Page 88 of The Demon's Discovery
Lovette dusted her hands off after putting the remains of a baked sausage roll in her mouth. “Well. I’m ready to have a look at those stitches if you are.”
“Oh. Now? What if someone else is brought in?” I stumbled over my words, unsure if I’d ever really be ready for someone to undo magical stitching that had been in place for decades, though eager to be on the other side of the process.
“I think we’ve seen everyone we’re going to, if I’m honest. Most are probably in stone sleep in the city if they haven’t returned here by now. We’ve got time and opportunity. But if you’d rather not…”
I stared at her kind face, heart pounding. My protests were foolish, I knew, but I had no idea what I might be facing on the other side of having them removed, if she could take them out atall. “No, I should. We should. I want to be done with it, but I’m also terrified.”
“I understand.” Lovette patted my hand. “I promise to be as gentle as possible.”
Calla hovered nearby. “Rylan’s the healer, but?—”
“Please, stay. I couldn’t have made it without you yesterday.”
“Of course.” She squeezed my hand as I picked a clean bed and pulled my shirt up my back, pulling it off altogether after a moment’s hesitation. I’d seen a lot of flesh since arriving; the modesty of my kind much different than that of humans. While I had no plans to parade around in just my skin, this was a small step toward becoming more comfortable with that. But my scars were another thing entirely.
I heard them both make small noises and shrank into myself. I sat cross-legged in the middle of the mattress, my back facing the side of the bed where she plonked down a wooden stool with a padded cushion on the seat. I hugged a pillow against my torso, clutching it tightly between my arms.
“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” Calla said softly. She untucked her own shirt and showed me her back. I made a noise similar to the ones they had, finding a network of finger-width scars. “When I was first at Rylan’s manor, I had no memories. There was a man Rylan trusted, the man he’d left in charge while he was at d’Arcan. Both he and the housekeeper mistreated me. He hurt me. When Rylan found out… Well, the man is dead.”
“And the woman?”
She shrugged, and dropped her shirt again, taking a seat on the opposite side of my bed from Lovette. “Fired and exiled. I’m sure she had a difficult time finding work after what she did.”
“As she should,” Lovette tutted.
“I’m guessing Vassago has seen them?” Calla asked, a smile on her face.
I blushed, unable to stop the reaction from happening. “Yes.”
“And does he care?”
“No. Though he did seem upset at first.”
“If he’s anything like Rylan, he wants to make it right for you. Make whoever is responsible for them sorry. At the very least, allow you to. And you’ve seen his too?”
“Yes.”
“And were you horrified?”
I thought about the first time I’d run my fingers over his tattoos, finding the raised skin and webs of scarring on his smooth flesh. “No. But sad for him, that he’d gone through so much.”
“Exactly. It’s no different.”
Lovette hummed quietly as she pulled over a tray of tools. “Did you know that scars are revered among our people?”
“Hmm?” I was surprised by the question, but I’d heard what she said.
“They tell your history. What you’ve survived. You shouldn’t be ashamed of your marks, Greta. I know that it’s an odd thing to say to someone who grew up surrounded by humans, not knowing what she really was, but those scars prove you lived through something. You survived.” She patted my shoulder, and I found my eyes had filled with tears.
“Thank you.”
“Any time. Lean over for me?”
“Ophelia did something when we visited, lit up my skin from under so she could see better?”
“That’s the first thing I asked her to teach me,” Lovette chuckled, examining a scalpel that had my skin prickling with nervousness. “It’s dreadfully handy. Ready?”
“Yes, I’m ready. She taught you?”
