The tip of a needle sinks into my skin, and I bite down on the end of a thick leather belt. My eyes water as I pull the white thread taunt, closing the gash on the outside of my thigh one agonizing stitch at a time. So far, I've sewn eleven sloppy stitches into my body with nothing to numb the pain or properly clean the wound. The Allaji rarely use medics, preferring to shift into their animal form and heal naturally. Zek offered to send a wolf to lick the bloody mess he made of my leg, claiming there are healing properties in the animal's saliva, but I turned him down. I would rather suffer the loss of my leg than let another Allaji touch me.
I don't regret my decision. No, I savor the pain. It's the first time I've felt something truly intense since I was taken from Kyron. Every prick of the needle burns through me, making my chest ache and my skin clammy. The rush doesn't compare to the touch of Kyron's fingers or the giddy fluttering in my stomach when he is near, but it is a well-needed distraction. Each unbearable pull of the thread breaks through the numb, hallow space at the center of me.
Ulric groans, and I look up at him from my place on the floor. The guards threw him haphazardly across my bed, with one leg hanging from the side of the mattress. His rib cage is dark purple and blood oozes from the open gnash across his back. Every anguished sound leaving him breaks my heart, but I can't properly care for him until I piece myself together, even if it is in messy, mismatched parts.
I plunge the needle into me and close my eyes as I slowly pull the string. A sound between a sigh and a whimper escapes my lips. Pointing the sharp tip, I prepare to break through the skin again when a gentle knock comes from my door. My gaze darts around the room, hunting for something to cut the thread. In my rush to close the wound, I never took into consideration how I would tie off the stitches and release the needle. I just wanted to get the task done so I could care for my friend.
The knocking comes again, this time with more urgency.
"Coming," I say, fumbling to my feet.
Holding the needle away from my skin, I limp across the room and crack open the door. Ulric's vulnerable state has me blocking him from view. I'm scared that if someone sees him bleeding on my bed, they might strip him away from me before I can try to mend him back to health. I peak through the slit in the door at the tall, thin woman with warm brown skin and dark eyes. She holds a platter of cheese and fruit like it's a peace offering and says, "I heard you had a tough day, so I thought I'd stop by with some food." Her gaze darts toward the small satchel she grips under the silver platter.
My shoulders slump with relief, and I step aside to allow Ashavee in. She breezes past me, and the ends of her long black hair tickle my arms. Unlike most of the women in the palace, she doesn't wear flowing fabrics, opting for soft breeches and a simple wrap to cover her ample breasts. She also doesn't frequent the throne room or show jealousy over the attention Zek gives me. She has been the closest thing I have to a friend here.
She sets the plate on the round table in front of the window and pauses to look me over. "What do you have going on there?" She tilts her dimpled chin at the needle between my fingers.
"I was sewing myself together," I say, placing my leg through the high slit of my skirt.
Ashavee snatches the small satchel from the table and rushes to me. She squats until she is eye level with the wound. The black on black speckled cat ears camouflaged in her hair twitch as she assesses the stitches. "Shit, Elle. This looks bad, and I heard you refused treatment."
"I wasn't in the mood to have a stranger licking my leg," I reply, unable to keep the disdain from my voice.
"I can finish stitching it for you, and I brought some healing salve. You are lucky I kept it from the last raid. I normally discard it."
Ashavee is the only Allaji who has shown me genuine kindness since I arrived in her kingdom. I first met her during one of my many searches through Zek's home. She spends her days in a large room crammed full of the items received from trade with Outlander ships. Ashavee's job is to identify the most valuable goods for Zek's coffers and distribute the rest to the people. I've spent many evenings hidden in her workspace, mentally escaping from my situation thanks to a stolen book. I trust her more than any other being on this island.
"Yes, you can finish stitching it," I say as the room spins and sweat beads at my brow as my pain continues to worsen.
She guides me to the floor and onto my side. Grabbing the supplies I left next to the bed, she sets to work cleaning up the blood oozing down my thigh. I close my eyes and tuck my lips between my teeth as she sews my flesh together. My body jerks with each unexpected prick. Ashavee whispers soothing words and every so often brushes her palm across my brow. Her kindness moves me to tears. I forgot what it feels like to be cared for. Then again, Ashavee has been watching out for me since we first met.
