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I get up quickly – I do not dare leave him for more than a minute – and grab more of the healing salve.
I put another coat on him, and I lift him as much as I dare to get the underside of his arms and the back of his neck.
He cries out then and as much as it hurts to hear that sound from him, I am also relieved because it means he is still feeling pain.
And that means he is still alive.
Only the dead do not feel pain,I think to myself as I remember something that my necromancy teacher at Nakam taught me years ago.
I feel sick to my stomach at the thought that Denve might die. I have seen a lot of death in my time, and back at Nakam I thought I would be fine with killing Denve just to hurt the Thuvrol’s.
But the thought of killing Denve makes me choke on errant tears.
I jerk upwards when Denve actually looks at me. His violet eyes are shining.
“I’m so sorry,” I never apologize. The only people I’ve ever apologized to were my sister’s dead body, the purna who survived the attack by Ocuri, and Callista when I kicked her in the face once.
“I’m so sorry. I am so sorry.”
Denve starts coughing, and it is an ugly cough. It sounds like he is choking, and I help him sit up slightly so that he can breathe properly.
He turns to me and gives me a crooked smile, even though he is in a lot of pain.
“You’re shit at tying ropes,” he tells me.
19
DENVE
The look on her face intrigues me, and the frenzied way in which she tends to me tells me everything I need to know. Well, noteverything. There are plenty of things to learn about this woman, I imagine. But just seeing the panic in her eyes communicates to me that she doesn’t want me to die.
No, it’s more than that. She’s desperate to keep me from rotting away at her hands.
Pain rips through me, and yet I can’t help but drink her in. The taste is sweeter, more intoxicating than even the most expensive liquor one could buy. She was beautiful before, but here like this in her true form, I’m completely drawn in.
“What?” she snaps, her face contorted in something like panic and anger as I look up at her.
“Nothing,” I say, and I know I’m smiling even though my skin is on fire. “I’m just touched to see how caring you are towards me.”
“Oh, shut up,” she says, her eyes narrowing. “I just don’t need your death on my conscience.”
“Is that so?” I muse. “Because from the way you move, I’m thinking you may have more than one death on that conscience of yours.”
She takes in a deep inhale. “You know nothing of me or my conscience.”
“Maybe not, but that doesn’t mean to say I don’t want to. Your moves, though. Seems I know a little of those now.”
“Are you always so fucking annoying?” she snaps.
“Are you always so… deadly?” I reply instantly.
“You’re not dead, are you? But we can soon change that.”
“Argh!” I cry as she runs her hands over the wounds on my chest. I see her swallow hard and wonder what exactly is going on in that beautiful head of hers. Because nobody has ever cared for me the way she is doing now.
And still so many things wander through my mind. This woman is a complete enigma. I mean, what just happened? I have no idea why my brother being alive would have such an effect on her and why she would even think he was dead to begin with? Besides, how would she even know him? She’s clearly not from these parts.
Her face has changed as I look up at her, softened almost. Yet she’s still the most stunning thing I’ve ever seen in my life. Her silver hair spills over me as she continues working on my chest wounds and suddenly the pain is no longer there. All I can see, all I smell, all I can hear is her.
