Page 29 of The Scouts

The õkimahi offered me a moment of scrutiny, focusing his unusual, light-coloured irises on me. His strong features and phlegmatic manner suggested confidence. “Tell you what. You look like you enjoy getting pricked.” Before I could figure out whether he meant it literally or had devised the phrase to have a double meaning, he added, “I’ll do you a bargain if you go for a nipple and an eyebrow. Interested?”

I nodded my agreement.

Ervyn whipped out his money pouch, its drawstrings flying undone. “Let me treat you. Pick whatever you want, mu’hrōnye.”

I sneaked a peek at him, then glanced away and shook my head. “You choose for me.”

My cheeks radiated warmth. I felt Ervyn’s gaze lingering on me and sensed his arousal.

The õkimahi sported a knowing grin, as Ervyn went about browsing the jewellery with his eyebrows knitted as if attending to a matter of utmost importance.

From what I could see, all the pieces screamed quality and craftsmanship. Some—fashioned out of plain yaanöŭr or steel—had an austere design. Ervyn focused his attention on the more elaborate and presumably pricier stock held on the top tier of the stand.

“This. And this,” he said at last, pointing at his selection. “You like them?” he asked me.

The obsidian chiselled barbells—a straight and a curved one—must’ve been a matching set. Lovely in a harsh, severe way, they both showcased two black, hexagonal gemstones on either ends.

My lips tugged upwards. “I do.”

“They’ll suit you. Pale skin, blue eyes and all,” Ervyn drawled, holding one piercing against the arch of my brow. He appraised me with a tilt of his head. “Looks good.”

The õkimahi whistled. “Indeed. And fortunately for me, you’ve got sophisticated taste. Hundred silvers and we can begin.”

Without even trying to barter, Ervyn placed the coin on the counter. Such thriftless, out-of-character behaviour for a Highlander spelt eager.

I bit my lip.

“Grand. Sit here.” The medic patted the backrest of the chair. “Shirt off.”

Ervyn leant against a wall, his arms crossed over his chest and his stare on me like glue.

I stripped and sank onto the seat. The prospect of getting needled with him watching got my heart going for whatever reason.

Having completed his necessary preparations, the õkimahi fetched a long and hollow yaanöŭr needle to do the deed freehand.

“Ready?” His jaw went slack at the sight of my hawk tattoo. “Hm. Fascinating. I’d say let’s do the one underneath your ink. And the opposite eyebrow? Sounds good?”

I dipped my chin.

My skin tingled where he covered it with a swab of something wet and herbal-scented. A light sting later and the foreign object had been embedded in my eyebrow.

“Good. Now for the main bit.” The õkimahi squeezed my nipple. “Breathe in,” he murmured and pushed the needle, and then the jewellery, through. “And exhale. Excellent. All finished.”

The pain didn’t amount to much—some pressure and a burning pinch comparable to a hard bite. I had no time to dwell on my disappointment because the õkimahi pressed the handle of a mirror into my palm.

Before I checked my reflection, I cast Ervyn a fleeting glance. Judging by the gleam in his eye, he liked what he saw.

I did, too. I put the mirror down and made to stand.

“Wait. One more thing left to do,” the medic said.

Whatever he applied to my pierced flesh caused a cold, crawling sensation to spread over both areas. It shortly subsided, leaving behind a warm itch.

“An anti-infective charm?” Ervyn asked.

“Indeed,” the õkimahi said. “To speed the healing and prevent infection. No need for a dressing. Nonetheless, I’d recommend using saltwater for a few days.” He turned to give Ervyn a stern look. “And no funny business for a fortnight at least.”

Ervyn responded with a mock salute.