6. Chapter Six

The snap of branches breaking draws both our attention. My heart thunders in my chest as I scan the dark forest before us. I yearn to shift into my unicorn form, where at least I'd have a chance at defending myself or escaping. Despite my wishes, the enchanted band around my wrist continues to neutralize my power. The wind shifts, and with it comes the unmistakable scent of blood, thick and metallic.

"Someone's approaching," Nero says as he moves with a combination of speed and grace that resembles a sleek beast in motion.

His sword glistens in the light as he lifts it up to block the intruder from entering the clearing. A moment of recognition crosses his face before he sheaths his sword, the sound of metal on leather echoing in the air before offering his assistance.

"Thank goodness you're alive brother. I was dreading having to explain to the King and Queen how I lost ya stupid arse," Nero adds, patting Aramis's shoulder. I can see the relief wash away the worry from his features.

As they move closer to where I crouch in the shadows, I notice dark stains of blood coating Aramis's arms and chest. Has he been injured? The instinct to heal wars with my desire to flee while they are distracted. As silently as I can muster, I slowly step backwards. A resounding crack of dried wood echoes as my weight snaps a twig in two. Aramis's eyes meet mine where I stand, holding my breath in the shadows.

"Trying to escape, shifter?" He brushes off Nero's attempts to assess him, stalking towards me. My mouth twists into a sarcastic smile–of course he assumes I'm trying to escape, even when I know I've just newly accepted my fate. I wish he would give it a rest. My mouth is dry and the pulse of my heart beats faster in my chest as my eyes roam from his face to the fresh stain on his sleeves. If that's his blood—

"It's not mine," he replies to my silent inquiry. Warmth creeps across my face, and I surprise myself when I silently thank the Gods that it's nothing serious.

"I was just assessing for injuries." I state pertly, meeting his cold stare. Strange awareness settles between us, full of complicated emotions.

"Why would you even bother, shifter? So you can gloat over the fact that one of us was injured?" Aramis sneers and angrily wipes the sweat off his forehead. The expectation that I care only because he suspects I'd use my knowledge over him for gain hurts.

"I wouldn't do that, your Majesty." I retort, attempting to rein in my spite. "I'm a healer and I don't take pleasure in other's pain." It is evident that he lacks knowledge about healers and their mission, as well as the honor and duty I feel compelled to fulfill. Since I was young, my parents instilled in me the belief that healing is an art and a gift from the goddess. Only a select few are born with the ability to master the knowledge of healing and the power to harness it. Although I have not yet taken my healer's oath at Nova Esther, it holds no less significance in my soul.

"What happened? Where are the others?" Nero interrupts. He grabs Percy's reins and leads him over to the water. His coat is soaked and he is frothing at the mouth. How hard did Aramis push him to get to us?

"I–" Aramis sighs deeply, running a hand through his wind disheveled hair. "I'm still not sure. It was an ambush, we barely made it…"

"Who?" Nero's face falls as he stares at Aramis, reading in his expression the words he was struggling to pronounce.

"It's Edmund. They stabbed him."

***

The sound of shouting fills the air as two guards carrying a makeshift gurney enter the clearing and set it down near the fire. I count as the rest of the guards return, leading the horses who drag a large stag behind them.

"Edmund," Aramis gently coaxes the guard's green eyes open, his brow furrowed. "Edmund, can you hear me?" He snaps his fingers before the guard's face.

"Let me look at him," I say meekly, wiping my sweaty palms on my skirt.

I can do this.

"Why would I let my prisoner lay hands on one of my wounded men?" Aramis glares at me from where he crouches.

Glaring back, I edge around him for a better view, my eyes darting to the injured guard now on the ground. Despite my situation, I'm determined to do what I was born to do and complete it to the highest level of my capabilities.

"He needs care. Please—please give me the freedom to help him." I raise my bound wrists as I look towards my captor. Friend or foe, I will not stand by as this man loses his battle with death. My parents have taught me better than that. "He's in terrible pain, and I have to help."

"Let you go? Why? So I can free you only for your poor attempts at escape? Why would I do that?" Aramis doesn't break my gaze, and the steady reprimand unworthy of my actions makes me want to falter. Had it not been for the guard on the ground, had it not been for this desire to help break me beyond my fear, I stand straighter.

"You're wasting time while your guard writhes in agony, losing blood with the potential to die, when you have a source that's willing and able to do what they can to save him," I scoff, anger leading my words aloud. "I don't see any other able-bodied healers in your company."

"What makes you think I care about a single guard?" Aramis advances towards me, attempting to intimidate me, and my body quivers, on the verge of standing my ground or fleeing. My skin warms with anger–anger at Aramis' doubt and his disbelief that I'm willing to help him. I'm ready to prove the asshole wrong.

