Page 14 of Tethered In Blood

Shadows stretched along the walls, twisting in the flickering torchlight. I blinked hard, but my vision swam. The flames formed shifting halos of gold that danced at my periphery.

Poison.Someone had coated their blade. I swallowed back the nausea that churned in my stomach and pushed forward. I had endured worse. My body had weathered wounds far beyond this—deep, gaping slashes, broken ribs, even the bite of steel through my abdomen.

When I approached the infirmary, my chest heaved. Each breath was labored and jagged. My limbs grew heavy, and my steps faltered. The world tilted beneath me.

I compelled my body to comply and staggered the last few paces until the infirmary door stood before me. My hand pressed against the wood, and my body’s weight sent it swinging open. I collapsed against the frame, weak fingers curling at my side as I struggled to keep myself upright. The room spun and blurred into indistinct shapes.

The figure at the infirmary desk jumped to their feet. I pushed forward, reaching them before my legs wavered. My body felt detached, and the ringing in my skull drowned out everything else. The figure was there before I could fall. Their hands pressed against my side, steadying me.

Warm.

Firm.

“Poison,” I rasped. The relentless, pulsing roar in my head didn’t allow me to hear a response, if there was one. Dark ink bled into the boundaries of my vision. My knees buckled, and the ground beneath me tilted.

The world fell away, enveloped by the unforgiving void.

6

Eden

THESUBTLEHUMofvoices from the infirmary had long since faded, drowned out by the rhythmic scrape of stone against metal. I moved the pestle in slow, methodical circles, grinding the dried leaves into a fine paste. Their sharp, elduven smells curled into the air, mingling with faint traces of linen bandages and aged wood. The motion was soothing and meditative—a quiet ritual I had perfected over the years.

Outside, the world reduced to muffled footsteps and the occasional murmur of a hushed conversation. The consistent motion of my work lulled me into a calm focus, threading my thoughts between the properties of each herb.The balance of potency is needed to dull pain without dulling the mind.

The fragile peace was shattered by a distant clamor. Voices rose with urgency. The heavy thud of boots echoed through the stone corridor, growing louder with each hurried step. My hands stilled, and my eyes darted to the door. The hinges of the infirmary door rattled when it slammed open.

A towering figure filled the doorway, blocking the light from the torches beyond. For a moment, I could only stare in silence. The dim glow illuminated his armor—black leather, dulled by streaks of fresh crimson. His dark tunic was soaked with a slow seepage on his shoulder.

My gaze snapped to his hands. One hand clutched his shoulder, fingers curled in rigid defiance against the pain wracking his body. The other, coated in red, dripped onto the floor. Moisture glistened on his brow as he clenched his jaw with grim determination. That look wasn’t just pain or blood loss. It was a creeping, slow, and insidious poison that was eating him alive.

The intensity of his dark gaze was fixed on me, causing a jolt of awareness to pool deep in my belly. It felt raw, unsettling, and unfamiliar. A man whose life hung by a thread regarded me with a focus so intense that it left me breathless.

His steps faltered, and his weight shifted. Instinct took over as I surged forward. My hands caught his arm, and my fingers gripped the rigid muscle beneath the slickness of blood. His weight pressed into me as he leaned. He was heavy. The scent of leather, iron, and the faintest whisper of pine filled my senses, but the metallic tang of blood caused my pulse to spike. There was too much of it.

“Poison,” he growled, the word edged with raw pain and dragged through clenched teeth. His voice was gruff, yet he remained unwilling to surrender to the agony.

“I know,” I murmured, my voice steady despite the rapid thud of my heart. “It’s okay now. Can you remove your—”

An abrupt intake of breath followed, accompanied by sudden tension in his body and the buckling of his knees. The full weight of him collapsed into me, and I staggered while my muscles strained to keep us both upright. His armor pressed against my chest, and the distinct smell of blood from his tunic flooded my senses. Panic clawed at my throat as I strained against his weight. “Calder! There’s a man here! He’s poisoned! I need help!”

Calder burst into the room with remnants of the tinctures she had brewed staining her apron, and the sharp smell of herbs lingering around her. Her eyes widened at the sight before her, and she wasted no time with questions. She rushed to my side, and helped lower him onto the cot. His body sagged into the coarse fabric, his limbs weighed down by exhaustion. His head lolled to the side, and his breath was shallow yet steady.

I stepped back, my hands trembling as I assessed the damage with clinical detachment.

Focus. Breathe. Work.

The wound on his shoulder was deep. The torn edges suggested a weapon that had done its work with vicious intent. Blood welled, pooling dark against his stained tunic. Worse still, the telltale signs of poison bloomed across his skin—a sticky, spreading discoloration that twisted through the wound like creeping ivy. It worked fast.

I swallowed hard and pushed aside the dread swirling in my stomach. There was no room for hesitation, no space for fear.

“Larkspur, I will prepare a rinse and an antidote,” Calder ordered as he moved toward the workbench. “You will stitch him up and stop the bleeding.”

I nodded and reached for the fastenings of his tunic, my fingers loosening the knots. Even through the haze of pain, his body tensed at my touch, muscles twitching as the poison coursed through him.

As I peeled back the fabric, I revealed scarred skin. A battlefield was etched across his body—silvered lines and deep-healed wounds, each one narrating a story of his past. My throat tightened. Whoever he was, he had endured.

His breath hitched and shuddered as his body waged war against the slow crawl of death pressing in on him. I couldn’t let it win. I reached for a clean cloth, my hands steady as muscle memory took control.

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