I lay there, looking around the room. Her room, the one she’d shared with Hugh during their short marriage, and the one she’d given birth to the twins in, but not the same bed. That one had been a fancy of gold leaf, trailing ribbons, lace curtains, and pink roses. This one was plainer, though still high quality, carved from dark wood to look like the polished limbs of a tree. It made me wonder when she’d changed it.
Sitting up a little, I drank more water and the fever tea, hoping they’d stay down this time. Then, while she was gone, I felt around for the pieces of the minor arm bone. Splintered all right, and I couldn’t set them. By the feel of it, there wasn’t enough of it left. I should be grateful the major bone was intact. If I lived through this I’d have to train myself to wield a sword with the other arm. This one would never have the same ability to grip again.
The door opened and Ami entered, a basket over her arm. “I brought broth and bread, too, in case you can keep it down,” she said.
I’d need the strength. “If you don’t mind, I’ll eat that first.” I should be honest with her. “It’s possible I’ll pass out when you hit it with the alcohol. Don’t stop. Douse all of it.”
Pale, she firmed her lips and nodded. She poured soup from a tall container into a bowl and handed it to me. I cupped it in my hand and drank, the warm broth salty and intense with marrow, my bones feeling as if they drank it up.
“Should I stitch it up again?” she asked.
I shook my head and held out the bowl for more. Pursing her lips dubiously, she refilled it. “Not unless anything is really gushing blood. Just, if you can stomach it, try to line up the loose flesh again so the edges match. Then loosely wrap up the whole thing and let it seep.”
“I wish I was better at this.” She studied me. “It feels so wrong that you’ve healed so many people—saved their lives—and there’s no one to help you. I tried to send for someone, but…”
“Snowed in?” I cocked my head at the howling wind. “You got your Mornai storm.”
“Don’t laugh about this.” She clenched her fists. “I know how stupid I am that I caused this. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”
“Ami,” I tossed aside the empty bowl and caught the sleeve of her robe before she could flee. She looked surprised that I moved so fast. “There’s nothing to forgive.”
She firmed her pretty mouth. “Maybe not for you, but I have a great deal to reconcile with myself. Anything else before we do this?”
“A couple of shots of the alcohol might be good.”
“On a virtually empty stomach and you with a fever still?” She frowned at me.
“Hard to screw myself up any more at this point,” I pointed out. “And it’ll dull the edge, at least a little.”
She poured some of the liquor into the empty mug and I tossed it back, hissing at the harsh burn. “Branlian whiskey?”
“The closest thing we had to what you asked for.” Ami shrugged. Then poured herself a draught and drank it. “For courage,” she said with a grimace.
“You don’t have to do this,” I told her.
“Yes, I do.” She handed me a wooden spoon for stirring stews and I took it. Paused before setting it between my teeth.
“No matter what, don’t stop,” I said.
“I know.”
“I mean, even if I’m screaming.”
“Oh.” She considered. “Even weakened you’re so much stronger than I am—should we tie you down again?”
Much as I hated the thought, I grimly agreed. She retrieved the rope and secured the upper part of my wounded arm to the bed post, then tied my good hand to the headboard. I wrapped my fist around the binding rope, hanging on. That would help, too. She picked up the spoon and I opened my mouth to bite on it, but she hesitated, eyes a stormy blue.
“Last chance to back out.” I said it as gently as I could.
She gave me a long look, then smiled. Not all that nicely. “If you scream, I’ll just consider it payback for all the times you’ve pissed me off.”
That’s my girl. I clamped my back teeth on the spoon and lay back.
9
I must have lost consciousness early on, because I awoke to daylight, not remembering much beyond a haze of burning agony. The spoon was gone, I was untied, and my injured arm lay across my belly, lightly swathed in bandages. It ached, but with a fierce bright pain I actually welcomed. It was the crawling, stretching kind of pain that meant healing had begun.
Thank Glorianna. And Her avatar.
I was hungry, too—another good sign—and the fever had lessened. It still buzzed at the edges, making me feel a little chilled, but my vision had lost that too-acute sharpness. The wind howled outside, but from a direction that didn’t rattle the shutters as much. The white light filtered through the cracks in them, and showed through the glass-sealed clerestory windows that ringed the room near the ceiling. Nothing to see but snowflakes dashing themselves against the glass, like beasts starving to get in, but I frowned at them. I didn’t remember the windows.
The door creaked open, and Ami peeked in. “You’re awake? Are you up for small, tremendously annoying visitors?”
Stella had already stuck her head around Ami, wedging her small body through the space. “Ash!” she shouted, popping through like a cork and racing toward me.
“Slowly and gently!” Ami commanded, her voice as steely as any general’s. Stella froze, then stepped toward the bed with exaggeratedly slow, prancing steps. Ami had caught Astar by the back of his sweater, swooping him up and carrying him over. She’d bathed and changed clothes, her hair in loosely spilling curls and her eyes bright. “Be careful, both of you. Anyone who jostles Ash and makes him hurt loses all their Feast of Moranu presents.”
The kids exchanged wide-eyed looks and nodded. Ami set Astar next to me on the bed, then lifted Stella up. She stuck her small fingers in her mouth and stared at me. I tried to keep my emotions calm, in case she could sense them.
“Does it hurt?” Astar asked, pointing at my arm.
“A little bit,” I answered, not sure how honest to be.
“You killed the wolf before it could eat us,” Astar informed me.
I glanced at Ami who made a face. No telling them what they saw wasn’t real. It might have been nice to keep them innocent of the more vile aspects of the world a little longer though. “I did,” I agreed, “and now it can never hurt either one of you again.”
“I don’t ever want to be a wolf,” Stella popped her fingers out of her mouth to say. “And you hurt a whole lot. It stinks.” Fat tears began to roll down her face.
Not an easy magic to have, Stella’s gift of empathy. “It’s not a real smell—that’s the magic’s way of showing you emotion. And it feels stronger to you than to him,” Ami consoled the girl, stroking her dark curls. “Ash is very strong and tough. He can withstand more pain than anyone I’ve ever known. Look at him—he’s smiling.”