Biting my cheek to prevent myself from crying out, a coppery tang greeted me, memories I’d buried bubbling to the surface. It grounded me enough to lift my chin, my eyes settling on Caspian’s vaguely rising chest. Ignoring the threat of blooming blisters on my fingers, I swallowed, fixating on the building drum of Syoran’s footsteps. Using his patterned gait as a crutch for my pain, I slipped into the darkest corners of my mind where I often hid from Malrik, squeezing the bag with enough force to speed up the seeping process.
This isn’t Malrik, and it isn’t another one of his punishments.
It is Caspian, and he is fucking dying.
“Come on, you stubborn bastard,” I huffed out between clenched teeth, working to dampen the connection between my mind and body. “You can’t die unless it’s by my hand.”
Giving the sachet one final pinch, I tore my hand from the water. Reddened and angry with my unexplainable decision, my arm throbbed as a reminder of my idiocy, the pulsating agony shooting up its length before burying itself into every nerve-ending I had.Darkness swarmed my vision, and I barely had enough time to catch myself, my hand slamming against the bedpost as a last resort to keep myself upright. Revived by the harsh slap of my collision, my gaze steadied, landing on a pair of cuffs that’d been added to the bed frame's design.
Of course, he’d be into that.
Closing my uninjured hand around the pot’s handle, I filled the singular cup halfway with the mixture that now came to me instinctively. A prayer started in the back of my mind as I begged every Damned god for the concoction to work, for Malrik not to have changed the cure he’d forced me to memorize. Moving from the tray, I guided the liquid toward Caspian’s lifeless frame, slipping my blistered palm under the base of his skull.
An uncontrolled cry erupted from me, the compression of weight mixed with even the slightest brush of the back of my hand against his sheets becoming almost too much for me to handle. I lifted Caspian’s head and brought the tea to his lips. Slowly, I poured the herbal mixture into his mouth, watching intently to ensure I wasn’t drowning him—something I would’ve happily done hours ago.
“Wake up, Caspian,” I pleaded, near desperation. “You’ve got to wake up.”
Syoran rounded the corner with a stack of rolled and damp towels tucked under his arm. “What the fuck do you mean he’s not breathing? You had every supply you told me you needed, you fucking wretched?—”
With an abruptness that had a sigh of relief escaping me, Caspian’s chest rose with an influx of air. Swallowing the remnants of liquid in his throat, I gave him the rest before gesturing toward one of the pails near the door. “Give me that.”
“For what?”
“HIM!” I snapped, motioning at it yet again. “It’s poison, which means he’ll likely need to purge?—”
Freeing my arm from beneath him, Caspian suddenly shifted, turning onto his side with the confirmation of his building need to vomit. As Syoran raised the bucket toward me, I snatched it withurgency, bringing it to his captain right as his body finally caved beneath its urge to expel the poison afflicting him.
A broken groan joined every heave, Caspian’s body trembling as the cure worked to cleanse his essence of the poison's effects. I remained unmoved from where I stood, keeping the pail beneath him to allow him to empty as much of his stomach as necessary, so long as it meant he continued breathing—continuedliving.
Continuing to do my best to ignore the agonizing throb assaulting my arm, I lifted my gaze to Syoran. “Towel, please.”
He closed the gap between us, passing off the moisture-laden material to me, and I immediately rested it against the back of Caspian’s neck. Its cooling presence coiled around his heated skin, working to stabilize his searing temperature. Once I was satisfied with its position, I lifted my hand, gliding my fingers through his silken hair with a gentleness I never would’ve expected myself to extend to a man like him.
Time seemed to still, a silence blanketing us as we held space for him to release, knowing that the wound on his side still awaited tending. Yet, somehow, knowing that I saved him from the impending doom that had awaited him—a doom that would’ve been inescapable if I hadn’t been on their ship—sent me into a state of questioning the implications of fate. There had to have been a reason he’d shown up that stormy night, a reason he’d purchased me only to toss me into a cell on his ship.
A reason only the gods seemed to know.
Seconds turned to minutes, and I hadn’t realized how far I’d dove into the wells of dissociation until the depth of Syoran’s voice pulled me from it. “Thank you.”
I held his dark gaze, staring at him with a disbelief I knew was etched into my features. His extension of gratitude threw me off kilter; it was the last thing I expected, considering the venom we’d spewed at one another before we stepped foot in Caspian’s quarters. It was a thankfulness that I didn’t think a pirate could harbor because of the greed that pulsed through their veins as fluidly as their life force, an avarice that also clouded the minds of many walking the land.
Maybe we weren’t that different after all.
“Rohen?”
Blinking, I shook my head. “Yeah?”
Syoran’s body shifted, and I flinched as he raised his hand, only to watch as he brought it down to rest gently on my shoulder. “Thank you.”
Again? He’s repeating it?
Caspian groaned, and I muttered an internal thanks to him for curbing the awkwardness looming between his co-captain and me. Weakly rolling, he fell back onto the bed, unbothered by the rag seeping into the pillow beneath his head. Craning his chin, his gaze swept across us as something undecipherable rippled through his crimson irises. Right when I thought it was an appreciation for my help, a potential shift in his thoughts of me, and a desire to have me around, he opened his mouth, and every ounce of hatred I held for him reignited with an unrelenting burn.
“Get this… fucking bitch… out of my sight.”
CHAPTER 17
Stitched Wounds
