Page 39 of Heart’s Rescue

“Uh, wow,” I stammer.

I turn my full attention back to her arm, then peel away the wool and take what feels like my first breath. The cut looks clean, as far as I can tell. Voids, I hope the cut is clean. If it’s been touched by the beast—

No. No, I’m not even going to entertain that possibility. I turn away and try to give Arryn a reassuring smile, but she’s looking at me with those wide, wild eyes again.

“Looks fine,” I stammer. “I should dress it, though. And I’ll set up the shelter.”

I rock back on my heels, but Arryn grabs my wrist before I can stand.

“Rowan,” she says, looking straight at me. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I say.

And then I look down at the blood dripping out of her jacket and across the snow, and I feel like my own blatant dishonesty has just smacked me across the face.

“What’s wrong with it?” she asks. There’s a slight tremble in her voice that reminds me of the way the burning branch shook in her arms. “Why are you afraid?”

“Nothing!” I say again, with more vehemence this time. “It should heal up just fine.”

She lets go of my hand, and I come to my feet.

“It should?” she asks.

The question hangs in the air between us, suspended like ice crystals caught in the wind that blows off this bluff. I’m reminded of the void beast scattering into shadows after it leaped. I sigh and sink back down to my knees.

“Look,” I say, trying to find the courage to meet her eyes. “Sometimes when a void beast attacks, the wound goes… wrong.”

She breathes in, sharp and fast.

“Wrong?” she asks.

Voids. I tilt my head back and blink at the glowsoft orbs drifting aimlessly far, far above us. “Like an infection,” I say. “The wound turns black, and then it...it spreads.”

Her neck bobs as she swallows. “Oh,” she says.

“It’s not,” I begin, then stop. I run my hand over the back of my neck. “It’s treatable,” I finally say.

Technically, that is true. In that, there is a way to treat void-touch, if you have access to the royal gardens and the healing herbs His Majesty King Galan grows there. And if you're fast enough. Arryn’s shoulders relax somewhat.

“It’s not likely,” I say. “I mean, you’re probably going to be fine.”

“Probably,” she echoes. There’s something hard in her big, dark eyes, something that makes me think she’s running calculations in her mind. “When will we know?”

I shrug. “We’ll watch the cut. If it’s going to show up, it’ll happen in the next couple of days.”

Arryn brings her fingertips to the rip in her jacket, then pulls them away with a hiss.

“Let me,” I say, reaching for her. “I’ve got bandages. Just leave it alone until I can wash it, okay?”

She nods, still biting her lower lip. I come to my feet and trudge over to my pack, trying to think about setting up the shelter, getting water boiling, wrapping her arm in a bandage. Trying not to think about Memodyan, the trekker who’d died of void-touch while waiting for His Majesty's healing herbs.

He’d died screaming.