She has educated me on Allaji practices, spending hours describing everything from their tradition of choosing a ruler to their views about the other kingdoms. Not once has she shied away from my questions or painted her answers with a pretty glossy finish. Her job has fashioned her into a lover of facts, and she has no qualms about sharing them with me. I'm sure if Zek knew about our growing friendship, he would put an end to it. Our conversations toe the fine line of treason.
After tying off the thread, she releases it with the swipe of her sharp claws. Her fingers move in gentle circles as she massages the healing salve over my stitches. "You really would have been better off letting a wolf care for this. I'm not sure how much this will help with infection," she says.
I hiss as her greasy fingers press into a particularly tender spot. "I'll take my chances."
She wipes her hand on her trousers and says, "And what about your friend? I heard he took quite the beating."
I sit up and look to the bed. Ulric's chest moves up and down, but every breath is labored. I wouldn't doubt that he has a broken rib. I struggle to get to my feet and Ashavee takes my hand to help me up. She wraps an arm around me, letting me use her as a crutch. We shuffle to the bed, and I release her to brush my fingers over the short ginger hair covering Ulric's head. At Basecamp, he always kept his head smooth, not so much as a stubble to be found. It is strange to see him like this. He is a far cry from the jovial man who became one of my first friends outside the safety of Lucent's walls. The Allaji tried to beat him into submission, but I saw a hint of that wildfire in his eyes. Under the blood and bruises is the Ulric I remember. I just have to mend him back together again.
"Can you help me situate him?" I ask.
Ashavee grabs his leg and together we roll him on his back. I cringe when his brows furrow, knowing that sleep isn't saving him from pain. His back is split open, but his front is battered as well. He won't find comfort in any position. It takes several minutes of careful maneuvering before Ulric rests on the pillows. I set to work removing the rags that were once his shirt, while Ashavee disappears into my washroom. Every inch of his skin is red with sunburn or split open with cuts. I gnash my teeth and fight back tears as I remove his pants and find his legs in the same poor condition.
I toss Ulric's soiled clothes into the fireplace and watch the flames consume them. He is strong and feisty, and I hate to think of the harm the Allaji inflict on those who are not as spirited as him. According to Zek, the Allaji captured the better part of the Cyffreds living in Lucent. Mothers, fathers, grandparents, children, all of them ripped away from those they love. I know how it feels to be the one left behind. Every minute is a battle to keep the worst thoughts at bay. But to be the one taken and forced into a horrendous situation; I can't fathom it. Not only are they starving and overworked, but the Allaji are eating them alive. In the matter of months, they could all be dead. Although my prayers may be unheard by the Statera, it doesn't stop me from begging for strength for my people until their king can liberate them.
My heart aches with a dreadful thought. When Kyron sees the Eporri, he is going to abandon all rational tactics. Nothing will stand in his way, not another kingdom, not the advisement of his counsel, and not the threat of a vicious war. I understand his drive to protect me at any cost, but it doesn't make the consequences of his actions any easier to accept. He will come for me at the risk of many innocent lives, people that not only he promised to care for, but I did too. The purpose he feels today will be the cause of tomorrow's guilt.
"Are you ready to do this?" Ashavee asks, stepping out of the washroom with a pitcher of water and a stack of towels.
I push the inevitable into the depths of my mind and bat away my tears with the back of my hand. "Yeah, I'm ready."
We set to work, each of us taking a washcloth and gently scrubbing the blood and grime away from Ulric's body. His eyes flutter, and he moans with each swipe over an extra sensitive spot. We whisper apologies, but never cease our work. By the time he is as clean as possible, the water in the pitcher is a deep rust color as are the wash clothes. I place a blanket over Ulric's lower body while Ashavee retrieves the healing salve and tends to the open soars on his face.
"Despite what he's been through, he is in fairly good condition," Ashavee says, running her fingertips over the dark bruise on his ribs.
"Go on and say it. I'm a handsome bastard." Ulric cracks his swollen eyes and one side of his chapped lips lifts into a smile.
It isn't as if Ashavee hasn't heard such a direct approach before. It is commonplace in Allaji. The shifters don't play coy with their attraction for each other. So it's surprising that her eyes grow wide. She opens and closes her mouth before saying, "I'm sure you are acceptable when you don't look like a slab of raw meat."
"Your pretty friend likes me, nanny goat."
