I can rest when we return to the grotto, I tell myself.

Nothing else matters if Ranan dies.

Chapter

Eighteen

RANAN

Islowly come to.

My mouth feels like a wad of dried out seaweed. It tastes rotten and yet is somehow parched. Something pricks my hot, throbbing leg, sending a dagger of pain sheeting up my calf. I jerk, trying to move away from the stinging pain, but something heavy weighs down my thigh.

“Of course now you’re awake,” I hear Vali mutter. “Your timing could not be worse.”

My eyes feel gritty, and I manage to open them a sliver. As I do, I see her naked back—fiery red with sunburn—facing me. She’s sitting on my thigh. Another hot, stabbing pain shoots up my leg and I vaguely remember the sea dragon. It’s hard to talk—my tongue feels as if it’s coated with sand. “What…are you…doing?”

“Sewing your wound. Be still or I’ll have to strap you down.”

She’s sewing my wound? I repeat the thought several times.

She’s…sewing…

…my wound?

When did she get here? Wait, where is here? I focus my gaze on the ceiling and see the familiar stone of the grotto. Another stab lances up my leg and I hiss. “Ow!”

“This was easier when you were unconscious,” she mutters.

“How long…?”

“Almost two days that I know of. I’ll give you some water once I’m done with this.” She pauses, blows out a loud breath, then breathes in again just as deeply.

“You…all right?”

“Great, just great.” She doesn’t sound great, though. Her voice sounds tight.

I lie back, exhausted and weak and still slightly dazed. I’m so thirsty. I feel hot, too, but that can’t be helped…can it? My leg feels as if it’s on fire, and I wonder if it’s even there or if the sea dragon bit it off. “How bad…is it?”

“Bad.”

And yet she went out and found me? I don’t know how, and I can’t imagine why. I haven’t been kind to her. “Leg…?”

“Still on, but it’s not pretty. It needs sewing.”

“Doesn’t hurt that bad.”

“Well, thank the gods for that. Could be all the willow bark tea I’ve been dripping down your throat.”

Has she? I didn’t realize.

“I’m lucky I had some steeping for a long time. It’s really strong. You’ll feel it when it wears off, though. I guarantee that.”

Lovely. Something to look forward to. Vali has obviously been hard at work tending to me. “Could have…robbed…me. Left. You’d be rich.”

“I’m your wife,” she points out, her weight shifting on my thigh. If I didn’t feel like I’d been pounded by an entire flotilla of hamarii, I might be able to appreciate that she’s straddling my thigh naked, her cunt snugged against my flesh. “I wouldn’t be robbing you if you died and I got your things. And besides, where would that get me? I’d be murdered at the first town I went to.”

“Mm.” I lick my lips. They feel like fish scales.

“Besides, I like you,” Vali continues in that determined voice. “Even though you make it difficult at times. Now, hold still. I need to stitch again.”

Hot pain flares through my leg, and this one seems to go on for longer. A growl rises in my throat and I clench my fists together to keep still. She’s helping me. I know she is. I’m grateful, even if I want to pull her off my leg and have her never stab me with a needle again. The pain ebbs and I wheeze, collapsing back against the soft fabrics under my body. As I do, I think about her admission. “You…like me?”

“You’ve always been kind to me. Even when you didn’t have to be. In my world, that means a lot.” She flexes her shoulders as she moves and then hunches them again, going quiet.

“I…haven’t…been…that kind.”

“Sure you have. We’re still getting to know each other. And this next part is going to sting, because I think I need to sew the muscle together before I sew the skin over it.”

It sounds like she knows what she’s doing. I’m awash with gratitude that she’s tending to me. She found me, brought me back, and she’s going to help me get better. “You know what you’re doing?”

“I can sew a straighter stitch than anyone,” she says. “The scar will hardly show. Trust me. You ready?”

I grunt. “Do it before I think about it.”

White-hot pain sears up my leg and I let out a groan of agony. It goes on for far too long, and sweat beads on my skin. She tugs, and I feel the stitch tighten in place, and then her shoulders hunch. Vali is quiet for a long moment and then tilts her head back, breathing deep.

Is she…gagging?

“You…sick?”

“The muscle was just a bit much. Lots of blood.” Her voice sounds oddly tight. “Just gimme a moment and I’ll keep going.”

“You said you’d done this before.”

“I lied. You can beat my arse later.”

A rusty laugh barks out of me. I’m both surprised and yet not by her answer. The fact that she’s doing this for me tells me just how strong she is. Not many people would do what she has to help me heal. I’m suddenly grateful for her and her stubbornness. And yes, even her lies.

Vali takes a deep breath and then glances back at me from over her shoulder. “This next one’s gonna sting again…”

May Rhagos take me. I grit my teeth and wait.

Chapter

Nineteen

VALI

Ranan is an absolutely terrible patient. I actually start to long for when he was unconscious, because conscious Ranan is a bear. He’s in pain, that much is obvious. He wants to examine the stitches I’ve made, never mind that I’ve wrapped them in bandages soaked with more willow bark. Never mind that the nasty red lines on his flesh that spoke of infection have disappeared thanks to my tireless cleansing of his wound.

Never mind that I’m constantly making tea and soup for him and helping him piss in a pot so he doesn’t have to stand upright. I bathe him when he sweats, and I change the linens so he has something clean to sleep in every day.

And what do I get in return?

The worst, most uncomfortable peeling sunburn of my life, and an absolute grouch of a husband.

I do understand his frustration—I hate being sick. But by the gods, he’s cranky. The first few days were easier, because he was resting and unconscious for a lot of them. The healing herbs make him sleepy but also have done wonders for his leg. It’s swollen, a hot, fiery red ridge of flesh upraised around my stitch-work, but he can move all his toes (some better than others). It means I did something right with my stitches, and he mends a little more every day.

He mends so much that he gets cranky and lashes out at me when he hurts.

“I’m tired of this tea,” he grumps as I hand him another cup of willow bark.

“That’s the last of it.” It’s not, but he can just cope when I hand him the next cupful. It’s doing him good so he’s going to keep drinking it, I’ve decided. “Down it and I won’t make you any more.”

“Lies,” he grumbles, even as he tips the cup back and swigs its contents. “Deceit. You’re going to shove more at me the moment I turn around.”

“Is your leg less swollen? Then quit griping.” I turn back to the large beaten metal basin I’ve been using to soak the worst of the bloodied fabrics and wring them out. There’s a lot of work that goes into taking care of an ill person, and there’s no one else to do it but me. “You can beat my arse for lying when you’re back to yourself.”

“You keep bringing that up,” he says in a sulky voice. “I would almost think you’d enjoy it.”

I snort. “Or perhaps I’m just wise to your complaints.”

“There’s a healer on the flotilla. He’d have this taken care of quickly.”

I grit my teeth. “Great. Should we chop off your leg and send it away to him then?”