Chapter 56

The rhythmof tearing cloth and folding bandages has turned hypnotic, the repeated motions a strange sort of dance that Zerah and I perform along with the palace healers.

Our hands move with purpose, even as our hearts thrum with fear for what's happening beyond these walls.

All night we work, and I feel every second in the tension of my shoulders, in the grit in my eyes as they fight sleep.

As dawn spills its first light over the city, the golden rays filter through the window, reminding me that another day has dawned.

Soon, the moans of the injured drown out the silence of my thoughts.

I stay next to Zerah, our hands now tasked with more than just preparing bandages. We apply them, press them into wounds that bleed through our fingers.

I have no formal training in healing. My knowledge comes from caring for scrapes and bruises that my sisters would incur during their adventures. But I adapt quickly, watching Zerah's every move and mirroring her gentle yet efficient touch.

I clean a gash on a young soldier's arm, the blood warm and slick against my skin. He flinches, his eyes clenched shut against the pain, and I murmur soft words of comfort. "You're safe now," I tell him. "You're inside the palace walls."

Zerah is near me, her hands steady as she stitches a cut in a woman warrior's leg with a skill that surprises me.

There's no end to them—the warriors from House of Crimson who lie on cots and blankets spread across the floor. Each one carries a story on their skin: slashes from swords, burns, deep puncture wounds from arrows.

I stay close to Zerah as we move from one wounded person to another, my thoughts constantly shifting to Emerin. She would be in her element here and able to help far more than I can.

Where are you, Em?

Surely, she's safe in Bakva, and that letter was a lie.

But who's hand crafted it? Who maliciously tried to turn me against Jasce?

Asha?

I slam the thought away as quickly as it forms. Asha would never use my love for Emerin against me. She's not capable of that kind of deceit.

As I tend to the wounded, a restless energy thrums inside me, a burning in my chest that I have no explanation for. It started after I looked at that book Aleksander gave me.

Free me.

The gravelly words echo in my mind, sending a chill down my spine. I whirl around, half expecting someone with a sinister voice to be standing right behind me, but there is no one there. Only the moans of the injured fill the stuffy medical tent.

I lift a shaky hand to my forehead, rubbing at the tension gathering there. I must be more tired than I realized. That's the only reasonable explanation.

With a deep breath, I force myself to focus on the task at hand. Right now, these people need my attention, not my wild fancies about someone whispering to me. I steady my nerves and continue making my rounds, tending wounds, offering water, and providing what little comfort I can.