Page 33 of A Glimpse of Music

Warmth burned through Joel’s coat and seeped into her body, a scalding reminder of just how close they were. But unlike days previous when she’d needed distance, she now craved closeness, if only to reassure her he was going to be all right.

“Papa!” Maisy’s voice broke through her song as she ran toward them, followed by Eva. They barely managed to dismount before she threw her arms around his waist and sobbed.

“Careful, careful,” Nyana warned, peeling her daughter off Joel when she noticed his strained expression and labored breathing. “Hush now. Those men are still out there.”

“They can’t see or hear us.” Joel winced as he spoke. “The illusion will hold.”

She met his gaze, worry furrowing her brows. “Are you certain?”

“Yes.” He swayed on his feet before squeezing his eyes shut. He was losing too much blood.

Bravery led her actions as she took his arm and assisted him with sitting on a fallen log. She was no healer, but she was the best chance he had at survival.

She carefully unbuttoned his coat and began to lift his shirt to assess the damage.

“No!” he grunted, twisting away from her. “I don’t want you to see. I don’t want—”

But she managed to lift his shirt just high enough to catch a glimpse of black. She dropped the shirt in her shock. Black tattoos were reserved for the worst actions. Shameful. Terrible. Concerning.

“Girls,” Nyana murmured as she dug into the saddlebags and handed each of them a near-empty waterskin, grateful that Maisy had tried to practice saddling the horse earlier. Without her, they would have nothing, as they likely couldn’t return for everything they’d left behind. “Please fill these up in the river. Don’t get your shoes wet.”

When they scampered away, she turned her attention back to Joel. He refused to look her in the eye, even as he breathed heavily through his pain.

She was surprised when her fingers remained steady as she began unbuttoning his shirt from the top to the bottom until his chest lay bare before her. Black tattoos stretched from his right ribs to his right shoulder in the shape of curling smoke. Mixed among the black was a beautiful bronze interweaved with the smoke in the shape of…of music. It was the only way to describe it. Bronze swirls shimmered over numerous scars. Seeking. Exploring. Discovering.

Music was painted on his scars. On his soul.

“I have never pulled out an arrow before,” she said as her gaze skimmed over the blood dripping from a gruesome wound. “I’ll try to be gentle.”

A grunt escaped him as she wrapped her fingers around the frayed wood. “Aren’t you going to ask?” She knew he was referring to the black tattoos. For him to have them, he must have done something truly awful.

“Do you want to tell me?” She positioned her other hand lightly on his shoulder beside the wound. He hissed through his teeth.

“Definitely not. I want you to view me as someone you can trust. Someone as…as pure as Calle.”

Calle…

When she lifted her gaze, she found distress and deep worry within his eyes. Did he truly compare himself to his best friend? And why did he assume he came out on the bottom?

Returning her attention to the wound, concentration pulled her eyebrows together. “Who am I to judge? My soul is stained black, too.”

He opened his mouth as if to retort her statement, but she chose that moment to wrench the arrow out of his shoulder.

A muffled shout escaped through his clenched teeth. Tears gathered in his eyes. His breaths came in ragged gasps.

Nyana threw the arrow aside and quickly pulled his coat and shirt off. She then pressed the tattered fabric to the wound to staunch the blood flow.

“I’m fine,” he wheezed, blinking several times as if willing the tears away. “I’m fine, Maisy.”

Glancing toward her daughters, she found Maisy standing with her hands pressed over her trembling mouth as she stared at Joel. She must have been communicating telepathically. Eva sat on a rock beside the river, her green eyes wide as she sucked on her fingers.

She gave Joel a minute to recover as she dug into the saddlebags for anything she might be able to use as a bandage. Finally, she found strips of cloth and a spare shirt buried beneath mess kits. When she returned to Joel, his eyes were closed, and his head hung as if shame piled on his shoulders.

Shame…

To think he had just saved all of their lives by sacrificing himself, and he still managed to feel unworthy. She didn’t know anyone who would have done what he did. Not for her. Not for her girls.

Again, surprise rippled through her when her hands remained steady as she lightly touched Joel’s chin and tipped his head upward. The bristles of his facial hair were soft against her skin, and this close to him, she caught his scent of cinnamon, apple, and magic. At last, he opened his eyes, and she didn’t like what stared back at her. Sadness. Regret. Worry.

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