Page 29 of War Queen
Soren stared at him as his brows dipped in question.
“They need to match,” Mikael said. The story of their brotherhood, the markings they both bore—except for the coloring of the sun, they were the same, and they needed to remain the same.
Soren was a little too accepting of the task, but at least he made it quick as he ripped a slice across Mikael’s shoulder.
Mikael gritted his teeth. “Fuck, I didn’t cut you that deep,” he said angrily. He’d cut Soren only deep enough to leave a scar.
“Fuck, you did,” Soren growled back. “Deeper. You got me with a damned sword.”
Mikael gripped his shoulder as blood streamed down his arm. Well, now they’d both certainly have a scar.
Soren eyed him a moment. “Are you all right?” he asked finally.
He pushed out a breath between his teeth. “I’ll have Salara stitch it.”
“I’ll stitch it.”
Mikael nodded. “That would be better. Have you seen her needlework?”
Soren snorted. “Why do you think I didn’t let her stitch mine?”
And just like that, they were well again.
With a stitched and aching arm, Mikael made his way toward the house where he knew Salara would be. He pushed open the door and stepped inside. She sat on the edge of the bed but rose when he entered.
She pursed her lips. “I told you not to come until you’ve settled things with Soren.”
“We’re settled,” he said.
Her eyes narrowed at him.
He showed her his shoulder. Her mouth opened but no words came out. “We’re settled,” he said again.
“Oh.” Then her eyes narrowed again. “Wait, did you really just willingly injure yourself to the point of stitches right before we walk into battle?”
He frowned. He hadn’t thought of that, but no matter. “I’ll be healed enough by the time we reach the North.”
She eyed him skeptically.
He could only look at her, all beautiful in her admonition, but there was something more. Something else that troubled her.
She smiled. “I’m glad, then. I needed the two of you back.” But it wasn’t an easy smile.
He stepped closer. “Are you all right, Salara?”
She shook her head. “I’m fine.”
But she wasn’t fine, and he knew why. “Salara.”
“Really,” she insisted.
Ever so gently, he pulled her to him and drew his hand to her stomach, where there was no child and likely never would be. She sucked in a breath.
“I’m sorry,” he said softly.
“I’m happy for her, I really am,” she said, her voice tinged with emotion.
He nodded. “I know.”
