“My feet?” A similar stinging sensation and dull ache pulsated there as well.
“The same, I’m afraid.”
Her frown deepened as she held the mug out. I fumbled for it, gripping it as steadily as I could as I brought it to my lips. Hot and sweet, the spiced tea warmed my mouth and throat, its comforting heat spreading to my belly.
“Adastrus?” I asked.
“Suffered far worse.”
“Not only are you the victor,” Sainte cut in, “Nellium marked you as chosen.”
Nellie. The imaginary girl in my head likes to be called Nellie.
“His left hand…” I hedged.
“It can be saved.” The healer shrugged, a line creasing her brow. “His fingers cannot, not without Togamar’s intervention.”
“Who?”
“Goddess of Healing,” Sainte supplied.
“He’d be hard-pressed to receive aid from her.” Gilead shook her head. “Regardless, you are the victor, and Nellium marked you. This bodes well.”
After I drained my drink, she retrieved the mug, and Sainte lowered his hold, allowing me to support the blanket over my chest. He made no effort to move, providing a comforting anchor for me to lean against.
I had completed one trial, with two more ahead. Each step brought me closer to leading a kingdom of strangers. Passing that first rite felt like chance, not skill. And why was I marked? I knew nothing of leadership. I’d be at the mercy of people like Anderz who would use me as a puppet.
Gilead gave me a knowing look, as if she sensed the direction my thoughts wandered. She headed for the door, then paused at the threshold. “Stay with her, Captain Nytestorm. Send word if she catches a fever.”
As her footsteps faded and a door creaked open and closed, I gazed into the flames. Sainte’s sigh brushed against my back, and his forehead rested heavily on my shoulder.
“Tired?” I asked. All this moving about had to be wearing on him. His injuries were nowhere near fully healed.
“Elspeth, you could push a man to an early grave.”
I grinned to myself, staring at my bandaged, swollen fingers. “It wasn’t that bad.”
A blatant lie.
His head lifted from my shoulder, his warm breath brushing against my bare skin. “I believed in you.”
This wasn’t safe. Nothing about this was safe.
I sniffed and slid down his chest to burrow into the mass of furs and blankets on the floor near the hearth. Gaze fixed on the dancing flames, I forced myself to ignore his presence. My feelings for him faded long ago, and I was no longer the type to be swept off my feet by the first man to pay me attention.
He cleared his throat. “Are you warm enough?”
“Yes,” I said with a bit more bite than intended.
I pulled the furs snug to my chin. It wasn’t my fault I couldn’t reciprocate his affection. He had my heart at sixteen and crushed it. I wouldn’t give him another chance.
I didn’t care—not anymore.
He settled in behind me. Even without touching, his presence brought more comfort than the amber flames. In the quiet, a thousand words sat unspoken until sleep claimed me once more.
“The Rite of Hearth and Home,” Anderz said again. “You will have to practice, as you have no faith in the gods.”
“Yet, you have enough faith for all of us,” I grumbled, refusing to look his way.
