Page 150 of The Blade in the Ashes
I didn’t want to be the Goddess of Madness.
Chapter Forty-Four
Iris
Itook Nikolai back to the librarian’s house.
It was the only place I could think of while panic and terror still muddled my thoughts.
It had taken all of my strength to pull him off the horse and help support his weight as we made our way into the small home. He had sagged against me, all muscle and dead weight. His blood had been all I could smell—all I could feel. It ran in rivers down his torso and leg, staining both our clothes. Inside, his knees buckled when we reached the living area, and he flopped on the couch, a plume of dust scattering in the air at the impact. He didn’t even cough.
His breathing was already so labored that his body didn’t even respond to the dirt.
His face had gone frighteningly pale, too. I was so accustomed to his sun-kissed skin that it was odd to see the blue veins so visible beneath it. I’d dropped the illusion the second we left the auction, and now it was his own hazel eyes that followed my movements as I desperately struck at the flint by the hearth to start a fire.
The arrow had hit his lower flank, just under his ribs—thankfully missing any vital organs. It was possible it struck through his intestine, but without a healer, I had no way of knowing definitively. Not that it mattered, his bleeding was the priority for now. I had to stop that bleeding, or I was going to lose him.
“Iris,” he croaked my name just as the spark lit, catching on the wood.
Ignoring him, I bent down and blew on that tiny flame, hoping to nurture it to life.
“Iris,” he repeated.
“Not now!”
Slowly but surely, that fire grew, hues of orange and yellow filling the tiny hearth. Now I just needed some…metal. Yes, I needed metal.
A fire poker? There had to be one of those nearby.
I searched wildly, taking in the stacks of books and discarded quilts. Desperately, I shoved aside a stack of those books while I searched, pages scattered across the floor in my rush.
“Damn it!”
I didn’t have time to comb through every inch of this room. He was going to die if I didn’t stop that breathingright now.Hadn’t I been taught to think creatively in situations like this? Hadn’t I been trained for this exact predicament?
I tore through my hair, wanting to beat upon my skull as if that could make me think faster—smarter.
The blades!
It came to me in a wild flash of realization, as if the Gods themselves had intervened to guide my hand. I wasted no time pulling up my skirt, tearing the fabric in my haste to pull out one blade from my sheath. Nikolai’s ragged breath was all I heard as I held it over the fire and waited until the steel was glowing.
“I need to stop the bleeding,” I explained, turning to him with the blade. “I’m sorry.”
His eyes lingered on the dagger in my hands, its silver hue turned molten. A million emotions played on his face. He was calculating, I knew, because I would do the same. He was debating the odds if we took the time to find thread and try to stitch the wound, compared to the risk of infection from this technique.
Eventually, he came to the same conclusion I did, and he used all his strength to reach down and pull up the edge of his tunic. It stuck at first, too heavily coated in blood to peel away easily. He hissed through his teeth, and I darted forward, carefully helping to pull away the fabric while I prayed my face displayed the calmness I didn’t feel.
With pursed lips and an air of determination, I investigated the injury. Swollen, red edges surrounded the oval-shaped wound. Subtly, I breathed in through my nose, taking in the sharp smell of iron.
That was good, at least. That smell meant it likely wasn’t infected.
Yet.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated, my voice nothing more than a hollow whisper.
He stared at me, his eyes tracing my every movement, with an intensity that had nothing to do with his injury. Slowly, he nodded. “I trust you.”
I have to do it.
