‘In the corridor. I’ll be close enough to hear if anything happens to you. That’s what matters. You’ll be safe and secure here.’
He would do it, too. Despite his injuries, if I were to tell him I didn’t want him to share this tiny bed with me, he would sleep outside on the cold, hard floor. Or more likely, lie awake all night, the drums from below thrumming through the walls, more muffled up here but impossible to ignore.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh out a long breath. ‘Absolutely not. You’re injured, so sleeping on the floor is total idiocy. Look, we slept in the same bed yesterday, and it was absolutely fine.’
‘That thing didn’t count as a bed, and I was unconscious,’ Kyor points out drily.
‘Right. But so long as you can keep your hands to yourself, it’ll be fine.’ My eyes move to his shoulder. The wound is visibly red, and I grimace at the angry look of the cut. It might not be bleeding, but it’s barely knit together. Dammit. I should have taken him into Galreck’s court, got him seen by a proper healer.
It’s a suggestion I could still make, but him turning up like this would be worse than if we’d gone straight there. It would raise too many questions about why he avoided coming in the first place.
‘I have some paste that might help with the pain,’ I tell him.
‘It’s not that bad,’ he lies. ‘I’m fine.’
‘You’re not,’ I reply calmly, as if we are discussing the weather. ‘Let me do this for you.’
Trying to pretend that this is nothing more than standard healing work and ignoring the hammering in my chest, I grab my satchel and pull out the small jar. With the paste on my clean fingers, I rub it lightly across his skin. I barely brush the wound, yet he sucks in a sharp breath. I pause only long enough to meet his eyes.
‘I’m sorry. Breathe through it,’ I advise quietly. ‘Low and slow.’
The nod he offers is minuscule, but it’s there. He breathes in, then exhales slowly and controlled, and lets me continue.
I take another – more generous – swipe of the thick paste and begin to rub it in, pressing firmly enough that he hisses through his teeth.
‘Sorry,’ I mutter as I continue to rub the lotion into his skin. ‘I need to get it in deep.’
‘Pretty sure that’s my line?’ He smirks.
I offer an eye roll in response, trying to act as if his words don’t have any effect. Or thatI’m notenjoying the feel of his skin under the pads of my fingers, feeling his body in a way I never thought I’d get a chance to again.
Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.
‘Better?’ I ask eventually.
He grunts and nods before glancing at my pile of dirty clothes. ‘The innkeeper will clean them for us,’ he says, echoing my earlier thoughts. ‘I’ll take these down for her to get started. I’ll also arrange for her to put together some travel supplies for us. Do you need anything else now? Food? Drink?’
‘I wouldn’t say no to something else to eat,’ I admit. Fresh food will become a luxury again once we’re on the road.
‘Yes, I hear you. I’ll grab us something.’
He picks up a pair of clean trousers, ready to slip them on, and I find myself turning away. Whether it’s embarrassment or simply not wanting to be reminded of what I’m missing, I’m not sure.
He disappears and I grab a brush to start on the white-blonde tresses thatshouldmark me as magic-less. I’ve no idea why Kay’s brunette hair and mine didn’t return with my magic. Truthfully, though, I’ve grown accustomed to the blonde, and if my locks turned brown again, I’d miss it. Once a mark of shame, I now see it as a badge of strength.
I’m still brushing my hair when Kyor comes in, and he stops on the threshold. His jaw drops open at the sight of me.
‘Fuck, you’rebeautiful.’He whispers the words quietly enough that I can pretend I didn’t hear him.
And that’s exactly what I do, because things are already complicated enough.
He gives himself a shake, clacks his jaw closed, and enters. He’s carrying a tray laden with food: crackers, ham, cheese, and grapes. Also balanced on the tray are two glasses of wine. He sets the traydown on the rickety stool and then strips off his top and trousers and throws them out through the door.
‘What are you doing?’ I ask.
‘Landlady wanted to wash these, too. Tried to make me strip downstairs in the bar. This felt like a better option.’
His perfect body is littered with scars, but my eyes instinctively go back to his most recent addition – definitely no mottled green – and then on to a scar that has only just started to fade to silver – the wound I stitched up for him during the Retterheld. It was the first time my hands were on his bare skin.
