Page 67 of The Unseen Hour

We plunged farther into the trees.

“Are you all right?” Orion asked, his chest heaving for breath, once we had gained enough distance and the roars had faded behind us.

We stopped under a large tree, sheltered by branches that arced down like willow boughs and provided some cover.

“Am I all right? What about you?”

He waved me off.

“Minor inconvenience. I’ve been in worse scrapes than this before. You’re sure that you’re not hurt?”

He took my face in his hands, then my arms, examining me for any wounds. Longing shot through me as he pulled up my sleeves, his hands moving over my skin.

“Orion.”

He pulled back, eyes widening as though he’d just realized that he’d had his hands all over me.

“Sorry, I just wanted to make sure that⁠—”

“I don’t mind.” I stepped forward, reaching for his hand. He wrapped his arms around me, but sagged against me, and I readjusted my stance to hold his weight.

I looked back up at his face and saw a sheen of sweat. Panic woke in my heart.

“Ry! You look feverish. We need to get you home. Now.”

When we stopped to catch our breath again, we were close to the cottage. It was deep into night by this point, the greens and blues of the Ether’s forest serving as only a mild comfort. I was exhausted, but Orion looked far worse. His skin had a pale, sickly pallor. Strands of hair were slicked against his face with sweat.

“What do we do about your leg?” I asked, cursing myself for how useless I felt.

“We’ll have to clean it, and brace it.”

I helped him stay upright until we reached the cottage.

“No, just set me outside,” he insisted when I reached for the door. “I’ll get blood everywhere. There’s another dagger inside, on a shelf behind the table. Get that, and we can cut some material to wrap around the wound.”

“I still have the one in my holster.”

He shook his head, then winced.

“We’ve been sitting in the dirt, wandering through the woods. It’ll be dirty. We need a clean blade.”

Bandaging gruesome wounds was not something with which I had experience, but I swallowed down the queasiness rumbling in my stomach and pushed the door open. If he said he needed a specific blade, I’d get it.

Both gods be praised, or however many gods be praised, the knife was exactly where he had indicated. I snatched it, careful to keep my touch only to the handle, and went back outside.

“Rinse your hands. Then you’ll have to cut around the damaged skin and get rid of any material stuck to the wound,” he instructed.

He had, in addition to his many other useful contraptions, a piece of wood that he’d attached to a branch above the garden, which directed rainwater into a bucket below. I dunked my hands into the bucket of fresh rainwater—we’d had a shower the previous day—then went back to Orion.

My hands trembled, and I crouched over his leg so he wouldn’t see me shaking. I would have to slice most of that pant leg off, a good way up his thigh. My cheeks heated, and I chastised myself. This was no time for modesty.

I pulled a piece of tattered fabric away from the wound, and Orion hissed. Some of the blood had dried, and bits of shredded fabric were stuck in the wound, as he’d predicted.

“You’re awfully prepared for this scenario. Just how often have you upset one of these great bears?” I teased, trying to take his mind off the pain.

“I’ve encountered them a handful of times before, but I’ve managed to avoid a direct conflict with them. Although—” he hissed as I cut away another bit of fabric.

“Go on,” I urged.