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Grinding my teeth, I swallowed my grunt and shifted, pulling myself to sit. Pain that was near agony twisted through each muscle as though physical barbs were pulling and ripping against the muscle. I ignored it all, refusing to do more than hiss as I controlled my breathing and the pain.
Blankets fell away as I sat on the small mat I had laid on, the once white covering stained with blood in some places. The wagon I was in before had gone, leaving the soft glow of a canvas tent and two people that had shifted toward the door. Another cot had been placed near the opening in a clear attempt to guard me.
The woman had recovered from her shock long enough to stare me down. She pushed her long ashy blonde curls behind her ears as she stormed back over to me and went back to work. She was a tiny thing, the dress she wore too big, her limbs lanky as though she hadn’t quite grown into her adult body, although judging by the way she held herself she was far past that age.
“Well, good morn’ to you too,” she said in that same calm voice, although I didn’t miss the hint of warning that was there. “At least this will make it easier to bandage you.”
The boy, however, was still standing by the opening to the tent, eyes like damp sand staring with wide disbelief. He wrinkled his nose, the absolute mass of freckles that covered his face converging together as I turned my scowl on him. I could not tell if he feared me, or in awe of me. Probably in awe. Even though I had never seen that look given to me, I knew it well. Knew the amazement. It was the same I had given the Queen’s warriors when I was a boy, back before I knew who they really were, and what they really did.
His look was the same.
I growled in warning. I was not one to be in awe of; it was better he learned that quickly. I killed people. The Goddess knew the people from my home now thought I had killed one not too much older than he was. He couldn’t have seen more than a decade, even if he had reached that age. At the sound of my growl his eyes widened further, as though he couldn’t take me in fast enough.
“Stop,” My tone was a guttural warning as the woman rushed back over with clean bandages in her hands, clearly ready to finish replacing the ones that were covered with stains of red and yellow. The boy flinched. She, however, didn’t stop. I wasn’t sure who I had spoken to anyway.
“I will do no such thing. Your wound will fester if I don’t clean it, and now that you are sittin’ I’ll be cleaning it properly.” She shifted forward again and I finally turned, my eyes already narrowed at the woman as I growled in what could only be warning.
She, however, rolled her eyes.
“Do you really believe you are an animal with all this growling?” Her deep blue eyes narrowed as she pursed her lips, the action tensing through her neck and pulling at some of the golden tattoos that ran along her collarbone like a necklace, the tops of the letters just visible over the hem of the too loose collar of her dress. “I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t hurt. I heal. I’ve already done most of that and I’d rather it not open that wound back up and allow it to rot. Now, if you don’t mind.”
My spine prickled at the look she was giving me, those eyes boring into me before she stepped toward me again. She clearly wasn’t scared of me, even if the boy was now pressing himself against the canvas of the tent. Although his look of awe had not left.
He really needed to stop looking at me like that. He really needed to stop looking completely. You would think the Lightens had never seen a scar before.
“Fine.” My voice was still a growl as I lifted my arms, giving her access to the wounds that I could feel throbbing on my gut and my back.
“Thank you, your majesty.” She gave a false little curtsy, and I had to restrain the growl of irritation that was tickling my throat as she kneeled beside me and finished rolling away the soiled bandage, her hands gentle as she moved.
Her hair was a golden nest of curls that tickled against my chest, her bronzed skin revealing more and more tattoos as she moved, the scent of her wafting over everything.
I had never smelled anything so sweet before, the floral aroma of her was delicate like the roses I had purchased in Turin once, or the oil that they sold in the beauty shops. It wasn’t roses, however, it was something I had never encountered before. Something that I couldn’t place. The scent reminded me of something familiar and welcome. Like home, even though it was nothing like the salt and wind scent that had always been from home.
I stiffened as she leaned in, her delicate arms wrapping around me to roll the old, stained bandage away.
“Sorry,” she whispered, her movement slowing as though it was the touch that had caused the sharp intake of breath.
“You are Lyani,” I whispered, recalling the name Ryndle had spoken of the woman who had tended to my wound. She pulled away the last of the bandage, my skin tightening as the air hit the wounds. She didn’t hesitate to cover it with a damp cloth, her motions a feather as she washed it.
“It means Heal.” She said it as though it was simply how they introduced themselves. “And you are Caspyn, light bringer.”
That airy quality had returned to her voice as she wiped away what had stuck to my skin. The smell of my blood blossomed through the air, although thankfully not as strong as it had been in the wagon.
“It is just Caspyn.” I was firm. She said nothing.
The boy stepped away from the canvas wall, that amazement on his face somehow deepening further.
“I am Ziah, it means fighter.” He was grinning as he looked me up and down, his eyes lingering on each scar and muscle. At least his fascination with me made sense, even if it was misplaced.
I wasn’t a fighter. I was a killer.
“Well, Caspyn. I am glad we found you when we did. This is nearly healed.” The cloth dropped into the basin with a soft, damp thud and I looked down, prepared to still see the open wound where the harpoon had passed through me. There was no hole. All that remained was a stretch of scar tissue over a circle near the size of my palm, much larger than I had first felt through my leathers.
The hole was large, the scar tissue perfect and pristine, if not impossible. Just staring at it, however, was causing my blood to boil, the weak tendrils of my fire magic boiling right to the surface.
It was not the scar that was pulling at all my rage, however, it was what was above it.
Glittering lines of yellow swooped over the tanned planes of my skin, two foreign words permanently penned there. Judging by the pain that lashed over my back I had to assume that they were placed above that opening as well.
