tripped his way through speaking, and she shook her head as her gaze fell to the ground beneath him. “You are bleeding badly, Thanatos. We need to take a look at your wounds. Come on.”
She stood and grabbed his left arm, pulled on it gently at first, just shifting him in the dirt, but then her beautiful face set in a hard, determined look and she gripped him harder, clutching his wrist in one hand and just above his elbow in the other, and heaved, leaning back into it.
Dragging him up onto his feet.
He tried to help her rather than hinder her, but gods, he was tired. Every bone in his body felt too heavy to lift. It didn’t deter his little goddess. She showed him just how strong she was, hauled him up and draped his arm around her slender shoulders, and damn near dragged his boots through the dirt as she walked with him.
“I can hear water ahead.” She glanced at him, worry in her eyes. “If we can get you there, we can clean the wounds.”
That did sound good.
He put more effort into dragging one foot in front of the other.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured again, her voice thick, heavy with guilt she had no reason to feel.
“My fault.” He pushed those words out. “Cut you in my haste. Should’ve been more careful.”
His vision tunnelled and he shook it off, refusing to black out. He didn’t want to frighten Calindria like that. He forced himself to keep moving, each step taking a herculean effort, and was sure he wouldn’t have made it more than two without collapsing if it hadn’t been for Calindria.
Most females would have baulked at the sight of him bleeding, would have fainted long before this point, shocked by the creatures that had attacked them. Not Calindria. She truly did have her parents’ blood in her veins, faced everything that happened head-on and without flinching.
They reached a cavern, another one that glittered with huge black crystals that made it resemble the inside of a geode. In the far-left corner, stalactites dripped into a pool, crystals clustered around the points where they met the domed ceiling.
Calindria hauled him over to the pool and set him down near the edge. The water was shallow, not deep enough to hide a serpent, but she still closely peered at it and stabbed at it in places with her dagger. Satisfied that no beast lurked within it, she bent and scooped water, drank from her palm and repeated the process. She scooped more water and offered it to him this time, and it was cold and soothing as she tipped it into his mouth, seemed to quench some of the fire in his bones.
“More,” he uttered, tempted to tip to his left and just sink into the water so he could drink his fill like a beast.
She obliged, alternating between giving him water and drinking some herself. When his thirst was sated, she moved around behind him and gasped. He felt the warmth of her as she sank to her knees close to his back, flinched as she dabbed her fingers against one of the gashes down his spine.
“I don’t have anything to bind them with.” She sounded upset about that, so he shook his head, trying to show her that it was fine.
She cleaned his wounds for him, was careful as she washed each one on his back and his shoulders and then did the same for his wings. The cavern air was cool against his wet back as she tended to him, soothing his overheating flesh, taming more of that fire in his bones.
“I wish I could heal as my mother can.” She traced a hand over his left wing, her touch incredibly light, her voice tinged with regret. “Maybe I can do something.”
She shuffled away from him and he wanted to turn to see what she was doing, but he was too tired and too sore to move. When she came back, she pressed something to his skin. It was soft and cool, and not her hand.
For a heartbeat, he worried she had removed what little clothing she had, but then she applied the same thing to his shoulder and he caught sight of it. A black leaf. She had used her power to make this for him, something she had never created before. It was broad and flat and soft, very pliable. Nothing at all like her vines and brambles.
And it was soothing.
She worked in silence,