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The surgeon huffed and turned back to his notes. “There’s no need to be rude. I’m going to clear you for light duty. That means no heavy lifting, no strenuous exercise, and absolutely no sex or sparring.”
“I hate you,” I grumbled.
“Hellion…” Cian crossed his arms. “Be nice.”
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, all right. I don’t hate you. I hate everything you just said.”
“I am not here to be liked. I am here to heal, and if you tear open your wounds, they will only take longer to heal the second time.” The surgeon lowered his clipboard. “I’ll be back to check on you tomorrow. Do call if you need anything, Lord Cian.”
The surgeon left, and I collapsed on the bed with another frustrated growl. “If I don’t get to fight or fuck something in the next twelve hours, I’m going to go insane.”
“That’s the hormones talking,” Cian said and picked up a report to skim it.
“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that so I don’t have to murder you.”
My injuries had thrown everything in my body out of balance. First, my magic had gone haywire when they removed my chain amplifiers to treat me, and then they’d tried to sedate me to keep me from unleashing a spell while I was in pain. That had backfired miserably when I came out of it and threatened to gut the surgeon who was still sewing me up. Then, because the universe had decided it hadn’t shit on me enough, I had my first menstruation cycle in over a decade. They were rare for my kind, and this one had probably been triggered by all the contraceptive measures I wasn’t used to taking, plus the stress.
At least that was over. The rebound, however, was in full effect, and I hated it with equal measure, especially since there was nothing I could do about it.
“Lord Cian?” Nisang called.
Cian glanced up at me, making sure I was dressed before shouting, “Enter. We’re in the back.”
The tent flap moved aside and Nisang stepped in, waiting by the door with a stack of envelopes in hand. Nisang was no threat to me, even if he didn’t approve of Cian being so attached to me, but that didn’t stop Cian from moving between us protectively.
“How’s Odan?” Cian asked.
Nisang glanced at me and then quickly away. “Still moping. Still angry.”
“And Morlash?”
Nisang finally moved away from the door with a shrug. “Working the troops into a frenzy, as usual. Marching the complainers until they drop. He’s almost as much of a sore loser as the rest of you.” He held the envelopes out to Cian. “These came for you.”
“More love letters from Devonay?” Cian took the letters and sank onto the edge of the bed.
I sat up, wincing, so that I could read over Cian’s shoulder. In front of anyone else, I would’ve tried to hide how much pain I was in, but Nisang had seen me far worse in the past.
Nisang shrugged. “And something from Valjarl.”
The letter from Valjarl was likely just a formality. The jarl there would commend Cian for his bravery and then regret that she didn’t have the troops to spare, as she’d done a dozen times. A pity. One Valjarlian berserker was worth ten Nightmares on the battlefield.
The second envelope did bear Devonay’s handwriting. Probably just the usual reports and a scolding for not telling her how I was healing in my last letter. I had taken over writing most of Cian’s reports to her since I had nothing better to do.
Cian paused on the third envelope. “Dorric’s handwriting.”
“Xeltec’s husband?” Nisang frowned. “I didn’t recognize it.”
I stared at the letter, knowing it was probably just a notice that Nevahn had finally set sail for Adros. Reading it would shatter Cian all over again. He’d put on a brave face, but he was still a mess over Nevahn.
I plucked the letter from his hands, much to his annoyance.
“That’s not addressed to you,” he said and tried to grab it back.
“It clearly says CianandHellion.” I shifted to the edge of the bed as I carefully opened the envelope and unfolded the single sheet of paper inside.
The handwriting of the letter was messy, with large letters and inconsistent shapes. It looked like it’d been written by a child, but as soon as I saw it, my heart jumped into my throat. I glanced up from the letter. “It’s from Nevahn.” I smiled to myself. “Gods, his handwriting is awful.”
Cian crowded me. “What does it say?”
