Chapter 20
“Delaynie—wake up!
Something pounded. A fist on wood?
The world around Quentin was fogged with pain. His eyes blearily fluttered, sagging heavily against his companion. “Quentin, by the fucking skies. You made it all this way; please help me out a little.”
Rylla. That’s who was with him.
Quentin blinked again, trying to survey his surroundings. The world was too bright, too fuzzy around the edges, but he recognized the inside of Amasis’s serekah. This was the floor where Mariah, Ciana, and Delaynie kept their rooms.
“How…?” He could barely croak the word, his tongue like sandpaper in his mouth.
“How’d we get back here? We walked. Or rather, I walked. You stumbled and were half-dragged.” Rylla muttered a Kreah curse. “All because you refused to see a healer. If you die, it’s your own fault.”
The memories surged against the haze of his pain.
His excursion into Desva. Finding the darker side of the city. Defending Mariah and getting tossed into the pits. A fight to the death—two fights, really.
At least he’d won. Right? He was pretty sure he remembered winning.
Rylla pounded furiously again on the door. “Delaynie!”
The door swung open. A light flipped on, haloing a scowling Delaynie, auburn hair piled atop her head.
“What in the name of the Goddess is going on—” Delaynie froze, her eyes widening with shock as they flitted between Rylla and Quentin, all traces of annoyance fading away.
Quentin briefly forgot his pain. His mouth lifted instinctively into a smirk, gaze drinking in Delaynie’s exposed moon-pale skin, the low scoop of her tank, skimming over the hem of her linen shorts.
“Hey, little wolf.”
Dumbfounded surprise dashed across her aristocratic features before the pain swallowed him again. His smirk fell, his face throbbing under the heavy bruise blooming across his cheek. Dizziness wrapped around him again and he swayed, eyes fluttering closed.
“I…shit. Rylla, let’s get him inside.” Someone warm and soft and sweet—what was that? Coconut? Vanilla?—slipped beneath his right arm, guiding him forward.
Delaynie’s chambers were cooler than the hall. A desert breeze brushed into the room, and a shiver raced down Quentin’s spine.
He hoped it was just a cool night. A fever would be bad. Right?
His thoughts were fuzzy. Why was he so tired?
Something soft yet solid brushed the backs of his calves. He was slowly lowered until he settled on plush cushions. A chair, his brain gave him. It was a chair.
“What happened?” Delaynie sounded breathless, concern tingeing her voice.
Was his little wolf worried about him? How sweet.
A small hand grabbed his chin, wrenching up his face. “Eyes open. No falling asleep. And I’m not your anything.”
Oh. Maybe he’d said that out loud.
With way, way too much effort, Quentin opened his eyes. The world was even brighter than before, but nothing was brighter than Delaynie’s blue eyes.
He blinked against the brilliance, head rolling to the side and out of Delaynie’s grasp. More of his surroundings greeted him—the large mirror, the clawfoot tub, the vanity and sink.
A bathroom.
Delaynie glanced to Rylla lingering in the doorway. “I need bandages; as many as you can carry. If you can find marigold, comfrey, and yarrow, I’ll need those, too.” She ran her sharp gaze over him again, lingering on the blood coating his abdomen.
Blood that was leaking from his back.
“Also, a needle and thread. And some alcohol—the stronger the better.”
Rylla gave a short nod and vanished, the door to Delaynie’s rooms shutting closed a few moments later.
Delaynie held Quentin’s stare for three long heartbeats. Quentin felt each one. Even with all the blood he’d lost, his skin was suddenly buzzing, awareness chasing away the haze.
A tinge of pink crept into Delaynie’s cheeks and she softly cleared her throat. “I have to clean the wounds,” she said. “So we know what we’re dealing with.”
He nodded, and—gods. Pain wracked through him. Every inch of him hurt, from his face down to his knees. With a grimace, he peeled his baldric from his bloodied skin, swaying slightly on the chair as he lifted it over his head and discarded it on the tile.
He was missing two knives. That sucked.
Water splashed into a basin. Quentin’s head shot up—he hissed in pain at the sudden movement—to Delaynie standing beside the claw foot tub, toying with the faucet.
She glanced over her shoulder, rolling her eyes at whatever she read on his face.
“Don’t get excited,” she said. “It’s the fastest way to get rid of the blood and sand.
And I don’t trust you not to pass out and drown if I leave you on your own.
” She eyed him, that blush staining higher on her cheeks. “The pants are staying on, though.”
Oh, it was too easy.
