Harbor (On the Wind #3)

25. Orestes

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

ORESTES

T he lodge was impressive. It looked like someone’s home, luxuriously appointed with tapestries and thick velvet drapes and a fireplace bigger than... well, me. I could have fit my whole body inside it without even curling up.

Tybalt, while clearly on the edge of panic, immediately set to work when we got inside—carrying wood and setting it in place on the enormous metal grate in the fireplace before lighting it himself. Odd, to think he always had someone else to do it for him in the castle, when he could clearly do it himself, and do it well, at that.

I let myself tumble into a chair, laying his heavy fur over my legs and inspecting the wound. I’d had far worse and survived, so I wasn’t terribly worried about it, other than... “Is there a sewing kit?”

He turned and stared at me, blinking, from his spot next to the growing fire. “Sewing?”

I motioned to my side, and the knife, and he blinked some more. Then he leaped to his feet, rushed over to a sideboard, and started rummaging through it, muttering something about bandages.

I didn’t bother saying that bandages weren’t quite what I needed, since they, too, would prove useful.

For the moment, though, I needed to lay down, not sit. So gingerly, I moved myself to the floor rather than the chair, automatically scooting closer to the warmth of the fire. It helped that there was another enormous cushy-looking fur next to the fire. Even if it was dusty, like most of the stuff in the building seemed to be, it was nicer than the wooden floor.

I’d just managed to pull myself onto the fur when Tybalt came rushing back over with a box in his hands. It was filled with the tools of first aid. Bandages, needle and thread, and a few bottles that, well... I didn’t know what people in Urial used on wounds, and didn’t think I cared to chance it. Southerners thought a little dirt was good for a wound, so non-Nemedans’ medical opinions were not to be trusted.

I fished through the kit until I found a sturdy-looking needle and thick black thread, then held the needle to the fire for a moment to heat it up before cleaning it off with a small cloth. Then I set to sewing myself up.

It was a messy business, sewing one’s own wounds, since you couldn’t put pressure on a wound and sew it at the same time. I considered leaving Tybalt be, since this was stressful and awful and he was clearly on the verge of tears, but since he’d held up so well so far, I decided to press just a little further.

“Could you hold this cloth over the part I’m not stitching?”

He blinked at me in shock a moment, as though I’d been speaking the wrong language, but then jumped to do as I asked. He was a little pale, verging on green-tinged, but he held his own as I stitched my side shut, first one half, then getting him to move his hand, then the other half. It was an unpleasant business, and my hand was shaking as the heat of battle passed from me, but I wasn’t in that much danger, unless the wound became infected. It hadn’t come near any organs, just slicing into the muscle in my side. It would be painful to heal, yes, but that was always preferable to deadly.

“Water?” I asked as I snipped the thread, and again, Tybalt leaped into motion almost immediately.

His father, I decided, vastly underestimated him. Yes, he was horrified and in shock, but he was doing what needed to be done. He came back with a bowl of water and a stack of clean, dry cloths, so clearly he’d even understood what I wanted. Without a word, he proceeded to wet the first cloth and clean the mess that was my side.

“You’ve been injured before. At least this bad,” he whispered as he worked. He was staring at my side instead of looking me in the eye, and his expression told me he wasn’t even seeing the wound. He wasn’t focused on anything, other than possibly not being sick.

I swallowed hard at a tug on the wound, but didn’t flinch away. “I have,” I agreed. “Your people know we’re at war with the south. They’ve been attacking us without end since my grandfather was a boy.”

Tybalt winced, but he clearly didn’t know what to say. He glanced up at me, then back to my side, his shoulders hunched. He wanted to know more, but he didn’t know how to ask it.

“We built the wall, some years ago. We stand vigil atop it, and wait for them to come. Every Nemedan must spend a year on the wall, or otherwise helping the Crane with the war. In the smithy or the kitchens or wherever the Crane Chieftain assigns them when they go to Crane lands to help.”

Tybalt shivered, dropping the first sodden cloth to one side and dipping a second into the water. “Why does everyone have to go?”

“Because we are all Nemedan. We all need to protect our people and land. Not everyone does go, though. Some people spend two years, and assign one to a loved one or a friend. Some spend longer.”

The room fell into silence, and Tybalt stopped moving for a moment, just holding the wet cloth to my side and staring at it. Then he turned to look at me. “How long did you spend on the wall?”

I smiled. “Ten years, or thereabouts. I did my sister’s year. And then a few cousins. Mostly, I went to Crane lands and found that I liked it there.” I reached up and rested my hand over his. “My father... he was a bit like yours. Only he wasn’t in power the same way. He only thought he should be, so he took out his anger in what he saw as impotence on everyone around him. Then I went to Crane lands, and was assigned to Killian.”

Tybalt’s cheeks flamed at Killian’s name, but he didn’t say anything, just went back to dabbing at my skin, which was mostly clean already.

“That was where I realized that family meant more than the people I was related to by blood. It meant more about care. About being there for people when they needed you, and having them do the same when you were the one in need.” I lifted the cloth, and the wound looked... well, it looked pretty damned good, if I said so myself. I reached for the box of supplies and pulled out a bandage, ready to wrap it myself, but Tybalt snatched it from my hand.

Without looking at me, he cleared his throat. “And?”

“And?”

He paused a moment, clearly considering a list of questions, before shaking his head and sighing. “There was an eagle. And then...”

Ahh.

That.

Fuck.

But also, I couldn’t lie to him. He wouldn’t be fooled, and it would ruin our peace. All I could do was hope that Tybalt would, in this as in all things so far, turn out to be a pleasant surprise.