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Thea didn't know how to begin. She couldn't very well ask him to remove his pants. Instead, she scooted back and tugged the boot from his foot so she could begin at his ankle.
“What are you doing?” he asked in a murmur.
She didn't reply, just pulled her scissors from their sheath and cut her way up the leg of his pants, peeling the cloth back a bit at a time. It stuck unpleasantly.
“Thea?”
She couldn't make herself meet his gaze. Unspoken questions already threatened to choke her. She didn't need tears, too. New chips in her scissors made them catch and hang and she focused on cutting.
Rilion returned and shut the door against the cold. “A little worse for wear, isn't it?” He held the green cloak in one hand. The cloth was stained dark.
“It'll suffice. Bring it here.” Thea held out her hand. She'd exposed the gash in his leg. “By the Light, this could have killed you.”
“And would have, if it had been much deeper,” Gil said.
She took his cloak when Rilion offered it, found an edge, and cut a piece from the fabric. Neither of the men said anything as she retrieved the pan from the oven and dipped the cloth in water.
Bit by bit, she cleaned what she could.
“It'll need to be sutured,” Rilion said after the extent of the injury became clear. “Can you... you know...” He pantomimed threading a needle.
Thea snorted. “Of course I can.” Not that she had, but sewing an injury shut couldn't be much harder than running a good seam.
“With magic?” the prince asked hopefully.
“Threadmancy doesn't work that way.” She wasn't sure any magic did. “You can't insert power into something that lives.”
Gil didn't so much as flinch as she wiped his skin clean. “You don't have to stitch magic into me. Just push it into the thread and let that do the work. That should be possible, shouldn't it?”
Thea doubted it. But the wound in his thigh was severe. If he wasn't seen by a proper medic, she doubted it was something he could survive. There had to be medics in Danesse, but to get there required crossing a mountain. Would he make it that long? “I can try,” she said softly. Her heart cried that shehadto. She couldn't let him fight all this way, only to fall ill with a festering wound after his quest was finally complete.
Rilion provided his water skin for the injury to be rinsed. While she tended that, he dug through her bag. She'd given herself a single, tiny sewing kit, little more than a pouch with a spool of thread and a few pins and needles. It took him time to find it and when he did, he wasn't impressed.
It would have to be enough.
“See if there's a little block in my bag, something wrapped with paper,” Thea said as she chose a needle.
“This?” Rilion held it up between two fingers.
She took the wrapped beeswax from his hand and used it to liberally coat her thread. “This may be uncomfortable.”
“More comfortable than being stabbed by a pikeman while mounting a horse, I'd assume,” Gil said.
Despite his confidence, when she started, he flinched.
Rilion clapped a hand to his mouth and groaned in displeasure. “I'll go get more water.” He snatched his water skin and excused himself from the shack before either of them could chide him for his weak stomach.
Then they were alone.
Thea made stitch after tiny stitch, all without speaking a word.
“You are angry with me,” Gil said softly.
“I don't care if you killed Lucan.” If she was honest with herself, she was glad. With his death, there was justice for Ashvin.
Just not all of it.
Gil did not reply. Expectation weighted his silence, yet he asked nothing. Of course not; he didn't need to. He already knew she was upset.
