Lucidity finds me lying on a pallet. Nisai hovers at the edge of the bed, brows pinched in worry but otherwise unharmed.
Thank Esiku. I can relax.
“Out of my way!”
There goes that idea.
It’s a girl’s voice, and I turn my head on the pillow to see Issinon, Nisai’s valet, standing in her way. The intruder is short, her plain-spun robes reaching ankle and wrist, the white fabric favoring her golden-tanned complexion. Boots, rather than the sandals of the palace servants, peek out from the hem. The strap of a leather satchel crosses her chest, and a utilitarian knife is sheathed at her hip. All parts of an equation that my fevered mind can’t solve.
Issinon bristles: “How dare you issue orders to me? I am the imperial—”
“I don’t give a sniff who you are. That wound needs attending.”
“Wound? How did you—”
“The Shield’s favoring one arm, and anyone whose eyes weren’t painted on would know he’s feverish. You could wait for the Scent Keeper, but she’s attending the Eraz’s daughter. Who knows how long that could take. Lady Sireth’s turns are …”
A groan escapes me.
“Let her in,” Nisai orders.
“I think I’d prefer Esarik see to this,” I murmur.
“He’s gone on a specimen-collecting expedition. He won’t be back until tomorrow.”
Translation: He’s fleeing the attentions of half the maids in Aphorai.
Issinon stands aside and the girl bends over me. She sniffs the bandages around my chest, nose twitching like a deer testing the wind for danger. But this girl’s not prey. She’s something else. The way her amber eyes meet mine is almost wolflike. There’s something vaguely familiar about her that I can’t quite pin down.
“Take off the bandages.”
Issinon intervenes. “But surely the bleeding—”
“Is less of a risk than leaving a filthy wound to fester.”
“The wound wasn’t unclean. I checked it myself.”
The ferocity in her eyes flares. “And did you clean and file the lion’s claws before they sliced him open? You all shared a friendly conversation in the bathhouse this morning, is that it? Gossiping while your feather-maned friend had his cuticles scraped and oiled?” She keeps talking, holding the valet’s attention hostage while she slips her blade underneath the bandages and starts cutting.
I wince as the cloth dislodges from my wounds.
The girl’s eyes go flat. “I’ll need boiling water, clean linen, and needle and thread. Now.”
Issinon decides it’s in his best interest to do what she asks.
I don’t blame him.
When the supplies arrive, the girl mixes a handful of what looks like pink salt crystals into the basin. She dips a square of linen into the steaming water, untroubled by what must be scalding heat as she wrings it out. Then she upends a vial, a stream of orange droplets blooming onto the white cloth.
The girl offers me the hilt of her knife. “It’s clean.”
She doesn’t have to tell me this next part is going to hurt. I open my mouth. With surprising gentleness, she positions the hilt between my teeth.
The hot cloth sears the open wounds along my ribs, and whatever she doused it with stings like nothing else. I bite down. Hard.
The cleaning seems to take hours. The stitches seem to take longer. It’s a frantic battle to not lose consciousness. All too aware of what might be revealed if I’m incoherent, I force myself to focus on the here and now, hone in on anything but the pain.
The flutter of the girl’s breath against my skin as she works.
The faint scent of her perfume—roses?
The silver locket that keeps working its way free from the neckline of her robe, only for her to tuck it back in as if on reflex.
Afterward, she rinses off her hands. “He needs to sleep.”
“No.” My voice sounds weak even to my own ears.
Nisai steps forward. “You’re no use to me in that state. The quicker you recover, the quicker you’ll be back in action.”
The girl puts a cup to my lips. “Take your medicine,” she says, some kind of bitter irony in her tone.
How could she know I need a dose? I look frantically around the room—who else heard her words? Then sweet liquid pours over my tongue and I’m forced to swallow it along with any denial.
Sweet? It’s poppy milk, not the Linod’s Elixir I’m relying more on with each passing day. Something akin to relief washes through me.
The girl ushers everyone from the room except Nisai and two Rangers acting as guards in my incapacity, then follows, closing the door softly behind her. Nisai settles on a stool by the bed. I’m reminded uncomfortably of morning visits to his father in Ekasya.
He watches me, intent. “Something happened with you out there, didn’t it? Ash, if those claws had … Rakel says if they’d gone any deeper …”
“Rakel?”
“The person who just had no small hand in saving your life.”
“You don’t think she could tell anything, do you? Can she be trusted?”
Nisai bites his lower lip, then nods. “I believe so.”
Before I can question why, drug sleep claims me.