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“Really?” Her brow raised in surprise. “The ambassador had only brought us news that the war was over and how our people were faring back in Lumeria.”
It figured he wouldn’t bother to tell them the more important news, that King Goll was changing the world of both the light and the dark fae with his new regime.
“Tell me more about the volcano,” she urged.
“When Mizrah died, it was said he was filled with such grief and torment that when he wailed and cried for her, it erupted the volcano where he’d once lived.”
She watched as I unlaced the vambraces at my arms and the armor plates at my shoulders, setting the pieces aside. I didn’t wear full armor, only the basics that were necessary when traveling outside of Gadlizel. We were enemies to everyone except other shadow fae, so it was always important to be on guard.
“And so the wraith fae built their home there.”
“They did,” I agreed.
“Why didn’t the shadow fae and the beast fae? Why was it only the wraiths that claimed that place as their home?”
I huffed a laugh. “I don’t know how that happened since it was thousands of years ago and never recorded by scribes. But beast fae are nomadic. They prefer to keep their clan moving throughout the year.”
She seemed to think on that for a moment and then asked, “And what about you? The shadow fae?”
A strange thread of pleasure wound through me when she asked about my kind, even something as small as this.
“Shadow fae prefer to live up high. It’s only natural that our home is in the mountains.”
Her gaze returned to my wings, and then her brow pursed. “You’re bleeding,” she said on a gulp and pointed over my left shoulder.
When I looked, I could just see a trickle of blue from the cut the guard’s sword had made. Rising, I went to my satchel again and removed a vial of antiseptic that our healers in Gadlizel made. I poured some on a clean cloth and stretched out my left wing.
I could barely reach the cut, but I could see that the guard’s blade hadn’t gone to the bone. Still, it was wide enough to cause infection.
“Damn,” I muttered, reaching back to try and wipe the blue blood still streaming lightly from the wound.
“Let me.”
I actually startled, finding Murgha standing right next to me. Without a word, I handed her the cloth.
“You’ll need to sit down. I can’t reach.”
She was quite small, even for a light fae. I sat on the pallet and spread my wing. She stood eye level with the top of my wing. Then she dabbed at the cut, the sting of the medicine sharp, but I didn’t move a muscle.
“This needs to be stitched,” she said softly.
I looked up at her. “I don’t suppose you know how to stitch wounds.”
She swallowed nervously. “I do, actually. I sew all my own clothes, and Papa has needed cuts treated in the past. My sister was always too squeamish to do it.”
“Would you stitch the wound for me?” I asked gently, wondering what she would do.
I could get Gwenda to do it. She’d been hiding in the upper branches watching us since we arrived. But I sincerely doubted she’d help me after I’d essentially abducted Murgha from her home. She was very fond of the fae female.
Murgha dabbed a few more times then asked, “Do you have a suture kit with you?”
My own pulse galloped a little faster. “It’s in the front pocket of my bag.”
She found it quickly and then returned to me. When she unwound the thread, she paused and observed it closely. “What kind of thread is this? It’s much thicker than I’m used to.”
“It’s made in Gadlizel, specifically for wounds. The material we use comes from a plant called dellabore.”
She threaded the needle and stepped close to my wing, her fingers light and gentle as she pinched the skin close to make the first stitch. “I’ve never heard of dellabore.”
