Page 92 of Fear the Flames
Black spots dot my vision by the time I breach the second line, the medical line. Canvas tents line the edge of this camp, the same as the third. I slow my run into a jog, unsure of how to navigate this line. My breathing is heavy, and my head swings in all directions, trying to figure out where to go. The lines are thick. I keep pushing in the direction I know for sure is toward the border, but there aren’t any straight paths or clear lines that lead there. The tents aren’t evenly spaced apart or even the same size. It’s most likely a precaution they take to slow any possible invasions.
The noise gets louder, and the atmosphere becomes grimmer as I walk down the makeshift path I’ve chosen. In a terribly selfish and backward way, I suppose that’s a good sign. The grimmer the path, the sooner I’ll be able to get to Finnian or Saskia. Rows of soldiers stand in front of the second line, most likely waiting to be called in for reinforcements, should they need any. Some soldiers with minor injuries line the sides of the paths I’ve crossed, wrapping their wounds in bandages. I assume that only grave injuries or those that need stitches go to the medic tents.
“Queen Elowen,” a confused voice says. I turn to my right and find Braxton approaching me. He bows his head slightly when he’s close enough. “Does Commander Veles know you’re here?”
I stop myself from blurting out that he does not, and force as much confidence I can muster into my tone. “We agreed I wouldn’t take part in the battle.” The air continues to burn my throat like I swallowed ten ice cubes. “I heard the crash.”
He still looks apprehensive but proceeds, “It appears Imirath tested a new weapon, but something must have gone wrong because they haven’t fired it again.” A small feeling of relief shudders through me, but it’s fleeting. The weapon was fired as Cayden and Ryder charge the army.
“How many were injured?” I ask. The confidence I had previously mustered now melts into urgency.
“We won’t know exact numbers yet, but the medic tent is swarmed.” He points over his shoulder. “We’re waiting for the healers to make the call to move some of the injured to other tents along the border if it gets too crowded.” I’ll have my best chance at finding Finnian or Saskia in the medic tent if they’re injured. I can’t exactly rush into battle and begin ripping helmets off soldiers. The noise of battle is so loud that my voice will be drowned out even if I scream their names.
“Thank you,” I say to Braxton.
My feet take off toward the tent without giving him a chance to stop me or ask more questions. I slip through the opening and am immediately met with the cries of the wounded and the smell of sweat and blood. If I didn’t have my training, I would be overwhelmed by sight. At least two hundred tables are lined up throughout the tent, all equally distanced from each other. Each table has a shelf underneath where medical and sanitization supplies are kept, ready to be used for each individual soldier. The pathways to the tables are not as clear as I wish for them to be. Some soldiers linger by injured soldiers’ bedsides, holding their hands or just holding a conversation. Healers are dressed in black and try to keep their work quick and precise. My eyes dance from table to table, but just when I think they’re in the clear, my chest tightens at the sight of a familiar set of black braids tumbling over the side of a table in the back left corner.
“Saskia,” I mumble and rush toward her. I keep glancing for any signs of Finnian as I approach but find none.
Please, be okay.
I breathe through my rising anxiety and reach Saskia’s table. Her face is scrunched up in pain, and blood leaks from a nasty gash on her left arm. Her dark eyes snap open when she notices the presence of someone by her side.
“Please tell me you don’t plan on rushing into battle.” She tries to sound humorous, but her tone is drenched in pain.
“I’m here to help you.” I crouch down to analyze her wound, making sure nothing is stuck in it. There’s nothing, thankfully. My attention turns to filtering through medical supplies. I grab the antiseptic first and splash it onto some cotton. “This is going to sting a bit,” I warn and dab her gash as lightly as I can. Her body jolts against the table, and I offer her my free hand to grip through the pain. I can manage the antiseptic with one.
“Fucking gods,” she seethes through her teeth, squeezing my hand so hard I feel like it might break. Her body stops shaking after a few moments pass and her grip on me loosens. She sucks in a breath and slowly blows it out through her lips. “Finnian wasn’t in the hit. I was at the tail end of it.”
Thank the gods. I swallow through my tight throat and stay focused on my task. I sanitize the needle and loop thread through the top, grabbing a clean rag from under the table to dab the blood away from her gash. The wet rag thumps against the table when I toss it next to her and begin sewing her wound shut. My fingers make it through the first set of stitches down her arm, dabbing the blood away as needed, and turn the needle to sew up her wound.
“Does Cayden know you’re here?” her voice quivers. “Never mind, I think the blood loss is making me stupid.”
“Why are you so sure?”
“If he knew you were here, he’d be standing at your side.” She looks at me as if it’s the most obvious thing. I’m just glad the color has stopped draining from her lips.
“There’s an entire army between Imirath and me.Hisarmy,” I amplify, never taking my eyes away from her stitches.
“He’s become quite the territorial bastard.” Her smile seems genuine, but I can see how the pain still creases her forehead.
“That I will agree with.” I huff out a laugh as I begin to sew down her arm again. I don’t want her stitches to open. “Is he not always this territorial?”
She shakes her head while looking over at me, “He never lets anyone close enough to touch him, and you can bet your ass he doesn’t communicate with anyone as he does with you.” I don’t show a reaction on my face; I keep it hidden. All the things I shouldn’t feel are concealed beneath a mask.
“He communicates with me because there will be consequences if he doesn’t.” I recall my threat to balcony-hop again.
Saskia huffs a pained laugh, “That’s not the only reason.”
The noise rises in the tent as I’m finishing the last knot on her stitches. I wipe my hands off on a new rag and grab a roll of cotton bandages from under the table to wrap her arm. Whimpers rise from the table behind me, and I notice a male soldier with a gash on his thigh. I glance back at Saskia, “How are you feeling?”
“Better.” I wish I had a tonic to ease her pain, but I’m sure she has one back in her tent.
“I’m just going to be at this next table. I’ll check in as soon as I’m done stitching up the next person.” Then I do something I don’t normally do; I reach down and give her my best version of a hug, just like she gave me when I woke up in Cayden’s bed. She raises her good arm to embrace me. “I’m glad you’re alright.”
“Thank you,” she murmurs as I lift myself off her.
“I got wind of the queen being here,” Finnian’s voice streams from behind me. I gasp and turn toward him, throwing my arms around him in the process. Who knew Vareveth would make me into such a hugger? His chuckle vibrates my cheek as he wraps his arms around my waist. “Before you start poking around, I’m not injured.” I release my hold and step back to scan him, wanting to make sure for myself, but he truly is unscathed. A fraction of my nerves are eased by his presence, but not all. My eyes flash to the tent opening, but a familiar set of hazel eyes are nowhere in sight, nor are Ryder’s brown ones.
