Page 54 of Between Wrath and Mercy

“I know, Em. I know.” His voice was soft as he busied himself with something at the brazier before tearing into my pack, searching for fresh clothing, I assumed. I slithered out of the disgusting pants I’d worn, forgoing modesty. I was covered in blood, in pain, and didn’t quite care. He’d seen me without pants anyway, thanks to my idiocy with the onaán.

“Everything in there is dirty.” I didn’t want to bother with changing into fresh clothes, I just wanted to sleep. I nearly collapsed backwards onto the pallet, but I was grateful I had some sense of control when I leaned forward instead, putting my head in my hands. I could have passed out right there, but I needed to get the blood off me. Sam’s blood, the blood from one man’s neck and another man’s intestines. Thinking about it made me nauseated.

“I can see that. Smell it, really.” He made a face as he shoved the clothes back into the pack. I could feel the corner of my mouth lift as I watched him. He gave me a small smile, infinitely charming, and walked over to his pack in the corner of the tent. He pulled out a cloth and a long-sleeved button-down shirt that looked entirely too fine to be packed with his traveling gear. I lifted a brow as he turned to me with it.

“I had plans in Ardian when you interrupted them.” He shrugged as he placed the shirt over the back of the chair sitting at the tiny desk. He turned to the brazier, and I saw what he’d been fiddling with before—a pot of water. Taking it off the heat, he brought the pot over and knelt before dipping the cloth into the water. When he pulled one of my hands into his and gently started scrubbing at the blood, I nearly started crying at the tenderness. I was so used to handling everything myself, the act of someone caring for me felt intimate beyond comparison.

“Dickey said you killed the tírrúil that was attacking them.” He kept looking down at my hands, getting the blood out of the creases in my palms and around my fingernails. I watched the small line between his eyebrows and the downward slant of his nose.

“Not fast enough.” Not before it killed Sam. Pain tore through my head, and I started breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. I imagined the arrows going through the beast that had just ended a boy’s life and remembered my bow. I’d been holding it when I almost fell into the fire. I sighed, knowing it was likely in pieces.

“No. I suppose not.” He glanced up to me through his lashes, and I had to catch my breath. There was a fire in his eyes as he watched me, something fierce and prideful. “But then you warned me of the other one and killed it too.”

“I put it to sleep.”

“Same thing.” He shrugged. “I’m sorry I couldn’t rift to you. I—That’s the first time that’s happened since—since that day.” His eyes lingered on my arm, and I knew he was feeling responsible for my injury. I wondered why his rifting always seemed to act out for him when I stood to lose the most from its failure. I faintly entertained the idea that maybe that was exactly the problem—my involvement made him unable to use his divinity properly. I dismissed it as fast as it came.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I gave him a faint smile, and he looked back down at my hands, now clean, giving them a quick squeeze. The throbbing in my temple intensified, and I winced.

“Here, use the cloth to clean the blood and…drool?” I inspected myself before I nodded in confirmation; I did indeed have tírrúil saliva all over me from when it tried to eat me.

He tossed his shirt to me, retrieving it from where it rested on his chair. It was a deep, emerald green I knew would match his eyes in better lighting. The fabric was soft as silk but without the sheen. Before he even finished turning around, I was already unbuttoning my filthy shirt. It was disgusting and ripped half to hell down the sleeve. Based on the breeze at my back, I assumed it was shredded from when I slid across the ground. I got the shirt off, and then lightning flashed behind my eyes, and I bent over, catching my head in my hand, smothering my cry. I couldn’t see, a thousand tiny stars clouding my vision, and I let out a sob from the pain. Rainier was crouched next to me in an instant, and I struggled, lifting my other arm to cover myself.

“Come on,” he whispered as he gently tugged me to him, adjusting me as he laid me down on the pallet. I curled into myself, turning my back to him as he pulled a blanket over me, the pain behind my eyes feeling like a thousand needles. After lying there for a few moments, the tiny stars faded, but the pain remained. I kept my eyes shut. I wondered if Lavenia’s head ached as badly as mine did and hoped Dewalt was taking care of her too. As if sensing what I was thinking, Rainier spoke quietly, his voice a low rumble.

“One of the good things about the bond is sharing the cost. As long as Dewalt is touching her, he can take some of this away. The pain.” He had taken the cloth and dipped it in the warm water, starting to clean my back. I tensed a bit, feeling the rash from being pushed across the dirt and rocks. He was gentle, and I could tell he was tracing the worst of the scrapes, making sure to get them clean. The pain in my eyes hadn’t lessened, but it had stopped getting worse, so I focused on the strokes of the cloth, soft and warm.