I can't help but grin. It has been too long since I last heard the ridiculous nickname he'd given me. And a part of me feared I'd never hear his country brogue or see the freckles peppering his face again.
"Can I get you anything to help make you comfortable?" I ask.
"You wouldn't have a bottle of whisky lying around, would ya?" I shake my head, and he sighs. "I suppose a glass of water will do."
I don't make it more than a couple of feet toward the table before Ulric's next words stop me.
"He took it, didn't he?"
I breathe through the renewed emotion swelling in my chest. It isn't necessary to ask him what he means. The worry in my friend's voice says it all. My hands shake as I fill a glass with water. "He did," I say.
"What's he going to do with the Eporri?"
"Send it to Kyron."
Ulric springs up from the mattress and groans. "He is giving Esmeray both the Sacred Gifts? She will tear our kingdom to shreds."
Ashavee pushes against his chest until he rests his head on the pillow again. "Down, boy. We don't need you having heart failure as well," she says.
Lifting my brows, hoping to brighten my face, I limp to the bed with the water in hand. "Esmeray's dead, and Kyron is now king."
"How? When?"
"It's a long story that I'll tell you when we are both up to it."
"And King Micah? Are the rumors true?"
"They are," I answer, not bothering to mask my sadness.
I watch as the world Ulric remembers is obliterated into ashes swept away on violent winds. The last glint of hope that gave him the will to fight in the throne room vanishes from his eyes. If Micah is dead and I'm here, he has to wonder about the state of our kingdom and the chances of the Cyffreds in the field being rescued. He doesn't know that I named an heir, choosing the man who betrayed us.
Ulric never had the chance to make amends with Kyron. He never got to witness what I did, to see that Kyron has the potential to be the kind of king Micah was. I'm not sure if I can convince him of what I know to be true. The hurt Kyron inflicted on Ulric cut deep. It took harsh words and strong promises to set Greer and Terro on a course to trusting him again. Ulirc was robbed of that chance. But that didn't stop him from professing his loyalty to Kyron. Aye. The best of friends he had said to Zek. I pray it was more than a show of defiance and still stands true.
Ulirc's voice is thick with emotions as he says, "But with you here, the kingdom—"
"The kingdom is fine," I say, cutting him off and placing the glass in his hand. "Kyron is king."
"Stigian's king."
"Pliris' king."
His eyes meet mine over the rim of the glass. He lowers it from his lips and swallows hard. "Fuck."
I brush my palm down the side of his face and cup his bearded jaw. This time, the sad smile I give him isn't forced. My emotion lodges in my throat and a single tear trails down my face. "You missed a lot, friend, but I'm happy to see you again."
Ulric grips my wrist and rubs the long hair on his face against my hand. "No matter what his reasons were for betraying you, Kyron will come for you, Elle."
"We made amends. In fact, everyone made amends with him, but you didn't get the chance." I bite down on my trembling lip, fill my lungs, and slowly release the air. "And I know he will come for me. That's what I'm afraid of."
Ulric doesn't know about the treaty between our kingdom and this one, but he understands that Kyron coming for me is exactly what Zek wants. One doesn't need to be a scholar to understand that anything involving the Allaji king is bound to end in devastation.
With a curt nod, Ulric curls his fingers around the back of my neck, bringing our foreheads together. "I still believe in him. Whatever it is, Kyron can overcome it."
I don't have the heart to tell him that this is a problem bigger than our armies can battle. His hope isn't gone. A small kernel still thrives deep inside him. I'll let him hold on to it as long as possible.
"I know," I lie.
"Perhaps we can find a way to give your king what he wants before he steps foot on our land."
Ulric and I go wide-eyed at Ashavee's words. We were so lost in our little world of connecting the severed pieces of our lives; we forgot she was in the room. I pull away from Ulric to find her leaning against the table, biting into a slice of fruit.
She lifts a dark eyebrow and continues saying, "Not all of us want war, nor do we want our kingdom built on the backs of slaves. We created our mess, and it is up to us to clean it. I'll help you find a way to escape."
My jaw goes slack. In my time here, never have I heard someone in disagreement with Zek's agenda. Like a pack of dogs, they are unwavering in their loyalty to the one who feeds them. I didn't think their nature allowed them to rebel against their leader, but there appears to be a rebel in the midst.
Ulric squeezes my fingers and smiles up at me. "I told ya, she thinks I'm a handsome bastard."