Chapter 4
NISSA
“I’m sure she’s fine,” Kaderlyn says, binding another lantern to a stick. The sticks make them easier to carry and dance with in the darkness.
Nissa swallows and bites her lip. “I do hope so,” she murmurs softly. She’s walked a loop of the encampment three times, hunting for Ria. “They were meant to be back hours ago. It’s just not like her.”
Kaderlyn sighs out a breath and covers the younger girl’s hand with hers.
“I know. Soon. I’m sure of it. Longest Night can’t bring this kind of darkness.
” She squeezes gently. “Right, my girl. Take these to Bartleboy. You can see if he’s heard anything.
He hears more than anyone else in this encampment.
Gossip, mostly, but he’ll know if your girl is back. ”
Nissa suppresses the instinct that wants to protest at Kaderlyn calling Ria her girl, not even sure what drives it. Her chest is tight with anxiety, and she scoops up the handful of lanterns to carry away.
Bartleboy is busy, but he stops counting the skins of wine he has sitting on a shelf as soon as he sees her. “Are you well, Nissa?” he asks. “You look a little…”
She blinks swiftly. Sympathy tends to make her cry, and the tears would make for excellent gossip. “I am well, thank you. It looks like you are busy here, preparing everything. Have you seen Ria? She should be back from collecting water by now, no?”
He frowns. “That was hours ago, too… She…” He hesitates and glances towards her, brow furrowed. “She should be back.”
The words sound as hollow as her heart is, the sinking sensation like what she imagines drowning must be like.
“Warrior incoming! Wounded! Fetch Illima! Fetch the healer!” The high voice is barely audible from inside, but Bartleboy and Nissa share a glance and then hasten outside into the sunlight.
Anderit, a ten year old boy with dark, loose curls, pelts into the center of the encampment, and looks around, wild-eyed and a little breathless. “Where is she? Illima! We need Illima! Ria’s injured!”
All the air in her lungs comes out in a gasp, and Nissa feels like she’s been sluiced with ice water. “Where is she?” she hears someone say, and then realizes abruptly that it’s her voice, chill and precise. She swings about.
“Bartleboy, fetch Illima, and bring a stretcher just in case. Find three strong people to help carry. Kaderlyn,” Nissa addresses the woman who has emerged from the tent where they had been working to see what’s happening.
“Light the fire and the lanterns in the healer’s tent.
We need it warm in there if we need to stitch. ”
Somehow, her voice doesn’t shake. Her hands do, though, and she tucks them under her arms as she strides off in the direction Anderit had come from. “Show me where she is, Anderit. Now.”
Anderit, his eyes wide, runs ahead of her, and she lengthens her stride until she’s almost keeping pace with him. She doesn’t run.
They emerge from the trees beside the grasslands and Nissa blinks as Ria looks up from where she’s knelt beside her dragon, a grin on her face. Her chest loosens at the sight.
And then she makes out the blood.
“Are you…?” She hurries across and skids to her knees in the dirt, brushing Ria’s cropped hair out of her eyes, and running gentle fingers across her neck, where blood is spattered. “Are you hurt?”
Ria doesn’t seem inclined to stop her questing hands from running all over her body. “Not badly,” she says, and as Nissa’s breath comes short again, trying to find the injury, she shivers. “I mean, I’ll need some of your skills, maybe Illima’s, but I will be alright.”
She hesitates for a moment, then catches Nissa’s hands. “Nissa. I’m alright, I promise.”
Nissa catches her breath on a sob, finally meeting Ria’s gaze, and then throws her arms around Ria’s neck, drawing her close. “I—I couldn’t bear…”
“Nissa, truly.” Ria pulls away just enough to see the tears in Nissa’s eyes. “Oh, Nissa, no, don’t cry.”
At the sight of the concern in Ria’s gaze, Nissa chokes a laugh and swats at her face, trying to dash her tears away.
Ria catches her hands to stop her and gives her a look that makes Nissa’s heart feel like it might break should it swell anymore. “Hush, love. I’m whole. It’s not serious, I promise.”
Nissa’s heart gives a tiny leap at the casual endearment—one that has never left Ria’s lips before—and then as Ria’s strong hands close gently around her face, the tears only seem to fall more readily at the tender touch.
Her hands should not feel so gentle, worn into callouses on weaponry as they are, but her thumbs catching at the tears on Nissa’s face feel like warmth and velvet together.
The expression of worry and regret in Ria’s face shifts, and her gaze drops to Nissa’s mouth, and Nissa can barely make herself draw breath, in case she breaks this moment.
Ria should kiss her, now. Right now, for the first time, here, spattered with dry blood and dirt, because she has never wanted to know what those lips would feel like against hers as much as she does right now.
But Ria hesitates. Nissa can feel her breath against her face, but she slides a hand down so slowly, until it strokes Nissa’s throat, and Nissa can’t keep back the tremulous gasp.
Her eyes slide closed, unable to hold, gods above, unable to hold back the swelling tide of feeling cascading from Ria’s thumb smoothing against her lower lip.
She draws a breath to say, kiss me but—
“Well, she’s not on death’s doorstep, then,” says a tart voice behind them, and heat like a dragon’s breath flashes over Nissa. She’s on her feet before she even realizes she must have pulled away from Ria.
She glances down, and Ria is smirking down at her hands, her thumb rubbing against her finger, over and over. Nissa can’t keep back the half smile, so she presses her lips together hard to suppress it.
“No, I think she will survive.” Nissa is impressed that she manages to sound calm and authoritative and not at all embarrassed, though she’s pretty sure that her cheeks, dark as they might be, are betraying something.
“Mmmhmm,” replies Illima, raising a brow.
“I have three wounds, none serious but at least two of which will need your skills, though,” Ria says, and she holds her hand out to Nissa to help her up.
Nissa closes her hand around Ria’s, pretending she doesn’t feel the heat that cascades through her body again, and pulls her to her feet. Ria winces, and as soon as she’s upright, releases Nissa’s hand to close it around her upper arm, where blood is drying against the ragged tear in her shirt.
Illima ducks to look more closely at the wound and shakes her head.
“That’s not not serious,” she says firmly. “And it’s this?” She gestures to Ria’s upper chest, and Ria nods. “And the third?”
Ria winces, pulling back to reveal the puncture to her hip. Nissa inhales shakily at the sight: blood continues to ooze slowly from the ragged cut, and her trousers are soaked. “I don’t think it’s particularly deep…”
“Could’ve caught some organs in there, though.” Illima makes a face. “Still don’t think you’ll need these lads. Thanks anyway, boys, but I think she can walk.”
Nissa flushes, embarrassed that her reaction has proven to be overkill.
“But it was the right instinct, Nissa,” Illima says swiftly. “It’s always better to be sending people back to their work than scrounging for helpers if we need them.”
Nissa nods a little stiffly, and when Ria shuffles then staggers, she slides her arm around Ria’s solid torso and pulls her right arm around her shoulders.
Illima gives her a quick glance, her mouth quirking, but she doesn’t say anything—she just turns and leads the way along the path towards the encampment.