Blood Moon| The Last Kingdom| Sihtric Kjartansson

THIRTEEN

☾

I let out a quiet hiss, lurching forward as pain coursed through me, catching myself on the side of the table with my wrist.

"I am sorry," Sihtric whispered, drawing his hand away from my back instinctively. "I am sorry. I did not mean to hurt you."

I forced myself to relax my jaw, the taste of copper circling my mouth. "It's okay. You did not mean to. It's not your fault I am injured."

Sihtric sighed softly, and I could feel his eyes scanning my back. "I have nearly finished cleaning out the wounds. Do you want some ale? It might help with the pain."

"No, I'll be—"

"For the love of the Gods above," Saga grit out painfully, "take the ale."

Finan glanced up at her, his face a picture of concern as he drew back his hand from her leg.

Sweat ran down her forehead, and she barely looked conscious. Perhaps it would be better if she were unconscious because Finan was peeling layers of burnt flesh off her leg, removing wood that had gotten into the wound.

"Can I do anything to help?" Osferth mumbled awkwardly, looking on both sides of the table at both pairs.

"You could..." Saga took in a few laboured breaths, "you could strike me over the head, so I sleep for days."

I went to laugh, but then my back burned again, and I yelped, this time jumping forward off the bench I occupied.

"I'm sorry," Sihtric stared up at me sympathetically, holding his hands up, the small blade he held catching candlelight. "Please, there is just a little more to go."

"Perhaps I could make a bath?" Osferth offered.

"Use only slightly warmed water," Finan ordered over his shoulder, "cold water won't be good for them."

"Of course," Osferth scurried off hastily, clanging about in the bathroom of the Inn we were staying in.

I forced myself to sit down on the bench again, my legs shaking from the pain coursing through me, but I did not turn my back to Sihtric again.

Sihtric sighed, placing the blade down on the table. "An infection may form if we do not remove the splinters."

I looked at my hands, wrapped thickly in white cloth that had turned slightly pink, even after the multiple layers. "I will be fine. I will wash out the wound well."

"Gyda—" Sihtric groaned, rubbing his hand down his face, some soot staining his cheeks.

"Let her be," Finan muttered, lifting Saga's leg off the bench and setting it down gently, "they have suffered enough for one night. Let them wash up, and we can check them again in the morning."

Saga slumped back against the table, her face turned away from me, but her heart raced, warning me of the pain she felt.

"Finan?" A voice called out from outside the inn, hesitant and cautious, before a man appeared in the doorway.

Finan stood up swiftly, "Father Beocca?"

Beocca stepped inside the inn, his hands as dirty as his clothes, the smell of the fire lingering on him as it lingered on all of us. He eyed Uhtred's men briefly before he looked to Saga, who did not have the strength to meet his gaze. He looked at me last, only for a second as my chest was only covered with a bit of cloth, and he wished to remain respectable.