Page 143 of House of Ashes

“Because one of us has to do it,” I muttered, seeing that the dimples still hadn’t vanished. “And I thought feeding you the soup was emasculating, or some such nonsense?”

“I’ve changed my mind on that score. I would very much like for you to come feed me, so long as you’re willing to keep kissing me while you’re at it.”

If anything, his dimples had deepened. I flushed, knowing I had been a little looser with my hands than I’d meant to be, while Rhylan was hovering so close to death.

We’d almost made it back to his bed, which was covered in clean linens. One of the Bloodless maids had changed it, and had left the bucket and scrub brush for me.

I let out my own sigh. The tired ache hadn’t left my bones, but I refused to sit back and hide in an upstairs room when the healers needed help. “I’ll stay as long as I can…but duty calls.”

He followed my gaze to the bucket. “You’re mopping? But that’s…”

I raised an eyebrow. “That’s what, exactly?”

Rhylan raised his chin. “You’re a princess, Sera. The future Dragonesse.”

I planted my hands on his chest, forcing him to sit on the bed, and found the jar of salve. “Yes.”

He was quiet as I dabbed a fresh layer over his stitches and blackened eye, and before I coated his lower lip, I leaned in, molding my mouth to his.

Breathing softly, curling my fingers through his hair…and felt the soft slip of his tongue against mine.

I drew back, tapping a salve-covered finger on his lip. His blue eyes were glittering. “Don’t get carried away. You’re literally being held together with thread right now.”

Rhylan took one of my hands and held it. His fingertips ran over the new calluses, the rough patches where the lye had burned away the outer layers of my skin, the reddened knuckles.

“Scrubbing and laundry,” I explained, curling my fingers around his.

He stared down at my hands for a moment, then pulled me in for another kiss. A long, slow one, that sent heat curling in tendrils to my core. That strange prickling sensation began needling my skin again as he cupped my cheek.

When he broke away, he pressed his forehead against mine, staring into my eyes. I gazed back, entranced by the flames, by the heat of him, and how badly I wanted that fire within me…

How much I wanted his voice in my mind, to feel him.

But the inside of my head remained resolutely silent.

There was only me.

Chapter

Thirty-One

For two more days, I worked through the long hours—cleaning, laundry, collecting more medicines and deliveries from the supply lines Doric had formed throughout the town.

Once, I delivered clean linens to Elinor’s room; the sight of the comfortable room—with expensive carpets untouched by blood, silk canopies, the sheer quantity of space she had been given when the injured people downstairs were crammed shoulder to shoulder—filled me with a formless fury.

I had to leave quickly, knowing one harsh word could destroy our alliance.

At night, I washed in a barrel outside and ate with Rhylan. Once he’d gotten up, he refused to lay back down, though Cryla had snarled at him that if he shifted and ruined her work, she wouldn’t be stitching him up again.

But while I worked the menial tasks that they desperately needed help with, he refused to be useless. More than once, he passed by the laundry or the kitchens to deliver medicines, and provide the healers with another pair of helping hands.

On those occasions when he did pass, he always ducked in to brush a kiss across the back of my neck, to leave a little caress on my cheek.

On the third night, as I finally washed up in icy water and splashed my face, wiping away the sweat, I felt a warmth at my back.

“We’re leaving in the morning.” He wrapped his arms around me, speaking against my ear. I sank back against him, grateful for the solid wall of muscle at my back when I was so weary.

My lids slipped low; there was every chance I might pass out in my soup tonight. At least the labor gave me a reason to take the headache powder Cryla kept on hand; I could pretend it was just exhaustion, and not a blood-craving.

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