Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
The world has narrowed to fire and ice. My fingers burn. I can’t tell if I’m shaking or if the stone beneath me is that cold. I’m not sure it matters.
Ryot set me on a bench inside this stone fortress, told me not to move—as if I’d be able to—and marched away.
The black creeping across my fingertips pulses with a steady ache, the pain seeming to have a heartbeat of its own. My breath hitches when someone presses a hand against my forearm. I flinch instinctively, but the grip isn’t aggressive.
“Easy,” a smooth, low voice says. “You’ve had a hell of a day.”
I stare at the man kneeling in front of me through the haze clouding my vision.
He has curly brown hair streaked with silver pulled into a haphazard bun that’s losing the battle against gravity.
Stray curls frame a striking face, one softened by laugh lines and dimples that don’t match the shadows in his eyes.
His skin is tanned, his hands weathered, his sleeves rolled to the elbows.
“I’m Nyrica,” he says. “Fortunately for you, I’m here to help. Unfortunately for you, I’m a field medic, not a healer, but I’m the best you’re going to get until Elowen is back from Carrisfal.”
I stare at him, unsure whether I’m supposed to laugh or cry. His words wash over me and flow onward before I retain anything he said.
“What’s happening to my hand?” I ask.
His eyes follow my gaze to my outstretched fingers.
“Rot,” he says simply. “It’s what happens when a Kher’zenn touches you. But you lived—that’s the good news.”
“I take that to mean there’s bad news?”
“There’s nothing to be done for your fingers. The damage is permanent.”
I want to argue. To scream. But all I manage is a turn of my head toward the wall, as if looking away from the rot might make it disappear. Ryot’s returned, and he’s leaning against the far wall. His arms are crossed, his eyes shadowed. Nyrica follows my line of sight once again.
“Would it kill you to at least wash the blood off?” The medic calls over to Ryot, not bothering to look up as he sets two jars on the floor at his feet.
Ryot doesn’t respond.
“She’s going to start thinking you’re flirting,” Nyrica adds, winking up at me. “The wounded warrior routine—all brooding glowers.”
“I’m not brooding,” Ryot mutters, his arms still crossed, posture stiff. “And you’re doing a piss-poor job of treating her.”
Nyrica huffs a laugh, unbothered. “You only say that because you think Elowen is the only qualified healer in the mortal realm.”
“Elowen is the only qualified healer in the mortal realm,” Ryot says flatly, eyes narrowing.
Nyrica finally glances up, one brow arching as he releases a cork from one of the jars. “You wound me, Ryot. Truly. I’ve been splinting bones and closing gut wounds since before your voice dropped.”
Ryot doesn’t dignify that with an answer, but I can feel his gaze slide back to me. I look away, pretending not to notice.
“Elowen is the healer at the Synod,” Nyrica tells me in a lilting voice that sounds like he should be a bard, not a warrior. “This is her infirmary, but she’s at Carrisfal. The Kher’zenn hit the southern coast yesterday, and she went to assist the wounded. She should be back soon.”
Nyrica takes my broken hand in his and whistles. “Shattered every bone in your hand, love. How in the Veil did you do that?”
I lift my good hand and vaguely gesture in Ryot’s direction. “He did it.”
“She touched them,” Ryot snaps. “I had to break the contact.”
Nyrica kind of tsks as he rubs one of the ointments on my hand. I crinkle my nose at the musky smell—leaves and the forest floor. “You can’t be too hard on her. You know how they pull you in.”
Ryot’s mouth flattens into a hard, unforgiving line as he glares at me.
Nyrica sighs. “You’re making my patient uncomfortable, Ryot.”
Ryot doesn’t speak, but he doesn’t stop his glaring, either.
Nyrica’s voice turns commanding in a way I hadn’t expected from someone who calls me “love” with the warmth of a sunbeam. “If you’re going to stand there breathing tension into the room, go breathe it somewhere else.”
Ryot doesn’t move at first. Then, finally, he pushes away from the wall. His eyes fall on me. They’re hard and unreadable. Then he turns and walks away, his boots echoing against the stone floor.
My hand tingles and then goes numb, as Nyrica grabs a clean cloth from the bag at his feet. He works carefully, wrapping my fingers one by one. The pain hasn’t faded; it’s only changed shape so that it’s dull.
“He didn’t want to leave,” I murmur. I’m not sure if it’s an observation, an accusation, or something closer to a confession.
Nyrica doesn’t look up. “No.” He ties the bandage tight around my wrist with a deftness that makes me think he’s done this more times than either of us could count. “He’s worried about you.”
I scoff under my breath. “He dragged me here like I was a prisoner.”
Nyrica’s lips tip up in a smile. He finishes tying the cloth, then rests my wrapped hand on my lap. He doesn’t move away, though. He just sits back on his heels and watches me with dark green eyes full of entirely too much empathy. “From the little I’ve heard, you are.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “You don’t know anything about it.”
Nyrica snorts out a laugh. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”
He begins packing away his kit. My fingers throb beneath the cloth, and I try to focus on the sensation. It keeps me anchored, stops me from thinking about everything else I’ve lost in the last few days.
The infirmary door opens with a soft creak.
I glance up, expecting a healer, maybe a guard, or Ryot again.
Instead, a woman steps inside, tall and regal.
Her white hair is braided into a flawless crown, with golden ribbons woven through the strands.
Her robe is a deep violet trimmed with gold, and though she’s surrounded by four men, it’s clear she’s the one in charge.
Her eyes—so light blue they’re almost colorless—land on me.
She says nothing at first, only takes another step into the room, and then four guards file in behind her.
Nyrica, still crouched by my side, doesn’t look up from packing his little bag as he speaks. “The infirmary isn’t your usual stomping grounds, your highness.”
My eyes jerk up at the title. Highness? My gaze refocuses on that braid—that’s a crown woven throughout, not merely gold ribbon.
“You were supposed to be at the debriefing on Carrisfal,” she says, and her voice is as ice-cold as her eyes.
“I was, but then Ryot handed me an injured girl with rotted fingers and said ‘fix her.’ You’ll forgive me for prioritizing.
” The way he says it—so light, so entirely lacking in deference—makes something inside me twist. I wait for her to snap at him, to dress him down, or have one of her guards step forward, but she doesn’t.
Her expression doesn’t change, not even by a fraction. But her shoulders stiffen, in the tiniest increments. She narrows her eyes when she looks at me again, this time more directly.
“So, this is the farm girl Ryot brought back.” There’s no warmth in her gaze, no sympathy. Just confusion laced with faint disdain, like she’s trying to calculate what about me merited an Altor dragging me into their world.
The words land like a slap. I sit a little straighter despite every part of me aching and open my mouth to tell her off. I don’t know what I plan to say—something reckless, something stupid—but Nyrica gets there first.
“Oh, come off it, Rissa. You don’t sound royal when you say that. You sound like a bitch.”
Rissa. The name rings through my skull. Holy Veil. This is Rissa? The heir to the throne of Faraengard?
Her lips twist. It’s not the first time someone’s called her a bitch. Sympathy almost stirs. Almost. But then she opens her mouth again.
“The girl doesn’t even kneel. I suppose ignorance really is confidence,” she says over my head. My back straightens, just as she turns on a booted heel. “You’re expected in the archons’ chambers,” she says to Nyrica. “Now.”
Then she walks out. The door shuts behind her with a low click, and the silence she leaves behind is heavier than her presence was.
Nyrica lets out a long breath through his nose. “Well,” he mutters. “That went better than I expected.” He helps me up to my feet, and I sway a little. “Let’s find you an empty bed, love. We’ll worry about the rest of it tomorrow.”