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“Aye. The gates are closed, but—” Shiren looks at me, then down to Roan’s stomach, her brows kissing as she again takes in his condition. “—I’m sure we can figure it out,” she quietly finishes, looking around as if someone else may have been listening.
My stomach leaps, and Roan coughs to hide his surprise of our rare good luck. She knows something. I busy myself assessing Roan’s stomach, moving to his leg to do the same. It takes every ounce of self-control I possess not to demand Shiren tell us everything she knows.
Usually slow and steady is my expertise, getting to revel in each small moment of victory as my mark hands me everything I need— whether it be goods, information, or even people. But I feel a hurriedness, needing to uncover the mystery not just for the princess, but for my friend. Roan needs a doctor’s help.
My friend. Yes, I suppose the captain is my friend. Part of me wants to analyze every moment to see when the shift began. To prevent this kind of behavior in the future. And the other part can’t help but go back to my realization back in that forsaken pile of mud— Mother would have liked him. A warmth fills me at her memory. And for the first time, pain doesn’t accompany it.
I continue my assessment. Roan’s wounds do look more aggravated than before, but it’s no longer seeping blood or filled with mud. I don’t know if we got to them in time, but all I can do now is clean it more thoroughly and close it up. “I need a needle and suture material. Do you have any?”
“Aye. I think we have some down in the kitchen.” Shiren’s face goes pale as she inches closer, looking at Roan’s injuries for a third time.
“Can you also bring a fresh pitcher of water, and maybe a cup of wine or ale?” She nods her head, and returns a few minutes later.
It takes most of the evening, but Shiren and I finish stitching and dressing his wounds. The alcohol knocked Roan out halfway through, easing the panic I felt at every wince and twinge he made in the process.
“Now we just wait and hope it’s enough,” I whisper, more to myself than to anyone. Shiren wipes her hands on her skirt as she stands up and walks to the door.
“Thank you.” I’m not even sure thank you is enough to express how grateful I am for her help. It would have taken me well into the night to finish up by myself, and I realize I have no extra compensation to give her. My words will have to do.
“You’re welcome,” she replies, dipping her head. My heart inexplicably warms. I think I could be friends with her, if I wanted. A sweet girl on the border of Felshan and Thenstra. If by some wayward chance we happened to grow up in the same place and in different circumstances. She walks out the door, carefully clicking it closed.
I turn back to Roan. His chest rises and falls evenly, and a bit of relief courses through me. Seeing him laying among the mud, unable to move. It was more difficult than I want to admit.
A small moment tugs at my memory— he had called me Evander. I realize he may not have been fully aware of what he was saying, but it was strange. Evander is the name of the dead prince. He told me he grew up at the palace and was good friends with the boy before he died, so it would make sense. Maybe it was nothing. I make a mental note to ask him about it later. There will be plenty of time as we trek to Thenstra.
I sway on my feet, the heavy weight of exhaustion finally breaking through.
His bowl of stew lies half eaten next to him, and I move it to the floor. I hope more than anything that we cleaned the wounds in time. His face is peaceful as he sleeps, and I pray that the pallor of his skin is simply from the little food we’ve had these last few days. Sleep does wonders, but I don’t know if one night’s sleep will be enough for Roan to be able to make it to Thenstra tomorrow.
My heart sinks. We shouldn' risk staying here another day.
I stretch out on the floor, barely covering myself with a blanket before I let my fatigue finally spill over me. Roan’s even breathing fills the quiet room. The work is done for now, and my eyelids gently drift closed.
Oddly enough, it’s Reynauld’s beady eyes, his velvet jacket, slick hair, and bony fingers digging into my arm that cross my thoughts before sleep claims me.
36
Roan
Iwaketoasharp pain in my side, and reality pounds back into me as I orient myself from sleep.
How long have I been out? And why in the Four Kingdoms is it so hot in here? Sweat gathers at my hairline and drips down my face. I move to pull the blankets off of me when a deep burning obscures my vision. Confusion slowly gives way to memory. Mud. Ground. Walking. Blood. Bed. Ari.Where is Ari?
Nausea roils through me as more pain shoots across my body. I lean as far over the bed as I can without aggravating the already painful tug, just in case the meager contents of my stomach decide to make a second appearance.Deep breaths. Deep breaths.
I lie my head back down on the pillow as more sweat trickles down my face. I turn to the pain in my side, gently lifting my shirt to see how Ari did, remembering her careful concentration as she worked to close the wounds scattering across me. A mostly neat row of stitches runs from just above my hip up to the end of my first rib. A small tremor runs through me at the memory of her hands on my skin.
As I attempt to sit up and check my leg, another wave of dizziness forces me back down.Lena. Lena. I need to find Lena. And Ari, where’s Ari?I need to get up. I need to get out of this bed. But the more I try, the worse I feel. Heavy exhaustion ripples through me the longer I’m awake. However long I slept it wasn’t enough.
I drift in and out of consciousness, the room full of light, and a moment later, darkness. A weight pulls down one side of the bed, but I haven’t the strength to look and see what is causing it.
As my eyes drift open again, sunshine bounces off the earthy hues of wood within the space. I try to feel at my stomach, the pain still sharply evident, but slightly less severe.
“Oh good grief Roan, sit still. I leave you for five minutes and come back to you clawing at your stitches.” Ari is standing over me. I open my mouth to speak, but no matter how hard I try I just can’t form the right sounds together.
A swollen tongue and pounding headache compels me to keep going, determined to make sense of what I need. But she already knows. Slipping an arm behind my neck, Ari tips my head forward until cool liquid touches my lips. The water feels like life in the middle of carnage, soothing my dry throat as I gulp it down as fast as my weakened body will allow.
“You should try to sleep more,” she says, laying me back down and pulling her arm from behind me. I groan in protest, not sure if it’s because I want more water or because I want to feel her close to me again. Part of me is glad that my body won’t form the words my mind wants to say. My lucid state would give life to many private thoughts I swore to keep to myself for now.
