Page 61 of Nansar
"Then bring me some medical supplies!" I snarled, past caring about diplomacy or respect or whatever the hell these people expected from me. "Now!"
He tilted his head, studying me with those bottomless onyx eyes. Something flickered across his face—recognition, perhaps, or respect—before he gave a slight nod. "They will bring supplies in a moment."
A moment. That could mean seconds or hours in this place.
I glanced back at Nansar, sprawled across the furs like a fallen god, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in shallow, pained movements that made my own lungs ache in sympathy.
I couldn't just stand here. Couldn't just wait.
I turned back to the doorway and resumed my assault, adding the stomp of my foot against the packed earth for good measure. "Hurry up!" The words ripped from my throat, raw with desperation. "He's hurt!"
The warrior had already vanished back into the crowd, but I didn't care. I kept pounding, kept making noise, kept demanding attention until finally—finally—a female Welati appeared, gliding toward the cottage with a wooden tray balanced in her graceful hands.
She ducked through the doorway, and I immediately stepped aside. My eyes locked onto the tray, and my stomach dropped.
The supplies she carried were far more extensive than what they'd given us upon our arrival. Strips of pristine cloth lay folded in neat stacks. Several clay pots gleamed in the firelight—salves or poultices, their contents promising relief. A bowl ofclear water rippled gently. Even bundles of dried herbs, bound with careful twine, released their fragrant essence into the air.
The female set the tray down beside the sleeping platform without a word, her dark gaze sweeping over Nansar's battered form before returning to me. Something passed across her features—a flicker of understanding, perhaps even sympathy.
Even she could see how grave his injuries were.
This wasn't just the aftermath of a hard-fought battle. This was something far more dangerous.
“The green salve prevents infection,” She told me, pointing to each container in turn. “The yellow salve speeds healing. Steeping the herbs in hot water is useful for pain relief.”
I met her gaze. “Thank you.”
She gave a curt nod then departed as silently as she'd come, leaving me alone with Nansar once more. I pulled the tray closer and knelt beside the sleeping platform, my hands already reaching for the supplies.
"All right," I murmured, forcing steadiness into my voice despite the tremor in my fingers. "Let's take care of you."
I dampened one of the cloth strips in the cool water, wringing it carefully. Starting with his face, I gently cleaned the dried blood from the cut above his eyebrow. The wound looked vicious, its edges already darkening with bruises. His jaw remained clenched, the muscle there twitching beneath his skin, but he didn't flinch away. His eyes stayed fixed on something beyond my shoulder, refusing to meet mine.
I moved lower, to his chest, cleaning each wound with methodical care even as my heart crashed against my ribs. The cloth turned crimson again and again as I worked. When I pressed the damp fabric against a particularly brutal gash along his ribs—deeper than the rest, still weeping—a groan tore from his throat, deep and raw. The sound pierced straight throughme. His muscles went rigid beneath my touch, his entire body tensing.
"I'm sorry," I whispered, my voice breaking. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be." His words came rough but warm, like honey poured over gravel. "I like the feel of your hands on me."
Heat bloomed across my skin despite the blood, despite the violence, despite everything. I kept my focus on the task, cleaning each cut before smoothing salve from one of the clay pots over the damaged flesh. The green mixture smelled sharp and herbal, reminiscent of eucalyptus while the yellow gel smelled and felt like honey.
But the wound on his left side, just below his ribs—that one worried me.
It was deep. So deep. The flesh gaped open, ragged and furious, torn in a way that spoke of a blade twisted with cruel intent. Even after I'd cleaned away the blood and dirt, the extent of the damage was unmistakable. This wasn't a glancing blow struck in the chaos of combat. This wasn't an accident.
This was deliberate. This was meant to end him.
My hands stilled, trembling as white-hot rage flooded my veins. Someone had stood close enough to look into his eyes and driven their blade deep with the sole purpose of stealing his life. And I knew exactly who.
"Kragath did this one," I said, the words barely audible. It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
That single word confirmed everything. I stared at the wound, at how perilously close it had come to something vital, and fury burned like wildfire in my chest. "He tried to kill you. He actually tried to—"
"Chloe."
I looked up, my vision swimming with unshed tears.
