Chapter 23 #2
Pyetar slipped in through the back door and let out a deep breath once it closed behind them. Iryana couldn’t see much at first—there were curtains drawn across the windows, blocking most of the moonlight.
He sat her down on what she was pretty sure was the table, and Iryana grabbed onto him as another wave of pain moved through her. When she opened her eyes, she found him waiting, watching her, and she snatched her hands back, pretending she hadn’t seen the concern all over his face.
He kneeled before the stove, grabbing a few pieces of wood from the alcove below, and opened the stove door to push them inside. Iryana felt her eyes shutting again as warmer air hit her. When she opened them again, Pyetar was putting a lantern and a basket of other supplies onto the table.
He handed her a small bottle. “This will help with the pain.”
She uncorked it and sniffed, recognizing some of the plant smells and the tingle of magic that hit her nose. It had been made by an earth-forged healer.
She quickly drank it down, feeling the slight prickling sensation spread through her body. Like it was thawing her out, too.
It felt wonderful.
“Other than your arm, where are you hurt?” He was still tense, his voice strained.
She reached down to unclasp her armor, but her fingers were sluggish, and the leather straps were tight from being submerged in the river.
Pyetar pushed her hands away and started undoing each clasp. Most of those on her right side had been ripped off already, so it wouldn’t take long.
She couldn’t move, equal parts unsettled and surprised.
The potion Pyetar had given her was strong, and the edge of the pain almost completely dulled.
She stared down at Pyetar sitting below her, his chest pressed against her knees and his head tilted down, entirely focused on her armor.
Her chest was tight, and her body confused.
She squeezed her jaw shut tightly, trying to clear her head.
It was Pyetar, who she had the opposite of a fondness for, and she didn’t let people close to her very often.
She couldn’t help but remember the first time she’d seen him. Tall and strong, with a body used to training and fighting. And a face that was gentler than it was now. Less sharp, no stubble darkening his jaw. She’d been reckless and lonely, and thought he’d be a fun way to pass some time.
He’d actually smiled at her, watched her with interest, knowing who she was even though she had no idea who he was. The thought of it was still hugely embarrassing.
But she was glad then that she’d discovered who he was before they’d been alone together. Before she could kiss him, feel him against her. Those memories would have made this moment far more difficult.
She was hyper-aware of him, of every move of his hand as he worked down one side, and then the other.
It was horribly inconvenient.
Strangers came to her village now and then, and there had been a few she’d snuck away with, letting their hands and bodies distract her for a few hours before they moved on. It had always been purposeful and quick. Their touches hadn’t lingered. But it had made the years more bearable.
Moving to the straps over her shoulders, his hand brushed against her collarbone, and Iryana sucked in a breath with surprise.
Pyetar’s eyes flashed to hers, and he stilled. Then, as if it had never happened, he went back to work. Iryana forced herself to look at the ceiling.
Then he peeled her armor away from her dress, which she knew was completely ruined, and removed the belt from around her middle. The freedom felt good. He untied the bloody cloth she had wrapped around the gash in her arm, but then he stopped.
When she looked back down, Pyetar looked unsure, and she realized the hesitation.
She sighed. “I won’t be able to get the dress over my head with my arm. Just cut it off. It’s ruined anyway.” The white of her dress was stained black and red, and the fine embroidery was fraying where it wasn’t completely ripped out.
Pyetar pulled a dagger off his belt and slowly reached for the fabric at her neck. He pulled the dress away from her undershirt, slipped the dagger underneath, and cut.
She wore one of her long white shirts beneath the dress, and a pair of felt leggings which were like what she trained in, but it didn’t feel the same when he pulled the ruined dress away from her. It didn’t help that the soaked undershirt clung to her body.
She almost tried to hide the injury on her side, but what was the point anymore?
Before she could second-guess herself, Iryana reached down, bunched the fabric at her waist into her fist, and yanked it up over the wound she hadn’t had a chance to look at.
They both stared at her side.
There were a few different gashes, all clustered together. None of them were particularly deep, but the surrounding skin was angry and red. It was impossible not to notice any of the scars that decorated her with the mess.
“Can you at least tell me how this happened?”
