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Shivering, I look down at myself in the low light. I’m wearing a long linen shirt that’s stained with blood along the hem, but it’s the bandage wrapped around my thigh that brings everything rushing back; the attack, the cart . . . the dungeon, the old woman with the knife. Then there’s just flashes of half-formed images.
I’m weaker than a newborn kitten and my thigh screams through the whole ordeal, but with Yvette’s help, I make it back into the bed. “Thank you,” I whisper as I fall back into sleep headfirst.
♦♦♦
Days pass in a haze of feverish sleep, pain, and healing. Yvette is sometimes with me, coaxing me to eat and drink, but most of the time I’m alone. I also meet the healer, Elsy, who’s a stern, old woman who doesn’t put up with nonsense. She’s not cruel or abusive though and I take an immediate liking to her as well.
Once I’m lucid enough to prop myself up in bed, I assess my surroundings more closely. I may not be in the dungeon anymore, but neither am I in a sleeping chamber. Though the room is quite large, there’s no proper hearth, and the one window doesn’t have shutters. It’s just open to the air and serves as a vent for the iron brazier that’s been placed next to it. Other than the brazier and the bed, there’s me – that’s it. Not that I’m complaining. I could still be in that pitch-black room.
“My lady! You’re awake,” Yvette says happily as she comes bustling through the door with a tray of food. “That’s wonderful! Elsy says you must eat something more substantial today.”
My rumbling stomach agrees.
“You can’t survive on broth alone,” she announces, placing the tray carefully on my lap.
“Thank you.”
Though my thanks is probably premature. The tray only contains a wooden bowl of watery gray mash and a cup of water. I look up to find Yvette radiating expectation.
“I know it’s not much, but –”
“No,” I interrupt. “I’m very grateful. Thank you.” I reach for the . . . “There are no utensils.”
“Pardon?”
“There’s no spoon.”
“No, there’s not,” she agrees, shifting slightly on her feet. “I’m not to give you anything that could be used as a weapon.”
“A weapon?” I repeat slowly, unable to keep how ridiculous I find that statement from my voice.
“Well, yes. I had much the same reaction, but my brother overruled me.”
With a hand still weak from fever, I lift the roughly hewn wooden cup of water to my mouth, giving myself a chance to organize my still fuzzy thoughts. Instead of asking who her brother is, I go with, “May I ask how long I’ve been here?”
Yvette visibly relaxes.Did she think I would berate her?Surely not.
“You’ve been here for seven days.”
Shock cuts through me like a knife. “Seven days?” I set the cup back down.
“Yes, you had a high fever for the first while and then you mostly slept.”
“And you’ve taken care of me all this time?” I press my palms to my chest and then show them to her, displaying my gratitude.
She waves away the gesture, quite rudely to my mind, and says, “Well, Elsy said you would either die or you wouldn’t. There wasn’t much we could do to sway the outcome.”
Her plain speech is jarring, but I do my best to keep my expression neutral. “Regardless, I’m very thankful. I can’t imagine you were happy to be assigned the task.”
“Oh, I wasn’t assigned, I volunteered. Now eat up.”
The finality in her tone tells me there won’t be any more questions, so I lift the bowl to my lips. The contents slide toward my mouth and I force myself to swallow a tasteless bite. My stomach rebels but I manage to keep it down. Wanting to postpone the next bite, I say, “Seven days would explain why I smell so terrible.”
I mean it as a joke, but Yvette seems distressed. “My brother is very mulish.”
Againher brotherand I can’t head off my curiosity this time. “So you would have been my sister-in-law?”
She looks at me blankly, then laughs like the idea is outlandish. “No, Luka is not my brother.”
