Chapter 19
Chapter
Nineteen
VALI
R anan is an absolutely terrible patient. I actually start to long for when he was unconscious, because conscious Ranan is a bear. He’s in pain, that much is obvious. He wants to examine the stitches I’ve made, never mind that I’ve wrapped them in bandages soaked with more willow bark. Never mind that the nasty red lines on his flesh that spoke of infection have disappeared thanks to my tireless cleansing of his wound.
Never mind that I’m constantly making tea and soup for him and helping him piss in a pot so he doesn’t have to stand upright. I bathe him when he sweats, and I change the linens so he has something clean to sleep in every day.
And what do I get in return?
The worst, most uncomfortable peeling sunburn of my life, and an absolute grouch of a husband.
I do understand his frustration—I hate being sick. But by the gods, he’s cranky. The first few days were easier, because he was resting and unconscious for a lot of them. The healing herbs make him sleepy but also have done wonders for his leg. It’s swollen, a hot, fiery red ridge of flesh upraised around my stitch-work, but he can move all his toes (some better than others). It means I did something right with my stitches, and he mends a little more every day.
He mends so much that he gets cranky and lashes out at me when he hurts.
“I’m tired of this tea,” he grumps as I hand him another cup of willow bark.
“That’s the last of it.” It’s not, but he can just cope when I hand him the next cupful. It’s doing him good so he’s going to keep drinking it, I’ve decided. “Down it and I won’t make you any more.”
“Lies,” he grumbles, even as he tips the cup back and swigs its contents. “Deceit. You’re going to shove more at me the moment I turn around.”
“Is your leg less swollen? Then quit griping.” I turn back to the large beaten metal basin I’ve been using to soak the worst of the bloodied fabrics and wring them out. There’s a lot of work that goes into taking care of an ill person, and there’s no one else to do it but me. “You can beat my arse for lying when you’re back to yourself.”
“You keep bringing that up,” he says in a sulky voice. “I would almost think you’d enjoy it.”
I snort. “Or perhaps I’m just wise to your complaints.”
“There’s a healer on the flotilla. He’d have this taken care of quickly.”
I grit my teeth. “Great. Should we chop off your leg and send it away to him then?”
He’s silent at that. I lift up a heavy wad of fabric and wring it, but no matter how many times I soak it, the blood stains aren’t coming out. It breaks my heart to see such expensive fabric ruined, but there’s nothing to be done for it other than to keep soaking it and try again.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Tending to the laundry.” I turn and glance over my shoulder at him. I have him set up in fresh bedding, a mixture of ungodly expensive fabrics that are soft and won’t irritate his skin. His wound is wrapped, his leg propped up on a small, pricey-looking pillow that likely belongs on some rich queen’s bed. More pillows are behind his back, and two of his arms are crossed over his chest, the others flicking with impatience. “Do you need something? I can make more soup, but I’ll need to put on fresh water to boil. Or do you need help to pass water?” I straighten, rubbing my aching shoulders. “Or a bath, but again, I’ll need to draw more water. Or I can change your bedding?—”
“You’re tired. Do you ever pause to rest?”
Rest sounds lovely…and very far down the list. “If I do, who’s going to take care of you?”
Ranan scowls. He hates being reminded that he’s a burden.
I turn back to the wet fabric in my hands.
“You look awful.”
That makes me pause. I turn to look at him. “If you’re trying to impress me with flattery, that’s not the best way to do it.”
He flushes, and one hand twitches. He rubs his neck. “I didn’t mean that. Just…you look weary. And you have a bad sunburn.”
Oh. “I got that rescuing you. It’s fine. It’ll fade soon enough.”
For a moment I think he’s not going to respond, but then he grunts. “I…appreciate it. You saving me. It wasn’t expected.”
His quiet words of appreciation leave me flustered. “Well, I don’t imagine the injury was expected, either. Perhaps next time you’ll get injured a bit closer to home, mmm?”
“I still appreciate you. I know this has been difficult.” He pauses. “I am not good at being useless.”
