Page 41 of Artemysia
It’s not the first time I’ve had to assess horrific damage and do such procedures.
“What else?” she asks, her voice a little higher than normal.
“What do you mean, what else? You want me to make conversation?” I grumble.
The muscles of her back tense. “I can feel you sewing flesh, and it’s grossing me out. It doesn’t hurt too much because it’s mostly numb, but I can tell.”
I brush the tail of her braid out of my way, and she shivers. Perhaps my touch disgusts her in this vulnerable state.
“Sorry…” I can’t think of anything to say, glowering idiot that I am in most parts of my life.
“Tell me about yourself. Such as—when’s your birthday?” she asks, wincing when I tighten the next suture.
“Huh? Birthday? I…don’t have one.”
“Everyone has one,” she insists.
“The villagers of Riverheart found me twenty-six years ago and turned me over to their military outpost. The old cleaning lady at the branch of the Academy there raised me for six years. When she died,the Academy gave me room and board as an errand boy.”
“I’m sorry you had so much loss so young.” She sucks in a breath as I pull through a deeper stitch.
Uncomfortable feelings surface. I never thought of it as loss at a young age. It’s what I expect in life. To be left on my own, to be alone—first as a newborn, then as a kid, and even now, as the king’s assassin. No one would mourn me if I died.
It’s probably for the best for someone like me.
“What month were you found?” she presses.
“Eleventh moon rising. When Major Moon is full for the last time in autumn.”
“Oh! That’s just happened. Do you want to celebrate your birthday? Let’s say it’s today. Eleventh month, eighth day. You’re an autumn-moon baby. I’m thirteenth month, thirteenth day.”
I’m taken aback by how much she cares about my birthday.
“If you want.” Why is she such a cheery maniac right now? I bet she’s loopy from the meds already.
“I do want. Birthdays mean sugar and presents.”
“Do they? Got any more of that candy from the watchtower?” I say absently as I concentrate on repairing the deepest part of the wound.
“For your birthday, I’ll gift you the rest of it when we get back.”
Well, that’s fucking adorable.
“When we get back, hmm? Okay. Thank you for my first birthday present since I was six,” I mutter, pressing needle into flesh and hooking it back out as cleanly as possible.
She looks over her shoulder and gives me a strange, wide-eyed stare with those kind brown eyes of hers, and I liquefy like hot beeswax. I’m already trying to keep it in my pants. She’s topless, with dirt and blood on her face from a battle, and the whole thing is confusing and arousing. It might just be one of the sexiest sights I’ve ever seen.
I’m clearly depraved, I know.
“Should I have waited for Throg to patch me up? You look like you’re in pain.”
“I promise you my sewing is a hundred times better than Throg’s. I see your old scars.” Fuck, her skin is so silky and warm. Stop being a pervert.Focus on even stitches, Riev.
“Yep, that’s mostly Throg’s work. He does a good job—my woundsnever get infected.”
I place a bandage and tape it on, gliding my fingers along the edges to make sure it sticks. She shudders again.
I retract my hands. “Sorry, almost done. Does my touch bother you?”
