Page 23 of The Iron Hex

“Sorry,” she said as she took off his leathers and tore open his shirt as quickly as she could, a handful of the buttons flying into dusty corners of the dark room. There was little time to figure out exactly what she had to do to stop Hugo from bleeding out.

Hugo’s now-bare chest rose shallowly, his breathing labored from the pain he was in. Eira was momentarily distracted by the dark hair and scars on his muscular torso, but shook her headand admonished herself to get back to what was important—saving his life.

The gash on his shoulder was deep and still actively bleeding. Eira could see muscle and sinew through the wound. His jaw was already growing darker with bruising, but didn’t look broken. She needed a salve to stop the bleeding; that was first. Cutting a piece of the shirt he’d been wearing, Eira placed it on the wound on his shoulder.

“Penny,” Eira said. “Sit on this.”

It was the best she could do for direct pressure until she could get the poultice done and tie a proper tourniquet.

“We need to go,” Hugo mumbled as Eira pulled out the potions pack she had purchased earlier in the day.

“If we go right now, you’re going to bleed out and die,” Eira retorted. Eira started tossing in everything she needed to get this salve done: lemon balm, witch hazel, calendula—she kept adding and mixing until the herbal paste was nearly glowing, the Flow trickling into the poultice with each smooth motion of her hand. Potion making wasn’t just mixing ingredients; it was aboutwhomixed them. If anyone could make an effective healing poultice, it was Eira Eckhart. She thought back to what Hugo had said, that she wasn’t who she thought she was. That Eira Eckhart was actually Viscountess Eira Westcotte. It just... didn’t seem true. But then, neither did the things that had been happening to her. The wide gap in her memory, skills she had that she couldn’t remember learning. The vague remembrance she had had of Hugo when she met him, but couldn’t pinpoint how or where she knew him from. There was no world where she was a viscountess in hiding... but it nagged at her. What if she was?

A few moments later she headed back to the bed, Pennyroyal jumping off of her perch on Hugo, her fur now lightly coated in blood.

“Sorry, Penny,” Eira said as she lifted the makeshift bandage and started applying the paste to the open wound.

Hugo winced, a small gasp of pain leaving his lips.

“Sorry to you too,” Eira whispered to him, placing a second piece of fabric on the wound and tying it around his shoulder, leaving the paste underneath. As she finished tying, the wound glowed slightly, pulsing with the beat of Hugo’s heart. Just as good magic should.

Eira grabbed a washcloth, wet it with fresh water, and wiped down Pennyroyal’s fur before taking her cloak off and trying to dab out as much of the blood as she could, silently thanking herself for buying a dark cloak instead of the light blue one she’d been considering a few months ago.

She turned her head as she heard a grunt, seeing Hugo struggling to sit up.

“No, you don’t,” Eira said running over to him and pushing his firm chest back into a prone position. “You need to rest.”

“Eira,” he said, catching her hand in his uninjured palm. “We need to leave.”

“We can’t run with you in this state.”

“I’ve had to run in worse conditions before,” Hugo said, still holding her hand.

“You areveryinjured,” Eira said, shaking her head firmly. “And you need to rest so my spell work can take its full effect.”

“Eira,” he said, his hazel eyes full of concern as he looked deeply into hers. “What we fought—whowe fought—she was an old friend who was still willing to harm me, and likely you too. Whatever they turned her into... we can’t face another one right now.”

They sat in silence for a moment.

“Is what you said true?” Eira finally spoke.

“That we need to leave? Yes.” Hugo answered, slowly standing up through groans of pain. He was still holding her hand, and Eira found herself wishing he wouldn’t let go.

“No, not that,” Eira said, the nails of her free hand worrying at a fraying thread on her wet cloak. “What you said about me... about my being a viscountess.”

“I wouldn’t lie about that, my lady.”

Eira remembered the night before, when Hugo had called her “lady.” She hadn’t thought much of it in that moment, but... “If you aren’t lying to me... we need to get my memory back.”

“I agree. It’s of the utmost importance to find the princess and ensure her safety for what is to come,” Hugo said as he tried pulling his cloak on. “Agh, this hurts.”

Eira stepped in front of him, taking the cloak from his hands and throwing it on the bed.

“You need a shirt first, a clean one.” She smiled softly, opening the pack he’d brought in earlier that day for a shirt before slowly easing his bad arm into it. Eira’s face was level with Hugo’s chest, and she bit her tongue to stop herself from making a comment about his exceptional musculature; now was not the time. After buttoning the final button she picked up the cloak again and flicked it around Hugo’s wide shoulders before fastening the wolf’s-head-shaped clasp at his neck.

“Yes, we do need to find the princess... I guess,” Eira said, putting her still-damp cloak back on. “But it’s also important for me to get my memory back. If I’m able to get my whole life’s memories back, I think I deserve that, even without having to find the princess.”

Hugo looked at her in silence, brow furrowed.