"Do you really think I can't see past this farce? You care about your men Aramis, more than you are willing to admit because that would make you vulnerable and goddess forbid, you show some compassion or empathy. Not to mention that you wouldn't have bothered carrying him all this way if you had no hope for his survival?" I keep my gaze steady on Aramis. His jaw clenches and his breathing becomes more laborious, almost as if he is using every ounce of strength he has to stop himself from losing control. I turn and notice that the guards all seem to be on my side too, their gazes desperate to save one of their own. A twist of fear fills me with worry as I meet Aramis's eyes once more and he looks me over.

"You're getting too confident shifter. What happened to only being a half-trained healer?" He retorts, his disbelief hurting more than I care to admit. Heat burns my cheeks, but I hold my ground.

"A half-trained healer is better than none when we're lost in this goddess forsaken forest," I declare boldly. "Plus, if the shadow beasts get a whiff of his blood, don't you think they'll come prowling?" My patience is wearing thin. I am losing precious time arguing when I could be assessing the damage and healing.

I lift my bound hands once again before him, praying he'll do the right thing and let me help him. Silence fills the air between us, the world seeming to slow before he responds.

"Fine." The Prince's resolve settles into me, and I feel nothing but gratitude to tend his wounded. Aramis' hardened gaze glances over me, communicating distrust, despite his allowance. "But flinch the wrong way or harm him and you'll find yourself tied up, gagged and slung like a sack over the back of the horse for the rest of the journey." Before I can reply he flips out a silver hunting knife from his belt and slices clean through the rope. It falls to the ground with a thud as final as his last words. My relief is past my words. Finally, I can do my job.

Moving around him to the injured guard's side, I allow my instincts to guide me as I do my best to assess the damage done to him without the aid of my magical abilities. His pale complexion contorts in agony, his grip on his right thigh is so tight that his knuckles are white. Someone has tied a crude tourniquet of fabric across what I presume is a deep gash. While created in haste, it is still done well–and has possibly saved the guard's life. I slide my slender fingers across his throat to feel his pulse, watching his chest rise and fall in increasingly labored breaths. A frown tugs at the corners of my mouth. Depending on how much blood the guard has lost this deep in the forest, without my medicine and a suture kit I recognize his chances of survival are small. Providing the wound doesn't become infected; I furrow my brow in assessment.

"We need fresh water, linen, and build up the fire if you want any chance of him surviving." I direct to the guards aloud as I tie my hair back, away from my face. I glance back to make sure my directions have been heard and nearly double back with surprise. Aramis glares, pursing his lips at my demands, but with one look at his fallen comrade, he grudgingly nods in consent at Nero and the remaining guard.

"Do as she asks, and make haste!" Aramis commands his men, and an unacceptable swirl whooshes through my gut at his direction. I hold his gaze a second longer and slightly nod my head in thanks for trusting my knowledge and abilities, and he nods back. A silent truce.

"Where are the others?" I continue to peel away the guards' leather armor, setting it in a pile next to me. A flashback of helping my father out of his armor as a child crosses my mind. I shake my head, willing away the memory so I can focus on the task at hand. As I get to the leg bracers, he takes a sharp intake of breath as he clenches his teeth in pain before blissfully losing consciousness.

It'll be easier this way, at least. I won't need a pain tonic to stitch him back together.

"What does it matter to you?" He replies bitterly. "Tending to your captors cannot be high on your list of priorities."

"I'm trying to be cordial as I focus on your guard," I reply slowly through gritted teeth.

"Also," I continue, "my parents always taught me that idle chatter helps not only to soothe the patient, but also to keep nerves at bay, and I might be wrong, but it seems that's exactly what you need." I bite my lower lip to force myself not to snicker at my own smart-ass remark but I can sense the weight of his stare on my back. Minutes creep by in silence as I work. Only the sound of the guard's ragged breaths and the crackling of the fire filling the air.

"They will be here soon," Aramis replies, focusing on his own tasks of building up the fire. He continues monotonously: "After we defeated the bandits, we spotted a herd of deer on the way back. They split off to hunt. We're almost to the mountain pass and food will be scarce until we get through it. It will be good to have a full warm meal tonight. We will dry the rest overnight for the journey."

The thought of a warm meal makes my stomach growl in anticipation, but I have a task to complete. "Food always helps with a speedy recovery." I say as I roll back my sleeves that had fallen down.

"Edmund shall have whatever he requires," Aramis says with a sigh. He tosses more logs on the fire, poking at the embers with a stick until the sparks catch on the dry peeling bark, casting an orange glow on his profile. From this angle, I can see how his worry is creased across his face as he glances from the guard to the shadowy depths of the forest they have just come from. My heart clenches as a similar emotion echoes within me. That unsettling fear of losing someone you care about and not knowing if you will be strong enough to survive the grief.

"He will survive," I say softly, and I hold my breath when our eyes meet and for the first time, I can see Aramis without walls of steel guarding his emotions. Fear, confusion, loneliness, all come crashing to the surface for a split second.

