Page 34 of Tortured

I scoop the clump off my arm and hold it out. “You want the first taste?”

She scoffs as she eyes me. “Don’t tempt me.” She’s talking about tasting my light, not the fine culinary specialty Gilmar made.

I’m used to her innuendoes. I shrug and lick the bite off my finger. “Just as I thought. Mud.”

Gilmar chucks the spoon into the pot and starts toward me. “I’m going to show you what mud really tastes like.”

I jump up and back away, giving us room to spare. I can never tell when Gilmar is messing around or if he’s actually trying to pulverize me.

I think it’s a little of both.

His right fist comes toward my face, but I block it. We exchange a few punches before he gets the upper hand and grabs me in a chokehold.

For some reason, my vision blurs as pain rips through my lower abdomen. I cry out and drop to my knees, bringing Gilmar along. He topples over me and drops his hold. “Hey, my cooking’s not really that bad!”

“No. It’s not the food.” The pain releases, and I suck in a breath. I lean on my hands and knees, panting.

Riahn crouches next to me. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know.” I rub my stomach. “I’m okay now.” I stand.

“Nice try.” Gilmar thwacks me on the back. “You’re just trying to get out of a walloping.”

We settle down to eat. Westin slinks back into camp. He says he has business to attend to, meaning a pretty lass to bed. “Sup,” he murmurs in greeting as he takes a bowl from Gilmar.

“You just missed Seafarer wimping out on a fight.” Gilmar passes me a bowl.

Another pain cuts across my belly, and I drop the dish. I freeze, with my mouth gaping open, staring at the stew splattered in the grass.

“Hey, if you don’t want to eat it, just say so!”

“What did I say about wasting food?” Riahn smacks the back of my head. I roll over onto my side with a moan.

“I don’t think he’s messing around,” Westin says.

My head swims while my stomach contracts with agony.

“Well, it can’t be my cooking,” Gilmar says. “He only had one lick earlier. It couldn’t have hit him that fast.”

Sweat breaks out on my brow. The pain subsides, and I push upright with shaking hands. “Must be some sort of food poisoning. Maybe something I ate for breakfast.”

Kian slips over and grabs my chin. He is our resident healer. As stern and as gruff as he is most of the time, he doesn’t mess around when it comes to illness. Kian closes his eyes and does what I know is an internal scan with his light. When he’s done, he pushes my chin away and returns to his stew. We all stare at him as he takes a bite.

“Well?” Riahn asks.

“Nothing’s wrong with him. He’s faking it.”

I scoff and lean back against a log. I’m not in the mood to argue. Everyone else eats in silence. I hear nothing but the click of their spoons on the bowls, and Gilmar’s groans of satisfaction. Apparently, he appreciates his own cooking.

Riahn taps my foot with hers. “Get some rest. Maybe whatever this is will be gone by morning.”

I grunt and head to my bedroll. As soon as I lie down, pain grips me again. I try to breathe, but can’t draw a full breath.

Breathe, Niawen, breathe, I hear a man say. Someone is coaching her. Encouraging her. She gasps in a breath at the same time I do. We can hardly move.

Niawen? I manage to squeak out. What’s going on? I should have realized this was referred pain from our emotional bond.

The pain subsides, and we both suck in air. Kenrik? she whispers. I’m sorry. It’s labor. Try to block me. Please. Caedryn will find out. I can’t block while I’m in pain.

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