Grigfen would be the best at this. He was more healer than executioner. I’d only started Father’s lessons. “I don’t know what I’m doing.” Do not cry, Dagney. He already thought me weak.
I stood and rummaged through my father’s things. I opened a cabinet and found my father’s alcohol.
His voice softened as I knelt by him. “It’s all right, Lady Tomlinson. I’ve faced worse.”
Ryo’s open expression hid no lies. But how could he have faced worse than this?
His bloody hand was warm on my arm.
“Sit up for me.” I leaned in and inspected the injury again. The filthy shirt was in the way, so I ripped the tattered fabric, careful not to move his shoulder as I removed deteriorating cloth.
The arrow was lodged just below the shoulder joint. I set my jaw. “The arrow has torn through the muscle, but it may have missed your ribs. If we’re lucky. Here, hold still.”
I poured the liquor over his shoulder. He flinched and wrenched the bottle from my grasp, throwing back a drink.
“Who taught you healing, a torturer?” He shook his head, his hair falling over his clenched eyes. He folded a rag and placed it between his teeth.
“Yes,” I growled.
His eyes widened.
I bit my lip and stared at the shaft of the arrow protruding from his back. I could handle this. I could. I axed a king and fought a crowd. This was almost simple in comparison. I reached and snapped the head of the arrow off in one quick motion. He tensed and his jaw trembled in pain.
I clenched my teeth. “That was the easy part.”
Ryo swallowed hard.
I twisted my palm around the shaft. “Keep the arrow straight. Quick as lightning,” I muttered to myself. You can do this. I ripped the shaft out of his flesh.
He let out a gasping groan. I applied pressure to his shoulder and wrapped the bandage around tight to his skin. Father had me take care of Grigfen when he broke his arm in training. I’d have to treat this wound the same way.
Only there wasn’t as much blood when I’d helped my brother. I needed more fabric to hold the bandage in place. Blood was already seeping through.
“Press this against your shoulder.” I placed his hand over the bandage. His grip seemed weak, like he could barely hold his hand up.
I touched his forehead with the back of my fingers, and his skin burned. He had a fever. Could be an infection. It was too soon for it to have come from the arrow, so the infection must have come with him from King Edvarg’s dungeons.
One problem at a time. I needed more bandages. I could do that. I would have to take the bedding off the bed and pull strips of the sheets into thin slits. No saying how clean it was, but there weren’t many options.
“Can you stand?” I asked.
“I don’t know if that’s a good idea. My head is swimming.”
“Oh.” I rubbed my forehead. “Lean on me. Let’s get you to the bed.”
He raised his eyebrows twice before he started giggling.
Was he drunk? “Imbecile,” I muttered under my breath.
His good arm wrapped around my shoulder, clutching tight. His sharp chin leaned into my neck, and I tried to carry as much of his weight as I could. He radiated heat and let out a string of curses at each step, his muscles tight like they were made of iron.
When we reached the bed, he more fell than sat. He kept his grip on my shoulder to hold himself steady.
I tore the sheet into makeshift bandages, wrapped them around his shoulder, and tied them tight. “There we go.”
He leaned forward, his breath hot against my damp skin. I’d never had any man this close to me before. I bit my lip but didn’t move.
His pulse was too slow. He fell forward against my shoulder, his body heavy against me.
“Ryo,” I breathed, my voice affected by his proximity. “I’ve done everything I can; now it’s up to you. Don’t die.”
I pushed him backward, and he collapsed back onto the bed, his eyes dim and unblinking.
I wrung my fingers. “It would be just like you to die, when I’ve gone through all the trouble of not killing you.”
His dry lips opened. Water. He needed water.
He reached in my direction as I moved toward the pump.
“Thank you,” he said. “For not killing me.”
I cocked a shoulder. “It’s still an option.”
I put the jug to his lips. The slow stream wasn’t enough, judging from