Page 13 of The Oracle's Journey

“No.” He answered too quickly, the damp cloth pausing for a moment.

I pressed my lips together in a hard line. The first elf I’ve ever met, and he was as predictable as a man. I don’t know why I expected anything different.

The sun began its slow ascent into the sky, and with the early morning light I could see more of his outline while he rinsed the cloth in the stream. I wasn’t used to being tended to. In the past I had never needed someone to wash the blood off my face. Despite drawing attention to his wandering eyes, his touch remained surprisingly gentle. He didn’t drag the cloth over the cuts and scrapes like I would have. So, I just sat, feeling self-conscious, waiting for him to finish his careful work.

“That cut will need a couple of stitches,” he said after rubbing the last of the mess off my face. “I think you got that when you broke the door down. I noticed it while collecting you from the forest.”

Turning to his satchel, he produced the supplies he needed. Lhoris grinned at me, his teeth the only feature I could make out. He snapped his fingers and a small flickering blue light, no larger than a coin, appeared at his upheld fingertip.

“What is that?” I asked, raising my eyebrows in surprise. He turned his smile up a notch, the little flame hovering in the air where he left it.

“It’s just a fairy light; any elf should be able to manage it. Even a half elf,” he explained.

I couldn’t tell if he sounded more surprised or amused by my ignorance. Then he dabbed the wound with something wet and stinging. Some kind of cleanser, I supposed.

“Ha, my elf half didn’t come with magic,” I said while he thread a very fine curved needle.

Lhoris continued to beam at me, and now that I could see him in the fairy light, the result was having an effect on me. It was the first time I’d really looked at his face. I’d only observed him before, gaging his intent in my ongoing threat assessment, but Lhoris was beautiful. His long face made sense with his build, and his eyes, large and bright despite being deep set, sparkled with amusement. And it looked as though he had a smattering of white freckles across his straight nose and cheeks. I was no maiden—far from it. That face though, with the huge mischievous smile bookended by those dimples, sent butterflies darting around my stomach for the first time since I was a girl.

“I think you’re mistaken,” he said, one eyebrow quirked, bringing me back from my musings.

He gently nudged the little light closer and moved to start stitching my forehead. I braced myself for the necessary discomfort, but I hardly felt the prick of the needle, just the slight tug of the thread. He was exceptionally skilled.

When finished, he reached back into his satchel and presented a small crock of salve. “This will help the healing, prevent infection, and protect the wound like a bandage. You can wash the blood out of your hair without having to worry about getting the stitches wet.”

He pried off the lid and let me sniff the contents. My instincts said it held magic, but not a spicy scent like Emmelina’s. This was more earthy.

“I’ll put some on your feet as well,” he said, then followed up quickly with, “If you’ll allow me, of course.”

I nodded my approval, and he dabbed a little on the stitches. It felt hot, then cooled into a firm jelly. I poked at it. “Huh,” was all I could think to say. He squatted down and pulled one of my feet out of the shallow water and wiped it clean. Then he tended to the other.

“You may have missed your calling as a healer,” I said. He only spared a small, wistful smile while inspecting my feet.

“You’re in luck,” he announced. “The cuts are small and shallow. A few days with the salve and some socks, and you’ll be fine.”

“Oh, that’s not the luck I’ve been having,” I groused, a sardonic half smile pulling at my lips.

“I beg to differ. It’s your second bit of luck, this morning, really,” he said before splashing water on his own face. I finally had enough light and the right angle to see that there was a stream of dried blood around one of his ears. He pointed at it and said, “The first was when you hit me with a flying door.”

CHAPTER 7

Lhoris

As a concession to Lobikno’s concern that I might be getting too friendly with the mercenary, I returned to camp once the others arrived at the stream. Lobikno swore he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to the women, and I trusted him. The older woman was right about bathing being a vulnerable activity, but they probably wouldn’t have asked for the opportunity if it hadn’t been necessary. Still, I didn’t like leaving them, or Lobikno, alone with those goat-humping, mushroom-eating, starving morons.

Though, I couldn’t help but imagine Ozanna bathing. The very thought brought me to a standstill just outside of camp. It took a moment to remember what I meant to do.

Perhaps it was best that I wasn’t there after all. It had been hard enough while I was treating her wounds. Her long, shapely legs, bared by the tears in her skirts, had been impossible to miss while I tended to the cuts on her feet. I'd only be tormenting myself further knowing I couldn’t properly pursue her. That and it wouldn’t exactly have been right. But I knew I wouldn’t do anything, unlike the maladaptive nitwits I’d left behind with Lobikno.

So, I took my frustration out on the crew at camp instead, for once enjoying the expectation of cruelty from one in my position of authority—at least by my people’s expectations. I shut away everything but anger and irritation. I barked orders and slapped the pale elf, Rhyfon, for asking where the “captain’s little pet” was. Maybe it was more of an open hand strike than a slap, but I had been wanting to do it for months. Why Rhyfon had left the woodlands to work with a dark elf warband was beyond my comprehension, but there had been a deep resentment between us from the moment we’d hired him on. I should probably just rid myself of him, but the pale elf served a purpose. We needed inconspicuous surface dwellers to operate in the daylight, and Rhyfon was by far the most intelligent of them. I still needed to get the money to pay off Dulanzo.

Eventually, Lobikno returned with his handful of barely trustworthy elves and the women, all seemingly uninjured. Ozanna’s hands were bound in front this time, as I’d asked. She was in a tunic and pants. I’d hoped that the masculine clothing would make her a little less attractive, but the way she still carried herself with such confidence—it did nothing to make her less appealing. The little princess, though, looked absolutely put out at being back in a full-length dress with shoes. At least the maids appeared content.

Lobikno broke off from the group and scooped up Ozanna, earning himself a murderous glare, while the others returned to the carriage. I braced myself for his report when I realized he was dripping wet.

I frowned. “What happened?”

“What happened is the princess and this one conspired to attack me,” Lobikno said, dropping Ozanna on her ass.

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