Page 84 of The Trials of Ophelia

“What do you mean?” I gripped her wrists, stilling her.

“You don’t disappear from a battle without checking in with your superiors!” She shoved away from me, but I held on to her, stumbling back into my bed, my sore calf barking at the contact with the post. My glass of drug-laced water spilled over on the nightstand, the fresh herbs I’d gotten from the infirmary soaked.

“When you didn’t come back, Barrett and I crawled through the field looking for your corpse, Malakai!” I froze. Mila’s chest heaved. “When you’re on that field, whatever happens, you can’t leave! You’re a part of a team, and no matter what happens, you stay there for them. You check in with your fucking general before coming back to your tent to lick your wounds.”

I was dragged off the battlefield once…Mila found me…

Angels, I was an idiot. Everything Mila said was standard protocol, but I was certain she was also experiencing flashbacks of what had happened to Lyria.

What kind of inexperienced, amateur, sham of a warrior flees a battlefield assuming no one will notice their absence? There are systems in place to track these things.

“I—I’m sorry.” I released her hands. “I should never have left. I had…an episode.”

Mila crossed her arms, inhaling and releasing the breath slowly at my confession. When she spoke again, her voice was level. “I figured as much when we didn’t find you dying out there.”

The bluntness of her words sliced through my chest.

“We won this one?”

“We did.” Mila brushed a loose strand of hair from her face, and I noticed a freshly bandaged slice to her forehead. Something hot spiraled through me, but I forced myself to focus on her words. “Lost a few good warriors in the process but fewer than in the last attacks. Our force is getting stronger.”

“Good.” I didn’t know how else to respond. We were still standing toe-to-toe, so close I could count her lashes and see where they got lighter at the ends. Mystlight flickered against the canvas tent, each of Mila’s expressions more pronounced in the light, and for a moment we stood like that, the adrenaline fading. Something else sizzling in the air.

With an inhale and a step back, she looked around us. Her eyes landed on the upturned glass on the table, clouded liquid staining the surface. “What’s that?”

I sighed, figuring I owed her a bit of honesty after the shit I pulled tonight. “Most nights I take herbs to help me sleep. To…numb me.”

“Drugs,” she deadpanned.

I shrugged.

“Malakai,” Mila groaned. “I’m trying so hard to help you but this shit”—she flung an arm out—“this is only helping you run away.” She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her palms. “I shouldn’t have allowed you out there tonight.”

“It’s not your decision to make.”

“It is,” she said. “I’m a general. Behind Lyria, I’m the highest rank. I make the calls, and I keep an extremely organized process in doing so. I’m sorry I allowed it, and you won’t be seeing another battlefield until you’re ready.” She leaned against the table, avoiding the spill. “And for the sake of the Spirits, cut out the damn drugs. I can’t help you if you don’t want to help yourself.”

I was a child playing games. Mila had seen war. She’d survived its atrocities. She understood how these things worked because she’d lived it—had probably seen warriors struggle with mental blocks the way I did. And I hadn’t listened to her.

“I’m sorry I didn’t do as I was instructed. I…” I took a huge breath, not wanting to agree to the next bit. “I’ll stop with the drugs. And next time I’ll follow orders.” And I would. Then, as a peace offering, I offered a bit of the truth. “An Engrossian got past the line. He sliced a dagger right into my calf, and the pain combined with the fact that I hadn’t seen him was…” I trailed off, but she nodded as if she understood what I meant.

“Can I see?” she asked, gesturing to my leg.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, I rolled up my pants for her. The slice wasn’t deep, and the mountains had already begun healing it. The makeshift wrap I’d fashioned around it did enough to keep it covered. It barely even hurt physically; it was only the shameful reminder of how I’d fled.

Mila kneeled before me and gently took my calf between her hands. “It looks like it’s healing well, and it doesn’t feel hot, so I think you should be safe from infection.” Her fingers trailed up my leg as she inspected the wound. I wasn’t even sure she realized she was doing it, but, fuck, did it feel good to have someone touching me like that. Somewhere between a mix of care and exploration and control. I wanted her hands to keep going up, to reach the waistband of my pants and pull them down until?—

“Next time,” she interrupted that train of thought, eyes lifting to mine, “go straight to a healer in case you’re not as lucky.” Her tone was softer now, both hands bracing herself against my legs.

A vision of her in white lace flashed through my mind. Mystlight fell across her features, picking up the slight blush to her cheeks as she swallowed, and I wondered if she was thinking of it, too.

“Right.” My voice was rough. “Next time I’m stabbed, I’ll find a professional.”

With a smile, Mila rose to her feet and turned toward the tent entrance. “We’re back to training in two days. Give that time to heal and us time to recover from tonight.”

“You’re still going to train me after I blatantly ignored orders?”

“Yes.” She stopped in the entrance, turning back to face me. “Because I’m certain you’ll make a stupid decision again.”

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