Page 125 of Daughter of the Drowned Empire
By the time I reached our training room after lunch, I was ready to pass out.
Rhyan walked in slowly, closing the door behind him before he crouched down before me, settling his bag on the floor.
“How are you?”
I swallowed. “I feel like shit.”
“Lyr,” he said, going still as his eyes ran back and forth across my face. “What happened last night?”
I glared, unsure where he was going with this. Were we going to have this conversation now? About almost kissing? About his confession to me? About the way I wanted to confess my feelings to him? “After the arena?” I asked nervously.
“No,” he said. “I mean…what happened before you arrived?” His hand reached for my face, his calloused fingers brushing gently against my cheek. “You have a black eye. And a cut on your cheek. And before Mercurial healed you, you were limping. Not from the habibellum. Not from being lashed. You had these injuries before you entered the Katurium”
I sucked in a breath.
“Lyr, you can tell me. Was it…did Tristan hurt you?”
My hand instinctively covered my wrist, squeezing against the scars. “I already told you.”
He shook his head. “Please, just…I want to help. You can trust me.”
“Let’s just train,” I said.
“Fine.” He opened his bag and removed cured sunleaves, moon oil, and freshly cut pieces of white cloth. “I need to change your bandages.”
My skin prickled, my wrist burned, and an itch ran from the blood oath scars on my wrist all the way up to my elbow.
“No,” I said automatically. “Don’t.”
“It won’t take long, and this is going to keep you from an infection.”
“I just….” I sat back, trying to angle my body away from his, my stomach turning. “I can take care of myself.”
“Even I can’t bandage my own back—and that’s when I’m not injured.” He laid the cloth straps on his bag and sighed. “You fight me on this almost every single time.” He shook his head. “And I can’t…I can’t think of a single reason why you would, except if you’re….” He released a shaky breath. “I used to hide my scars, too.”
I stared up, meeting Rhyan’s green eyes. He reached forward, tentatively, nervously, and wiped the tears from my cheeks. I hadn’t even realized I was crying.
“You don’t have to tell me.” His voice was impossibly gentle. “But you can. Whenever you’re ready.” He looked out the window, biting his lower lip. “I know what it’s like to be hurt. What it’s like to heal wounds without magic.” He got down on his knees, sitting across from me, his green eyes focused on me and churning with raw emotion. “Can I…?” He swallowed, his expression shifting like he’d just made a tough decision. “Lyr, let me treat your back.” He wouldn’t force me. But this was no longer a question. It was a command.
I wrapped my hand around my wrist, over the scars of my blood oath, over the tattoos hiding them. But there was no burning, no warning like before. He knew I’d been hurt but had allowed me to keep my secret. He wouldn’t press, wouldn’t pry. And on some level, I did trust him. I more-than-trusted him.
A part of my heart had been Rhyan’s since I was a girl. When we’d danced that night under the solstice stars, my feelings had shifted, become something more. When we’d kissed, they had grown again and bloomed into something deeper, something primal. But then he’d hardly paid me any attention the remainder of his visit, and he was gone. Years had passed. And it hadn’t mattered. I’d kissed other boys. I’d fallen for Tristan. And still, that piece of my heart was there, living outside of me, waiting for him, beating for him, and then he was back. Back in Bamaria. And now, he was in front of me, kneeling before me, wanting to help.
He still wore his armor. He’d been wearing it this morning when he faced Mercurial. He’d worn it all last night. While I slept, getting sweat and blood all over his bed, he’d sat awake watching over me, dressed completely ready for battle.
I nodded. “All right.”
“Good.” He sounded relieved as he got up to lock the door. He sat down behind me. “Can I take this off?” he asked, tugging on my tunic.
“Yes.”
Slowly, his fingers undid the laces down my back, careful to keep the material away from my skin and wounds. He slid the tunic forward on my arms, completely exposing my back to him. I hadn’t bothered with a shift. Just the idea of anything tight over those wounds felt painful, so I’d gone without. Now all that remained between me and Rhyan were the bandages he’d placed there last night. I leaned forward, holding the front of my tunic over my chest.
He ran his hands down my spine, gently, poking and prodding along the way, tracing the lines that crossed my back with a towel, then healing ointment, and finally a fresh batch of sunleaves.
He was silent as he worked, and I began to relax under his touch until finally he sighed deeply, pulling his hands away. “I don’t think you’ll be scarred,” he said.
Involuntarily, I made a sound, something between a sob and a laugh. It was so stupid. It shouldn’t have mattered. But my body carried enough marks already, marks I would never be free from.