“Pretty sure that was a tree.” She could remember being thrown at it, how her side had quickly run red.
That blood had been useful, at least. Probably saved her life.
He gave her a look of tired disbelief.
She sighed. “I had to outrun some dakii. It was a closer call than I would have liked.”
Pyetar pressed his fingers lightly against the bruises forming around the gashes, and Iryana jumped. He shot her a glance that said, hold still. She clenched her jaw while he gently pressed up her ribs.
She wished the potion hadn’t been so good, that his touch hurt more. She would have welcomed the pain in that moment.
“Nothing’s broken,” he said, his voice rough. “I need to look at your arm.”
Her throat bobbed. “Turn around.”
Once he was fully facing the other way, Iryana pulled at the ties at the top of her shirt, loosening it enough to pull over her injured arm. The shirt was bloody and damp, but she pulled it up over her chest, clutching it in place with her good arm.
Looking at it now, the cut wasn’t too bad. It was still oozing blood, but it wasn’t as deep as she had thought before.
“Okay, you can look.”
Pyetar’s gaze went straight to the wound, avoiding her eyes. Avoiding the scar on her shoulder too. The one she knew would be visible no matter how blood-soaked she was.
“Let me guess, this was a tree too.”
“Uh, no.” She wasn’t sure why she was even telling him the truth. “Claw got through my shield.”
His eyes flicked to hers, but he glanced away. “I can’t believe I let you leave on your own.”
“You didn’t let me do anything.” Although he could have stopped her… could have told someone. Even suspecting she was on a mission for his brother, he had kept her secrets. Again.
Pyetar sprang into action with quick precision.
He poured some water into a bowl and took a clean cloth to wipe down her arm. Then he rubbed a pale ointment around the cut, and it numbed the skin.
She stared at the stove while he carefully stitched up the wound and rubbed more ointment over it.
She barely felt it. This was hardly how she’d expected her evening to go.
To have Pyetar of all people tending to her injuries.
But her family was safe, and her eyes fluttered shut at the reminder. They were safe. For now.
After he had bandaged her arm, Pyetar paused with his fingers still gripping the edges of the cloth. “Whatever you’re doing, you need to stop or you’re going to get yourself killed,” he sighed.
“I know.” She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to calm her racing heart. “But I don’t have a choice.”
She felt so tired.
“And what am I supposed to do? You won’t ask for my help, but I can’t just watch you die or rip this place apart helping my brother. Or both.”
First, he was doing everything to run her off, and now he offered her half-baked concern? She knew she was technically on his team, his responsibility for the moment, but it was still unsettling. It wasn’t like Darish would have cared if she got herself killed.
But she couldn’t have Pyetar trying to stop her. “I am doing the best I can, and I am trying not to make things worse for anyone. I don’t want Karvek to get any more power, either. I don’t want him to start a war between the other brigades. I’m just—you just have to trust me.”
Pyetar’s eyes flashed, and they were the color of the sky before a summer storm. “You really expect me to believe you? To trust you?”
“I think you already do.” Her voice was quiet, but she felt sure. “You risked exposing yourself at Midmarket by protecting me from Karvek. No one knew you were there. Just me. You knew I wouldn’t tell him.”
She met his gaze. Held it. “You’ve warned me about how dangerous he is. If you truly thought I was his pawn, you wouldn’t have risked it.”
Something had shifted. She didn’t know when, not exactly.
Maybe it was when she’d seen him taking charge, protecting the soldiers from the dakii when they’d been replacing spikes.
He hadn’t hesitated to form his sword. Or the moment he’d pulled her out of the way in Midmarket, risking himself to stop Karvek from discovering her.
Or maybe it was smaller than that.
When he stood between her and Gintar, shielding her entire team and protecting them. When he held her on the dance floor, and admitted he was just as trapped as she was. When he’d tried to keep her from coming at all.
He may not show it or admit it, but she could see it behind his actions. He protected those he could. Had protected her.
She didn’t hate him anymore. Hadn’t for a while now.
Iryana rubbed at her face with her good arm, exhaustion and emotion weighing her down.
She could trust him. Not completely, but enough. Enough to believe he’d keep her secrets.
Pyetar’s voice cut through her spiraling thoughts.