Page 12 of Sky of Thorns

“Do you really think I can’t see past this farce? You care about your men Aramis, more than you are willing to admit because that would make you vulnerable and goddess forbid, you show some compassion or empathy. Not to mention that you wouldn’t have bothered carrying him all this way if you had no hope for his survival?” I keep my gaze steady on Aramis. His jaw clenches and his breathing becomes more laborious, almost as if he is using every ounce of strength he has to stop himself from losing control. I turn and notice that the guards all seem to be on my side too, their gazes desperate to save one of their own. A twist of fear fills me with worry as I meet Aramis’s eyes once more and he looks me over.

“You’re getting too confident shifter. What happened to only being a half-trained healer?” He retorts, his disbelief hurting more than I care to admit. Heat burns my cheeks, but I hold my ground.

“A half-trained healer is better than none when we’re lost in this goddess forsaken forest,” I declare boldly. “Plus, if the shadow beasts get a whiff of his blood, don’t you think they’ll come prowling?” My patience is wearing thin. I am losing precious time arguing when I could be assessing the damage and healing.

I lift my bound hands once again before him, praying he’ll do the right thing and let me help him. Silence fills the air between us, the world seeming to slow before he responds.

“Fine.” The Prince’s resolve settles into me, and I feel nothing but gratitude to tend his wounded. Aramis’ hardened gaze glances over me, communicating distrust, despite his allowance. “But flinch the wrong way or harm him and you’ll find yourself tied up, gagged and slung like a sack over the back of the horse for the rest of the journey.” Before I can reply he flips out a silver hunting knife from his belt and slices clean through the rope. It falls to the ground with a thud as final as his last words. My relief is past my words. Finally, I can do my job.

Moving around him to the injured guard’s side, I allow my instincts to guide me as I do my best to assess the damage done to him without the aid of my magical abilities. His pale complexion contorts in agony, his grip on his right thigh is so tight that his knuckles are white. Someone has tied a crude tourniquet of fabric across what I presume is a deep gash. While created in haste, it is still done well–and has possibly saved the guard’s life. I slide my slender fingers across his throat to feel his pulse, watching his chest rise and fall in increasingly labored breaths. A frown tugs at the corners of my mouth. Depending on how much blood the guard has lost this deep in the forest, without my medicine and a suture kit I recognize his chances of survival are small. Providing the wound doesn’t become infected; I furrow my brow in assessment.

“We need fresh water, linen, and build up the fire if you want any chance of him surviving.” I direct to the guards aloud as I tie my hair back, away from my face. I glance back to make sure my directions have been heard and nearly double back with surprise. Aramis glares, pursing his lips at my demands, but with one look at his fallen comrade, he grudgingly nods in consent at Nero and the remaining guard.

“Do as she asks, and make haste!” Aramis commands his men, and an unacceptable swirl whooshes through my gut at his direction. I hold his gaze a second longer and slightly nod my head in thanks for trusting my knowledge and abilities, and he nods back. A silent truce.

“Where are the others?” I continue to peel away the guards’ leather armor, setting it in a pile next to me. A flashback of helping my father out of his armor as a child crosses my mind. I shake my head, willing away the memory so I can focus on the task at hand. As I get to the leg bracers, he takes a sharp intake of breath as he clenches his teeth in pain before blissfully losing consciousness.

It’ll be easier this way, at least. I won’t need a pain tonic to stitch him back together.

“What does it matter to you?” He replies bitterly. “Tending to your captors cannot be high on your list of priorities.”

“I’m trying to be cordial as I focus on your guard,” I reply slowly through gritted teeth.

“Also,” I continue, “my parents always taught me that idle chatter helps not only to soothe the patient, but also to keep nerves at bay, and I might be wrong, but it seems that’s exactly what you need.” I bite my lower lip to force myself not to snicker at my own smart-ass remark but I can sense the weight of his stare on my back. Minutes creep by in silence as I work. Only the sound of the guard’s ragged breaths and the crackling of the fire filling the air.

“They will be here soon,” Aramis replies, focusing on his own tasks of building up the fire. He continues monotonously: “After we defeated the bandits, we spotted a herd of deer on the way back. They split off to hunt. We’re almost to the mountain pass and food will be scarce until we get through it. It will be good to have a full warm meal tonight. We will dry the rest overnight for the journey.”

The thought of a warm meal makes my stomach growl in anticipation, but I have a task to complete. “Food always helps with a speedy recovery.” I say as I roll back my sleeves that had fallen down.