“Their divinity is increased by being bonded, and when the aftereffects can be shared, they can push themselves further. They can borrow from each other too if they need it. Lavenia pushed too far today by staying inside the tírrúil’s mind while it was slaughtered.” He gently lifted my braid away as he washed the back of my neck, down my shoulder and injured arm, staying away from the bandage.

“Do you want me to take your braid out?” Not able to form words, I gave a soft grunt of assent, and deft fingers began to gently pull my hair free from the tight plait. The release of tension at my roots felt painfully delightful. It was short-lived, as my head gave a tense throb behind my eyes. I let out a whimper, unable to stifle it, and he stilled his movements. After a moment he continued, and when finished, he gently massaged my scalp for a few blessed seconds. He pulled away, but not before softly tracing his fingertips over a spot on my neck.

“You spread yourself too thin, Em.” I heard him wring out the washcloth and dip it back into the water right before he brought it up to my neck, to the same area he’d touched just moments before.

“I had to, Rain.” My voice was quiet and trembling. I was in so much pain.

“I know.” He kissed my shoulder after he said it, and I didn’t mind, the implication felt less romantic than it did appreciative. He reached over me with the washcloth, cleaning my neck and collarbones. I closed my eyes and tried to breathe through the pounding in my head as I rolled back toward him, lying flat on the pallet. I wanted the blood and grit and saliva off me more than I cared about my modesty.

The only indication he cared was a slight hitch in his breath I could have imagined. I kept my eyes closed and used both hands to massage my temples, continuing to focus on breathing through the pain while Rainier carried on washing me. Once I rolled over, he was able to get a better angle on my chest and clean the rest of the saliva off my neck. Slow inhale and slow exhale as the cloth moved lower, over the swell of one breast then the other before dipping to the valley between. There was nothing lascivious about the way the cloth touched my body, only quick and thorough swipes to clean me off. By the time he finished, my head was still aching, but I was able to sit up as he helped me into his shirt. The buttons were on the opposite side of what I was used to, so I struggled a bit, and he leaned in to help me, his rough knuckles gently grazing my soft skin. When he was done, he traced his thumb over my lips as his hand cupped my cheek, and I looked at him, too worn out to put my thanks into words, hoping he’d see the gratitude written on my face. His eyes softened even further before pulling me to him, and he brushed a light kiss across my brow, soft and gentle.

“I’ve been wrong this whole time.” He whispered it against my brow, and I kept still.

“About what?”

“The blue. I’d imagined the Mahowin Sea all along.”

I started to pull away, confused, but he circled me in his strong arms and pulled me close.

“Your eyes. The Mahowin Sea doesn’t do them justice.”

I felt my heart begin to race, and I swallowed, overwhelmed by the conflicting emotions flooding me, my breaths coming too fast.

“Sleep, dear heart.” He whispered and laid me back down. He pulled a blanket on top of me, and, despite what he’d just said, the exhaustion overpowered me. I was asleep before I could hear him settle down across the tent.

Iwoketothesounds of the camp packing up outside. We were still a half day’s ride from home, and I was eager to crawl into a real bed, feathers poking up out of it and all. My head was still a dull ache, but I managed to keep my eyes open without any sharp stabs of pain; I hadn’t moved the entire time I slept. I could tell the day was well underway by how stifling the tent had become. With the brazier going and the sun warming us from above, it was no surprise I had a thin layer of sweat covering me. I threw the blanket off my body, wanting to get some air before I remembered I didn’t have pants on. I rolled over quickly, noticing the lack of pain on my back, and saw, thankfully, that Rainier was not in the tent. I relaxed a bit and sat up, pulling my mass of hair out of my eyes. I stood and flipped my hair over, using my fingers to massage my scalp, and a small moan escaped my lips. When I flipped back up, Rainier was standing just inside the tent.

“Sorry, I was coming to wake you.” I watched his eyes trace my face then slowly move down to the hem of his shirt. It ended halfway down my thigh, shielding me better than the shirt I’d worn the day he bandaged my leg. How had that only been two days ago? I crossed my arms, feeling oddly self-conscious, like he hadn’t seen me half naked just hours ago. I saw his jaw tense as he pointedly turned his body away from me, and I spun, grabbing my dirty ripped breeches off the ground behind me. I stumbled into them, teetering on this too-fragile edge of . . .somethinghe and I shared in the early morning light. Rainier cleared his throat before he spoke, still giving me privacy by facing away.

“We lost a few horses this morning. When they ran, a few went into the trench and broke their legs. The soldiers had to put them down.”

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