Page 16 of Bound in Violet Ink
I fidget with my bag as I place it on the floor, gathering a few supplies when I refuse to let him get to me. Out of my peripheral, I notice that when he’s not boring his gaze into me, he’s watching the door, as if ready to barricade it.
All the while, the chill of this place clings to my skin.
Even though I have a task at hand, it feels as if there are leagues between us in this rather small room. “I know this is all odd, considering that Silas imprisoned you. But he loathes me and wants me broken for Faust. To be frank, healing you would bring me great joy just to make Silas angry. So I will do so to my best capability.”
His lips twitch—like a man trying not to sneer. Or speak. Or growl. His broad shoulders are hunched slightly as if he’ll spring into action.
Duty and obligation push me forward, while self-preservation whispers words of caution. “I’ll begin to heal you, then.”
My own voice sounds far away. I don’t wait for permission. There isn’t any, not really. What other options are there? I’m imprisoned in my own rights with Silas, so it’s not as ifhappiness will appear on its own. Leaving him will require incredible sacrifice.
But perhaps, for now, I can be of use to Kane. Even just as a healer. Even if that’s all I’ll ever be.
I eye his stomach once more as I near him. Bright red blood now oozes with the black toxins polluting him. “I am going to heal the wounds. This may take a while.”
He doesn’t answer. Juststares. I kneel to examine where he was stabbed in the stomach, reaching into my canvas bag to acquire the necessary bandages, ointments, and a bowl. When I glance up, his gaze is pinned on me—unblinking, unreadable. Like he’s trying to memorize the shape of me in case I vanish. Or betray him.
Of course, I lower my gaze immediately. I have absolutely no idea how to read this man. The silence grows as our tension thickens, and for a moment, I feel like an idiot as I swear Silas’s words are about to ring true.
My fingers brush the hilt of the dagger I brought with me—just in case. My hand lingers a breath too long. Kane notices. Of course he does.
But he still doesn’t move.
Heal the bastard.Removing my necklace, I wrap the chain around my hand so the pendant hovers at my palm. I immediately begin to work, slathering a green-tinted balm that will numb his skin on his wound before hovering the very hand with the pendant over it, concentrating deeply on pulling the poison out as if my hand were a magnet and the toxins a metal. It will be painful. The pendant presses against my palm rather than dangle—a sign my magic still works, a reminder that there’ssomethingSilas can’t take from me. The tips of my fingers radiate a pale glow as my ability to heal is enhanced. Some say that those like me, if trained under magnificent legends, caneven bring beating hearts back from the dead as long as it’s been less than a moon’s cycle.
I mostly take care of the superficial things, as that’s all I’ve ever been taught to do—black sludge leaks out, sliding against his skin that’s warm in color, even in here. Slightly darker than my own. Kane stiffens immensely, inhaling deeply through his nostrils.
“What is the pain level?” I ask, breathing deeply to catch the scent of how much this ravages him. I can always smell the damage more than I can see it.
“It’s manageable,” he grinds out.
I reach into my bag to retrieve fresh linen and a jar filled with a thick ointment of bitterroot and fermented myrah, which is used specifically for this affliction. “You stiffened quite a lot for it to be manageable.”
“It’s not from the pain.” A large clot of poison slumps out into my bowl, disintegrating into liquid once my hand, which hovered over to extract it, is no longer pouring magic into it. “This is no place for you. This—” He stops abruptly, looking around as if this is the most annoying thing he’s encountered lately. “Someone was coming to heal, to bring me what I neededasidefrom an antidote.Youare not supposed to be here.”
Suddenly, I feel rather vulnerable, small. I stare at the massive, flat plane of his abdomen where blood and toxin still ooze, aware of how I’d have to crane my head just to look him in the eyes. “Every second matters, so I’m not going to stop, even if this is no place for me,” I say, purposefully not looking up. I will prove Silas so wrong that he’ll grovel on his knees. If Iamto die here, it will be becauseIallow it.
I’mnotgoing back to that fucking castle.
The only movement is his steady breathing. The curious fog my mind found within dissipates, no longer lost in a fantasy of whatever the letters were.
A small shudder escapes when his touch is on me, grabbing the back of my hair to push my head down, swiping away the hair as if he’s looking at something before releasing my hair. My head whips back as if I’m expecting him to strike me, but those stolid eyes remain the same.
Don’t waste time.
Closing my eyes to refocus, I recite a few words until my fingertips tingle with magic while I continue to pull it out of him. I maintain not looking up at him as I channel my energy to focus on the rot of this poison, feeling its foreign vibrations underneath his skin as I guide it to the torn tissue with the unnatural opening. I move my hands along him, his wound opening slightly as more black sludge bubbles out. With my other, I catch it in the same bowl to examine and confirm the poison with a few droplets of various ingredients I brought, inspecting to see if he should require a more complex antidote.
For some reason, as I do this, Ineedto look up, and when I do…
He’s already intently staring.
Gods does that gaze unwind me. Those silver eyes are like metal, sharp and dangerous. In this darkness, lit only by a few candles, that face appears even more rugged, with a shadow of facial hair, one that mirrors the scalp of his head. A scar runs from his jaw to his temple, while another slashes through his eyebrow, his bottom lip scarred just the same. And from this angle, he appears evenmoremassive.
“This is beyond reckless,” he states, judgment heavy in his gaze. Not angry. Not grateful. Just—watching. Absorbing.
“It’s either this or I get to marry Lord Faust, and I’d rather face this place than belong to him for the rest of my life.” It’s not my particular desire to speak of such drama, the sound of it so meaningless in a purposeless place such as this.
“No, you wouldn’t have,” he replies through steady breaths. “Faust would have been drawn and quartered the moment I got out of here.”