“Edmund shall have whatever he requires,” Aramis says with a sigh. He tosses more logs on the fire, poking at the embers with a stick until the sparks catch on the dry peeling bark, casting an orange glow on his profile. From this angle, I can see how his worry is creased across his face as he glances from the guard to the shadowy depths of the forest they have just come from. My heart clenches as a similar emotion echoes within me. That unsettling fear of losing someone you care about and not knowing if you will be strong enough to survive the grief.

“He will survive,” I say softly, and I hold my breath when our eyes meet and for the first time, I can see Aramis without walls of steel guarding his emotions. Fear, confusion, loneliness, all come crashing to the surface for a split second.

Nero and another guard return with a pot of fresh water and a clean white cotton tunic, pulling me from my thoughts. Ripping the shirt in strips, I dip one into the water before untying the tourniquet to assess the damage. The laceration is deep, but it has narrowly missed his femoral artery. The journey ahead will be arduous, but if I can manage to clean and stitch the wound, he might just stand a chance.

“This would be a lot simpler if you let my magic free.” I look pleadingly up at Aramis, lifting my wrists up , the iron bracelet a dull orange in the firelight, hoping the life of his guard was worth freeing my power. “Everyone knows unicorn magic is beyond compare when it comes to healing. Ensuring one’s life force stays tethered to this world requires an incredible amount of magic, and we can tap into our reserves for longer than any other magic user on the continent. That’s why we make such incredible healers.” I plead my case, begging him to consider what’s at stake if I can’t use my magic.

“And risk you taking your true form and escaping into the forest where worse beasts than myself would devour you in a heartbeat?” Aramis’ expression is cruel, and I sigh. “I don’t think so.” He turns his back and walks away from me.

I take a moment to wipe the perspiration from my forehead with my sleeve, then continue my ministrations of cleaning the wound. I sigh, uncertain of the extent of healing I can do without my magical abilities.

A thump next to me interrupts my thoughts as I turn my head. The familiar warm brown leather of my mother’s healing satchel lies on the ground beside me. Tears well in my eyes as I lovingly run a hand across the worn soft surface of the bulging pockets. I overstuffed the pack in preparation for Bolide with everything I needed, from burn ointment, antiseptics, to anti-nausea and willow bark tea.

“I—Aramis–” I breathe out barely over a whisper. The words catch in my throat as I look up, my hazel eyes meeting Aramis’ icy blues. His jaw clenches, and the stern gaze only highlights the handsome square jawline.

“I don’t need your thanks. I just need your skills, however little of them you might possess,” Aramis says. Standing above me, his eyes roving my face before he turns on his heel to find Nero at the edge of the clearing. He positions himself to keep me within his sights as they begin a conversation.

My heart clenches as emotions whirl inside my brain. Shaking my head, I turn towards my patient as I pull out an antiseptic wash, healing ointment, and suture kit from their respective pockets. My fate is in the hands of the goddess and I had work to do.

“This might sting,” I whisper as I coat a strip in antiseptic wash, hoping my words soothe Edmund even if he’s unconscious . I lift my shaking hands and gently dab at the wounds. Edmund’s face flinches as I make my way to the laceration in his thigh.

“Shhh, everything is fine. I’m just cleaning your wounds so they don’t get infected,” I whisper in a hushed voice as I continue to clean. With a spare hand, I gently rub at his furrowed brow. The last thing I want is for him to wake up in a fit of pain before I have his wounds stitched close.

Clove oil! I rummage around before I find the small bottle in the bag and pull the stopper. Not only would it provide temporary local analgesia, but it should help with the inflammation and infection. Sweat beads on my brows as I lean over the guard’s body, plastering my hair to my face. I lift my hand to clear my face as a gentle breeze brushes against my skin. Glancing up, I see Aramis watching me. He leans against a tree with his arms crossed in front of his chest–a gaze so steady and conflicted. I break eye contact and look around the clearing. With my focus on tending to the guard, I didn’t hear the others return to the camp. The fire is brought to life as meat crackles over it's heat; the sizzle and pop of the fat dripping into the flames breaking the quiet murmurings. The smell is intoxicating.

I need to focus, no distractions. My stomach growls audibly. Even though they may not believe me, I am determined to prove them wrong, that they are mistaken and I am innocent.

I sterilize the small curved needle before threading it, praying the goddess will give me stable hands. Once done, I tie a clean strip of linen over the fresh stitches and clean my hands in what’s left of the water.

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