Nero and another guard return with a pot of fresh water and a clean white cotton tunic, pulling me from my thoughts. Ripping the shirt in strips, I dip one into the water before untying the tourniquet to assess the damage. The laceration is deep, but it has narrowly missed his femoral artery. The journey ahead will be arduous, but if I can manage to clean and stitch the wound, he might just stand a chance.

"This would be a lot simpler if you let my magic free." I look pleadingly up at Aramis, lifting my wrists up , the iron bracelet a dull orange in the firelight, hoping the life of his guard was worth freeing my power. "Everyone knows unicorn magic is beyond compare when it comes to healing. Ensuring one's life force stays tethered to this world requires an incredible amount of magic, and we can tap into our reserves for longer than any other magic user on the continent. That's why we make such incredible healers." I plead my case, begging him to consider what's at stake if I can't use my magic.

"And risk you taking your true form and escaping into the forest where worse beasts than myself would devour you in a heartbeat?" Aramis' expression is cruel, and I sigh. "I don't think so." He turns his back and walks away from me.

I take a moment to wipe the perspiration from my forehead with my sleeve, then continue my ministrations of cleaning the wound. I sigh, uncertain of the extent of healing I can do without my magical abilities.

A thump next to me interrupts my thoughts as I turn my head. The familiar warm brown leather of my mother's healing satchel lies on the ground beside me. Tears well in my eyes as I lovingly run a hand across the worn soft surface of the bulging pockets. I overstuffed the pack in preparation for Bolide with everything I needed, from burn ointment, antiseptics, to anti-nausea and willow bark tea.

"I—Aramis–" I breathe out barely over a whisper. The words catch in my throat as I look up, my hazel eyes meeting Aramis' icy blues. His jaw clenches, and the stern gaze only highlights the handsome square jawline.

"I don't need your thanks. I just need your skills, however little of them you might possess," Aramis says. Standing above me, his eyes roving my face before he turns on his heel to find Nero at the edge of the clearing. He positions himself to keep me within his sights as they begin a conversation.

My heart clenches as emotions whirl inside my brain. Shaking my head, I turn towards my patient as I pull out an antiseptic wash, healing ointment, and suture kit from their respective pockets. My fate is in the hands of the goddess and I had work to do.

"This might sting," I whisper as I coat a strip in antiseptic wash, hoping my words soothe Edmund even if he's unconscious . I lift my shaking hands and gently dab at the wounds. Edmund's face flinches as I make my way to the laceration in his thigh.

"Shhh, everything is fine. I'm just cleaning your wounds so they don't get infected," I whisper in a hushed voice as I continue to clean. With a spare hand, I gently rub at his furrowed brow. The last thing I want is for him to wake up in a fit of pain before I have his wounds stitched close.

Clove oil! I rummage around before I find the small bottle in the bag and pull the stopper. Not only would it provide temporary local analgesia, but it should help with the inflammation and infection. Sweat beads on my brows as I lean over the guard's body, plastering my hair to my face. I lift my hand to clear my face as a gentle breeze brushes against my skin. Glancing up, I see Aramis watching me. He leans against a tree with his arms crossed in front of his chest–a gaze so steady and conflicted. I break eye contact and look around the clearing. With my focus on tending to the guard, I didn't hear the others return to the camp. The fire is brought to life as meat crackles over it"s heat; the sizzle and pop of the fat dripping into the flames breaking the quiet murmurings. The smell is intoxicating.

I need to focus, no distractions. My stomach growls audibly. Even though they may not believe me, I am determined to prove them wrong, that they are mistaken and I am innocent.

I sterilize the small curved needle before threading it, praying the goddess will give me stable hands. Once done, I tie a clean strip of linen over the fresh stitches and clean my hands in what's left of the water.

"He is steady now," I say to Aramis, who has not stopped studying me since the moment I started tending to Edmund's wound. He must truly care for the boy.

He closes the distance between us and assesses my work. Edmund is still unconscious but has now a peaceful expression on his face, almost as if he is having the best sleep of his life. Aramis exhales deeply, and I can see his shoulders drop. To my surprise, he reaches down and offers me a hand. I hesitate at his gesture, but I am stiff from kneeling, so I warily place my hand in his and let him help me to my feet.

"But he needs to rest," I add, standing so close to him I can see his blue eyes darken like storm clouds on the verge of breaking, my hand still resting in his. "Edmund is in no condition to ride." His body heat radiates off him at our proximity, the smell of bergamot and cedarwood mixed with wood smoke filling my senses. I exhale slowly, unable to break eye contact.

A bark of laughter breaks the moment, and I quickly pull myself away from Aramis's grip. The other guards are passing around a flask of what I presume is more Dark Starlight.

"Fine," he grunts, "we could all need some rest, anyway." He sets off to join the guards eating by the fire. After a couple of steps however, he comes to a stop. His head turns slightly in my direction and I can see his body tense.

"Thank you for saving his life, Sybil," he whispers, without meeting my eyes.