Page 114 of Fires of the Forsaken
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Misfit Toys
“You ever been so tired you forget how to do basic things? Like, how to walk and talk? Or what day it is? How old you are? Or,” I grunted as my fingers fumbled over the strip of cloth I was trying to tie, “how to do a simple knot? Because I’m there.” The fabric fell out of my hands. “Goddamn it.”
Maddox’s chuckle echoed in the cavernous dining hall…or whatever this room was. Looked like a dining hall to me, with candle-laden chandeliers running the length of the room. It only needed a few long tables to complete the picture. Instead, people sprawled across the bare floor. Some had blankets. Most didn’t. Some were lucid. Most weren’t. Some quietly stared at the flickering candlelight. Most cried, whimpered, grunted, or wailed.
Thewounded wardwas not a fun place.
Sure, Maddox had the Vulcan Mind Meld healing ability. The problem? He was one man. And trying to heal all the wounded had almost landed him in the sickbed alongside them. After an hour, he’d started swaying on his feet, his nose bleeding. But he kept going…until he vomited into a bag of fresh bandages.Thenhe conceded defeat.
So the new rule: those in immediate danger of dying received healing. The rest got the best healthcare Viking Land had to offer: a few poorly trained nurses (including me), gritty gasoline-scented alcohol (used to both rinse woundsandnumb the pain), bandages that were kinda-sorta clean (and smelled moldy), and a cushy spot on the stone floor.
I mean, seriously, why would anyone ever want to go to a regular hospital when they had this five-star service?
The man I was bandaging grunted when I accidentally scraped my nail against the festering hole in his thigh. See? Top-quality care. I didn’t even have gloves because...why would I? Sticking my bare, blistered hands right into a wound was way more sanitary.
Being able to think and see straight? Overrated. Sleep deprivation was the way to go. I was only helping people with serious injuries—missing limbs, compound fractures, and lacerations, to name a few. I didn’t need to be alert, right?
Oh, and my patience? That flew out the window hours ago.
“For fuck’s sake.” The fabric slipped through my fingers again.
“Here.”
My head whipped up when Cheriour knelt beside me, pushing my hands out of the way. “Thank you for helping, Addie. But I’ll finish bandaging him.”
I didn’t argue. Mostly because my muscles were goop, my heart seemed heavier than an anvil, and my brain had turned to mush (aka, I wasexhausted).I sighed, drew my knees into my chest, and watched him work.
He had a steady hand; almost unnaturally quiet. His movements were fluid, his fingers nimble. He didn’t fumble to tie knots or fidget with the bandages. Half the time he wasn’t even looking at what he was doing, his eyes too busy roaming around the hall. But he never faltered.
Wasn’t that him, though? Quiet. Nimble. Self-assured.
Protective.
Cheriour stared at Maddox, his lips pursed as the other man weeble-wobbled across the room. Cheriour didn’t stop working, but tension rippled over his shoulders. He shifted, ready to spring to his feet. But Maddox kept himself upright and moved to his next patient.
Cheriour exhaled but kept his eyes roving, as though afraid to let anyone out of his sight. His tension never ebbed.
He reminded me of Atlas; the titan sentenced to carry the world on his shoulders.
My anvil-weighted heart did a weird spasm, pummeling the inside of my chest.
I wanted to give Cheriour a hug. Or a massage. Those taut shoulders probably had somemassiveknots. But I didn’t know if he liked hugs. Maybe he had a personal space bubble he didn’t want crossed. Or maybe he was a snuggle bug. I had no idea.
I’d spent most of the last month with the guy, and I knew almostnothingabout him.
Did he have a favorite food? Favorite story? A favorite color? What had his life been like before he became the army leader? Was he born here? Or ripped away from his home? Did he have a family? A girlfriend? Boyfriend? What made him smile? Or laugh? And what did his laugh sound like?
“If you wanted to know those things,” Cheriour finished tying the bandage and raised an eyebrow at me, “you could’ve asked.”
I blinked. “Aw fuck, was I talking out loud again?”
He hummed and laid the unconscious man’s head on a makeshift pillow.
“How much did I say?”
“You asked me a dozen questions. Do you truly not realize when you’re speaking?”
