Page 46 of Frost Bound

By the timehe’d gotten himself calmed down, everyone had settled into the spacious living quarters. A fire roared in the fireplace, taking up almost the entire length of the wall to his right. The human stood there in her damp dress with her back to the fire. He quickly glanced away, not willing to stare at her any longer than necessary.

A copper bathtub sat in the corner near the hearth, with Olwen pumping water into it from the spout. Neve nodded to his friend and stepped inside, closing the door to the barn. To his left, three sets of rustic bunkbeds created an open-ended square that faced the fireplace. Flyka sat on the middle-bottom bed, cutting some of her trousers away from the gash with methodical strokes as Eyri unpacked some of the medical supplies.

Neve kicked off his dirty boots and went to them. He knelt beside Flyka and took the blade from her shaking fingers. The stubborn female would never admit when she needed help. She grimaced at him but didn’t try to take it back as he cut away the leather and picked threads from her long cut.

“You need stitches,” he muttered.

Flyka pursed her lips. “But not from you. You’re worse with a needle than Olwen.”

“Hey,” Olwen groused from his corner as he continued to pump hot water into the tub. “I’m a warrior, not a seamstress.”

“That we can agree on,” Flyka muttered.

Eyri lifted the needle and stared at the tip. “I read an article about a new way to stitch…”

“No,” all three of them chorused at the same time.

While his cousin was a brilliant scribe and erudite, he was not a healer. They’d all been on the trial end of his experiments in the past and it never ended quite right.

“I can help,” the princess interjected softly.

Neve looked to her. She clasped her hands in front of her and rocked back on her heels, looking a little sheepish.

“I’m good with a needle.”

“What would a princess know of stitching wounds?” Neve retorted.

The sheepish look dropped from her face, replaced with determination and a touch of contempt. “What do you think princesses do all day? Westitch.” She tossed her wet golden-red hair over her shoulder. “What’s the difference between skin and fabric? It will close the same.”

She walked to the washtub and dunked her hands into the water. Thesaloesyanked her hands back and stared down at the water, then up to Olwen. “It’s hot.”

“Is that a question?” Olwen drawled, scratching at the shaved side of his head.

“How?”

“Underground hot springs.”

“Amazing,” she whispered, before pushing her sleeves up and scrubbing her hands up to her elbows. “Do you have a bowl and clean rags?”

Olwen handed them to her wordlessly. The princess filled the small bowl with water and strode across the room, rags in hand. She stood before Flyka, pointedly ignoring Neve.

It rankled, and he didn’t know why.

“With your permission, I’ll clean and stitch this in no time.”

Flyka stared at the princess and gestured to her leg. “You can’t do any worse than anyone else.”

The princess knelt on the floor, despite the mud from Flyka’s boots. She pulled off her emerald ring and tucked it into the pocket of her dress. She dunked the rag into the warm water and began dabbing Flyka’s wound, cleaning it with sure but gentle strokes.

“Humans have red blood, not silver,” the human commented, glancing at Flyka. “I wonder why that is.”

“How the creator designed us, I supposed,” Flyka muttered.

Neve leaned a shoulder against the bedpost as Eyri handed the human the threaded needle.

“Thank you, my lord,” the princess murmured. She lifted her arm and coughed into her elbow, glancing up once more at Flyka.

“No backing out now,” the Haunt murmured, a taunt in her voice.

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