Chapter 9 #3
I dipped the cloth in the water and began dabbing at her bloodied lip. She tensed, letting out a sharp breath as I wiped away the worst of it. But soon enough her breathing steadied as she faced the pain head-on.
Once I cleared her lip of blood and debris, I rubbed the balm over my fingers, letting the heat from my hands soften the salve. Hesper took in slow, even breaths, her eyes glassy and unfocused.
“Are you in more pain than before?” I asked, worried that a worse injury lay underneath the surface, but there was no way for me to know what her pain level was, what with her remaining still like a damn statue.
“Sort of” was all she said.
The balm finally softened, and she leaned in closer so that I could apply it to her lip.
I used my thumb to gently graze her mouth.
I feared I would make things worse and reopen the wound, but Hesper seemed to ease as I applied more balm—her breathing less calculated and more human.
Still, I couldn’t tell if I was doing her more harm than good.
My heart started racing, and my hands began to tremble. Hesper touched my wrist softly.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered, her spiced breath falling over my mouth. “You’re not hurting me.”
I audibly gulped.
“Shame,” I tutted. She laughed.
I repeated the process with the scratches on her face and hands. We both remained silent as a draft picked up in the cottage; sweat trickled down my back.
Her ribs were the final bit that needed healing.
“Which rib is hurt?” I asked, standing up from my chair and brushing the salve off on my apron.
She motioned high up on her back. Too high for me to apply the balm with her shirt still on. Hesper grimaced, a look of apology in her eyes.
“It’s fine, Hesper. It’s not like I haven’t seen a shirtless body before.
” She made a move to take off her tunic and sucked in a sharp breath, doubled over, and almost tumbled right out of the chair.
I rushed to steady her before she could fall, my hands firmly grasping her muscled shoulders.
Hesper pursed her lips in pain as she tried to sit back up.
She couldn’t take the tunic off by herself.
My heart turned in on itself. She had swallowed down so much suffering up until this point. The searing agony she must have been in for her strength to falter like that; it must have been horrific.
“Do you think you can turn to face the wall?” I asked her. The chairback blocked access to her injury, but I didn’t want to move her myself and risk making things worse. She nodded slowly, trying and failing at steadying her breaths.
Her back now faced me, her breaths coming out in rasping shudders. A cold, sinking feeling settled into me. For all Hesper’s sauntering today, even going so far as to offer to sleep outside, she was in much more pain than she had let on. Pain she was experiencing because of me.
“I’m going to take your tunic off now,” I said gently. “Is that okay?” Hesper grunted a yes, and I began.
My hands shook as I grasped the ends of her tunic, easing it up higher and higher. We were up to her shoulder now; the hardest part would be getting it over her head and onto her arms. She shifted in an attempt to help me, but I stopped her.
“Try not to move,” I said, edging the tunic around her shoulders.
Goddess, every part of her burst with muscle, with thickness, with strength. I wondered how many bones she had to have sundered before this if she could bear a fracture like that all day without passing out from the pain.
I inhaled, willing that same type of fortitude into myself.
The tunic was so tight—Goddess-damned Hesper Altanfall and her form-fitting clothes—any wrong move could result in worsening the injury.
My heart thundered in my chest, but I managed to slow the trembling in my hands.
I wiggled the shirt off bit by bit, working on one shoulder then the next until it finally slid free.
The tunic slid off her head and onto her arms.
We both let out a relieved sigh. My heart beat wildly in my chest, and I held on to the table to steady myself. I couldn’t tell if it was from the stress of today, Hesper’s injury, or just Hesper in general.
I dipped my hand into Sylvie’s salve once more.
As I waited for the balm to warm, I surveyed Hesper’s back—as chiseled and deeply tanned as the rest of her. Only a few scars speckled her skin.
That’s not what you’re supposed to be paying attention to.
Bruising, yes, any bruising? That’s what I needed to check for.
Not how well-built she was. Not the hint of softness that spilled out from her tight waistband.
Not her deep breathing accentuating the cords of muscle running all along her spine.
Not her skin reminding me of steeping tea and how desperately I wanted a sip.
That’s definitely not what you’re supposed to be paying attention to.
It was just a bodily reaction, nothing more.
She was Eldrene’s servant, nothing more.
All that she did today was because of her duty, nothing more.
The balm was ready and pliable now, oozing along my fingers. I shook my head, forcing any untoward thoughts right out.
“I’m going to touch you now,” I said, all business, eager to get this over with.
Hesper tensed.
I put one hand softly on her shoulder; the other hovered right above the injury.
With no more hesitation, I pressed the balm onto the rib.
Hesper diligently tried to remain at ease, but she white-knuckled the sides of the chair so hard, the wood began to splinter.
I absentmindedly began tracing small circles on her shoulder with my thumb.
It seemed to ease her tension, so I kept going.
The balm worked its magic, but I soon realized that the injury was significant enough that I needed to add a few layers for it to take full effect.
So for the next twenty minutes, I stood behind Hesper, caressing her shoulder and massaging the injury with salve.
Eventually, her breathing began to ease, and her neck and shoulders released their tightly wound tension.
I worked the last bit of the salve onto her back with both hands, applying full pressure. When Hesper didn’t groan in pain, I knew the healing was complete. But my hands still lingered, pressing into the heat of her back over and over again.
Hesper stretched, testing the injury. I jerked my hands back, worried I’d hurt her again and slightly embarrassed that I’d dawdled for longer than needed.
She caught both of my hands in one of hers, her face still turned away from me.
“Thank you,” she said quietly, gently squeezing before letting them go.
I quickly cleaned the table, placing the bloody rags in a washbasin for overnight soaking.
She put her tunic on while my back was turned.
I laid out a loaf of bread, a few hard cheeses, and apple slices for dinner, avoiding looking at or talking to her.
But I could feel her watching me as I busied myself.
Usually, I would eat peacefully in my kitchen while reading a book.
Tonight, I prepared a plate to take to my room, which I hated doing—all those crumbs right by my bed—but being near Hesper would doom my nerves altogether.
As I made my way up the ladder into my bedroom, dinner plate precariously balanced in one hand, Hesper came over and stood by the base.
“Can I help you?” I asked, not taking my eyes away from the attic entrance.
“I’m sorry that you have to leave your home. I understand why you love it here. We’ll get you back to Moss, I promise.” There was such earnestness in her voice, such conviction that we could survive—even succeed.
Tell her, a tiny voice in my heart said. Tell her.
Tell her this quest is doomed? That I have no magic? That Eldrene sent us on a fool’s errand across monster-infested woods for me to grow a garden that is impossible for me to grow?
I didn’t say anything. Instead, I scurried up the ladder and shut the attic opening.
This day had wrung me out completely. I had the seeds; I even had a new Town Gardener. Nevertheless, guilt muddled with grief found its way to me at the thought of leaving Rosie behind, confused.
Hesper’s words, though, offered a sliver of comfort when I needed it the most.
As moonbeams flooded through my window and I remembered to blow out my candles, I threw down two pillows, extra quilts, and even a pair of cozy stockings for Hesper.
A peace offering. A thank-you.