He cocked a half-grin, trying not to aggravate the bruised side of his face. “Oh, c’mon, Del,” he said. “What if it’s hurt, too? What will happen to this world if I lose my co—”
She raised her hand. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” Her glare sharpened as she crossed her arms. “Get in the bath. Pants on. Now.”
Despite the blazing pain across his face, Quentin’s smile widened, but he obeyed. Standing gingerly, he lurched to the bath, stepping one leg then the other over and settling slowly into the warm water.
At first, it was divine. He’d suffered no injuries to his legs beyond a few minor scratches. The fights had drained him, and the warmth was soothing on the tight soreness already settling into his muscles.
When the water reached the middle of his back, the agony started.
The deep scratches from Oralla’s claws had scoured tracks in his skin, the source of most of his blood loss. He clenched his teeth, gripping the sides of the tub as he hissed in pain.
“Tell me what happened.”
Quentin met Delaynie’s gaze. She sat on the chair he’d just occupied, one pale leg crossed over the other.
“Right now?”
“Yes. Right now.” She drummed her fingers on her knee, further drawing Quentin’s attention to those legs. “It’ll distract you from the pain.”
The bathwater was already beginning to stain red as the water climbed higher, lifting the blood from his skin.
Quentin dragged in a shaky inhale. “Fine.” He shifted, his legs uncomfortably bent. He wasn’t tall, but the bath had still clearly not been designed for anyone other than a petite woman.
“I was…bored. So, I decided to go into town. Just to see what the locals were like, how things were for the ordinary residents of Kreah.”
Delaynie lifted a perfectly arched brow. “You were bored.”
Quentin shrugged, grinning weakly.
“I spent most of the day in the city,” he continued. His back was on fire now, a sheen of sweat breaking out across his forehead. “Most people were nice. I eventually made it down into places that were…less so.”
“Why am I not the least bit surprised?”
Quentin shot Delaynie a glance. “Careful, little wolf. You almost sound worried.”
“About you?” She scoffed. “Never. But I know the last thing my queen needs right now is to lose one of her Armature. The fact that you’d do something so reckless…” Her nails dug into the skin of her thighs, like she was trying to stop herself from trembling.
In anger? No, she didn’t look enraged. It almost looked like…
Quentin’s grin widened, despite the pain to his face.
Oh, she was definitely worried for him. This would be fun.
“Still.” She straightened her spine. “That doesn’t explain all of”—she gestured at him— “this.”
Quentin sobered slightly. “I overheard people talking. About the Onitan refugees and how unhappy they were with it all.” He hesitated. “They were talking about a coup. Against Amasis.”
The door to Delaynie’s room clicked open as her eyes widened in shock, her expression shifting to muted horror.
“I found what I could. Thankfully, things are quite stocked due to Feran’s recovery.
” Rylla strode into the bathroom, carrying a basket bursting with all sorts of medical supplies.
Herbs and tinctures clinked as she set the basket down on the tile, yards of white cotton bandages piled on top.
Standing up, Rylla glanced between Delaynie and Quentin. “Everything all right here?”
“Yes,” they said together. Rylla cocked an eyebrow.
“Right,” she said slowly, a grin spreading across her face. She tossed her long ponytail over her shoulder, hazel eyes twinkling. “I will be going then. I must find my sister and speak to our parents about the events this evening.” She paused, focusing on Quentin.
“You fought well, Armature. Very few have ever faced the champions of desert and sky and lived to tell the tale. Especially with all their limbs intact.”
Quentin grinned. “Do you think Mariah will be proud?”
Both Delaynie and Rylla barked their laughter.
“I think you’ll be lucky if she doesn’t castrate you,” Rylla said.
“But also”—she smirked— “yes. She will be proud.” The Kreah warrior bade them both a goodnight and left the room.
There was a flash of blue light, then a near silent click as the bedroom door closed behind her once more.
“Please don’t tell me you started a fight because you heard people discussing a coup.”
Quentin made an indignant noise. “Actually, no. And I never started a fight. I simply stood up for my queen, as any of us would’ve done.”
“Stood up for her how?”
Ah. yes. Quentin picked at an invisible mark on the lip of the bath.
“I might’ve put a knife to a man’s throat. But trust me, he deserved it.”
Delaynie was silent for a long moment before letting out a heavy sigh. She stood, gesturing to him.
“You need to dunk your head. In case you didn’t know, there’s blood in your hair, too.”
“Little wolf, that’s just my hair. In case you didn’t know, it’s red.”
Delaynie rubbed her eyes. “Quentin, for once in your life, please just take something seriously.”