Page 102 of Queen of the Night
I look down at my boots and nod. I understand, but it doesn’t stop the worry that she’ll be in even deeper trouble once Renton learns she helped me escape.
“Anything else we should know?” Ikar asks.
My gaze returns to his.Besides the truth?“No.”
He winces as he stands, and I try not to stare at the stained blood on his shirt, but it’s hard when it’s a stark reminder of how close he came to dying.
“We’re heading to the bathing pool. Will you be alright?” he asks.
I nod. “I’ll be down soon.”
We share a prolonged look, then he nods firmly and follows Darvy and Rhosse.
“Shout before entering,” Darvy calls over his shoulder. “…Or don’t,” he adds just before they disappear from view.
The comment brings a smile to my lips, and Ikar looks my way with a brow raised.
“Shout,” he warns seriously, as if I actually need to be told.
“We’ll see,” I respond tartly, irked by the assumption even though he might be correct.
I think I catch the merest hint of a tired smile as he turns.
Chapter 56
Vera
“Everyone decent?” I call around the privacy hedge.
I waited for what felt like forever and a day before I worked up the dignity to come down. I hear one of them laugh, and Ikar gives the okay, but I still hesitantly peek around, ensuring I’m not intruding. All I get is an eyeful of damp-haired, bare-torsoed warriors that many a woman would fight for. I can’t stop the hot blush that stains my cheeks, but I ignore it and try to act unaffected as I drop my bundle of clothing away from the edge of the bathing pool and make my way over to the shore made of smooth, polished stone, where Ikar sits before the water. He’s washed, and smells of mountain springs and pine. A clean bandage is wrapped around his torso. I also notice the way his clean trousers hug his long legs that stretch out before him. I find that suddenly my mouth is much too dry. Maybe it was a mistake to come here. I should have just waited until they returned.
Ikar looks up with a grin, appearing more relaxed now. “Here to kick us out?” He puts on a good front, looks ashandsome as ever, but even after bathing and cleaning up, I can tell he’s unwell.
I recall the way he twined his fingers with mine when I held his hand, and I pull on that to give me confidence to risk sitting close beside him. He doesn’t shift away—I take it as a win.
Now I eye the bandage, raising a reproachful brow. “How come it’s not healed yet?”
He watches the waves lapping at the shore. “In Moneyre, there’s only enough lucent available to speed the healing process, not entirely heal it. Darvy was working on it before we left, but it was taking too long, and we needed to find you. Even though there’s more lucent here, it still takes a lot of energy to heal—especially more serious wounds, and I’ve pushed him to the brink of his abilities the past few days. Darvy won’t admit it, but he’s tired. It’ll probably take another day or two.”
I force myself to shove down the strong habitual urge to hide my magical gifts. Things are different now, and I have to trust him if I want things to change. If I want him to forgive me… eventually.
Before I change my mind, I blurt out, “Can I? Heal it, I mean.”
Fear seizes my tongue, and the words come out in an awkward jumble. I want to dive into the pool to escape, but I sit there and endure it.Courage.
He looks at me doubtfully. “I thought you didn’t like blood.”
He suffered because he thoughtI didn’t like blood? It’s the sweetest and most anger-inducing thing I’ve ever heard. It gets ten times worse when I remember he’s only injured because ofme.He’s in this horrendous forest again because ofme.
For a moment, I begin to doubt that he could ever feel more for me than basic responsibility for a former business partner.
“I don’t, but I want to. I… owe you.”I love you.
His brows draw together the smallest bit as his intense blue eyes search mine… for what? Sincerity? I don’t yet have words to describe my feelings for him, so I dip my head like a coward while I slip my knife from my boot. He acquiesces and lifts his arm so I can slice the gauzy material away.
I try not to look too hard at the wound; my stomach already roils and turns seeing the irritated, puckered skin, still festering—Darvy’s even stitches holding it all together. Red streaks travel outward. It’s nowhere near healed; in fact, it looks infected and only barely closed. I’m cringing before I realize he’s watching me.
He lowers his arm, intentionally blocking the sight from my eyes. “You don’t have to. Darvy is capable. I’ll be fine.” His tone is decisive, and he grabs the bandage to cover it.