I chuckle. “Now that, I do understand.”
“Why are you washing the fabric? It seems like a great deal of work.”
Oh. I turn and face him, soaking the fabric in the basin again and then twisting and wringing it once more. My hands ache with the effort, but it doesn’t seem to be making much of a difference. The red, rusty stains remain on the delicate embroidery. “It’s very expensive cloth. I’d save it if I could. You could make a great deal of coin on a few squares of this.”
Ranan waves a hand, dismissing that. “There’s more of it. We can throw the stained cloth out.”
“It’s a waste.”
“Yes, but you’re tired.” He tilts his head, eyeing me. “Does no one ever take care of you, Vali?”
His quiet words unsettle me. I give the fabric another vicious twist, and more water trickles out. “Why would they? I’m a slave.”
“You were a slave. Now you’re my wife.”
“Seems like that’s your job then, doesn’t it?” He doesn’t respond to my offhand joke, and I grow even more flustered. “You can still get rid of me, by the way. I won’t hold it against you.”
“More lies.”
“I’m full of them, yes.” I chuckle. “But I mean it. If we’re not meant to be, then we’re not meant to be. I’ve had greater disappointments.”
He just eyes me. “You’re my wife.” He states the words again, calm and assured. “And I am thanking my wife for healing me.”
I set the wet fabric down and wipe my sweating brow. “Thank you. It means a lot.” I take back everything I said about his earlier crankiness. This sincerity unnerves me. I don’t know how to react. I can joke and be cheerful and lie whenever he’s being impossible, but I don’t know what to say when he’s earnest like that. I automatically wonder what he wants to hear, and my mind starts to come up with ideas…but most of them don’t feel as sincere as his careful words, so I keep them locked in my throat.
So I manage a small smile and wring out the fabric one final time before draping it over the makeshift clothesline I’ve created in the back of the cavern, strung between two statues with arms upraised.
“Valessa?”
I pat the wet fabric, smoothing it over the line and turn back to him. He probably needs pain medicine. “Yes?”
But Ranan is eyeing me with an intense, thoughtful gaze, all four arms folded across his chest. “I am unfamiliar with…humans. If I were to take care of you, what would that look like?”
I frown, moving towards the small fire pit I’ve made in a shallow basin of smooth rock. I find the gorgeous steel kettle with the ornate engraved designs and put it into the coals. Maybe I’ll fix him regular tea, not the medicinal kind. Or a stew. I still have some of the jerky he brought for me. I can soak it and make a beef broth?—
“Vali?”
I blush, flustered. “I’m not sure what you’re asking. What do you mean, take care of me? You did when I had my menses.”
“Not like that. Like…the way you take care of me,” he continues, words chosen oh-so-carefully. His gaze never wavers from being locked upon mine. “With your mouth.”
Oh. He wants to take care of me in bed? My face grows hotter. “I suppose it would be much the same. You have a mouth, too, after all.”
“Has anyone done this for you?”
I hesitate before answering. My past with sex is fraught. I’ve been a slave ever since I was old enough to have sex, and I was eager to marry because it meant pleasing only one man instead of whomever decided they wanted to toy with me at the master’s house. I do enjoy sex, though, most of the time. I enjoy giving pleasure, and sometimes it feels good to rub up against another person. But pleasuring me back? Pleasuring me? Just me? “You recall I was a slave.”
“So…no? No one has done this for you?”
“No.” It takes everything I have to meet his gaze. “And I’ve never asked, either.”
“Will you let me do that for you?”
“What, right now?” I glance down at his leg.
“Not right now. When I’m stronger.” He leans back against the wall of pillows. “We’ll do it then.”
“Of course.” But for now, I can take care of him. Unsettled, I move to his side and adjust some of the pillows against his back before they slide away. “Let me just?—”
He grabs my hand before I can reach behind him, and forces me to meet his gaze. “Are you lying?”
My cheeks feel scalding hot. “No. Not lying. If you still want to, then we will.”
“I’ll want to.”
What can I possibly say to that? I bite back a shy smile.