dimples. I can make my words drip with sugar. They can go down sweet and sprout like mushrooms until their spores consume you whole. I can have dimples, too, if it helps.
The Poisoned Saint did have dimples. They were showing now as he twisted back and forth looking at his leg.
“You might want to inspect your dog’s mouth. He seems to have dented some of the metal rings just here.” He pointed to a leather strap that went around his thigh. A very nice thigh, even if it did have a chunk missing now. “The dog’s mouth might be mangled.”
I waved a hand, keeping my tone dry as the desert. “Never trouble yourself about him.”
Excuse you.
I ignored whoever was offended.
Do you know what I read on that pillar, little luncheon?
I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. Was it not enough that he had bit a paladin?
Sir Adalbrand’s mouth quirked in an ironic smile. “Then may I suggest that we both stitch and salve these wounds together? You’ll owe me nothing. It will simply be the two of us being practical.”
I paused. Because here’s the thing about having nothing. You can never pay anyone back. The simple things they give away as if they are of little note, are treasures to you. What they take for granted, you are barred from. So, he might say that I wouldn’t incur a debt by agreeing to take his help, but did he really mean it, or did he simply think I had something I could offer him later? I tried to be in no one’s debt — for debts were not things I could pay. All they ever did was drive wedges between those who could have been friends.
“I’ll owe you for the salve,” I said carefully, trying to keep any eagerness out of my voice. A salve would be a wonderful thing. My wounds were not doing well. Even I knew that they were infected. “But I have a way to pay.”
“Do you?” His smile deepened even though he still wasn’t putting weight on his bitten leg as he limped over to the saddlebags and rummaged around inside, his gaze shooting often to Brindle, who was playing innocent as he tore apart a stick and then shook it back and forth in mock play.
Adalbrand had a calm manner. I saw it in how the horses relaxed as he passed, as if he were a warm breeze blowing across their backs and taking with it the buzzing flies.
