Page 95 of The Endless War

Keris dutifully handed it over, watching her link her belt with his and around the trapdoor before pulling it closed. Dragging the ladder over the top, she threaded the belts through the rungs.

A small lamp burned on the tray, and Keris inspected the offerings. Two relatively clean glasses full of dark beer thick enough to stand a spoon upright, as well as two bowls of something like stew that smelled terrifyingly spicy, plus several pieces of flatbread.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he looked for a spoon.

“Like this.” Zarrah took a piece of the flatbread and used it to spoon the contents of the bowl into her mouth. “It’s good.”

He followed suit, ignoring the grime around his fingernails because he was too hungry to wait. The spice was potent enough that his eyes watered, but it was good, so he kept going, pausing only occasionally to calm the fire on his tongue with ale.

Zarrah stacked the dishes on the tray and set the lot aside. Rounding on him, she said, “Take off your shirt.”

He choked on the last mouthful of ale. “Pardon?”

“I need to look at your injury.” When he didn’t move, she crossed her arms. “At the best of times, you’ve got as much color as a glass of milk, Keris, but at the moment you look …” She shook her head. “Your skin is grey.”

“Bad lighting.”

“Don’t be an idiot. You think I can’t tell that you’re barely able to stand?” Making an aggrieved noise, she scowled at him. “You nearly died from that arrow. Is it bleeding again?”

It was.

But he had no interest in taking off his shirt. Not only was he filthy, but he’d also seen the wound. The cauterization might have sealed it, but it had left behind a burned mess of flesh that seeped fluid. It was disgusting, and he didn’t want her to see it. Didn’t want her to see him like this, because it would give her cause to question what good his presence was to her.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I packed bandages and one of Lara’s nasty salves. I’ll deal with it in the morning.”

“If it fouls, you’ll die. Take off your shirt.”

“What do you know of healing?”

She gave him a flat stare. “More than you. Shirt. Off.”

The stubbornness in him wanted to dig in its heels, but Keris reluctantly pulled off his coat, then eased his shirt over his head, grimacing in pain as he did. The bandages beneath were still in place, but the white cloth was soddened with blood and whatever else the cursed injury was leaking.

Zarrah’s breath caught, and then she reached for the bucket of water and the cloths the bartender had provided. Keris looked away, staring at the darkness outside the singular window because he didn’t want to see her reaction.

“I didn’t know you were squeamish,” she said, and he noticed a slight tremor in her voice.

“I’m not.” He fought the urge to pull away from her. “But I’m spectacularly vain.”

A faint laugh exited her lips, and he risked a sideways glance to see her smiling, though it fell away as she unfastened the bandage. An awful peeling noise accompanied the sharp sting of pain as she pulled the fabric away from the wounds. Her fingers were warm against his skin. Or perhaps he was just cold.

“Oh, Keris,” she said softly, and he hid his cringe with words.

“It’s vile. Thankfully I heal quickly.”

She caught him by the chin, forcing him to look at her. “You think how it looks is my concern? Do you have any idea how close you came to dying? A finger’s breadth to the right, and nothing Lara could have done would have saved you, and I’d be facing this fight alone.”

“Not alone,” he said. “The rebels will support you. And for all his vagaries, Aren will as well.”

“You think any of them can replace you?” The second the words were from her lips, she looked away, the muscles in her jaw tightening as though she hadn’t meant to say them, though she swiftly added, “Peace is unlikely without you on the throne.”

He didn’t answer, and her eyes eventually flicked back up to meet his. The world around them blurred, the noise of the common room below faded away, and the pain in his shoulder became an afterthought in the face of his desire to pull her into his arms. Their connection was endless. Timeless. And though it had been battered and brutalized, the tension between them remained undiminished. As hard to resist as it had ever been.

You gave your word!his conscience screamed at him.Don’t you dare take advantage of a moment of weakness.

She moved closer, almost an imperceptible shift, but every instinct in his body demanded he close the distance. That he kiss her. Make love to her. Do what it took to make her forget all the hurt, and in doing so, take back all that had been lost.

Don’t!His conscience’s screams seemed further away with each passing second.She’s the one who has been hurt. The one who has been betrayed by so many. You are supposed to be the one giving her strength, not the one mining beneath all her defenses.

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