Forged in Frost

Sick and Weary

It takes two more days to reach Lockmire, with many stops to rest and reapply bandages for the wounded. When Evelyn sees Lockmire's gates glowing in the late afternoon sun, she wants to sing with joy. She's more than ready to leap off this horse and sink into a soft mattress after five nights on the hard ground. Dig into a bowl of hot stew after days of dry venison and hard bread. Even more, she's ready for a couple of healing potions to take away the aching pain in her leg. The few they brought along were used on the most grievous injuries.

The team enters the city. One battle they faced, but already Evelyn feels like a true soldier. Returning wounded, with four kills on her hands. This new sensation is not exactly pride, but power. A strange, intriguing power that both excites and, somehow, unnerves her.

They stop in front of the training centre to unload. The uninjured help with untying sleighs and hauling stretchers to the chapel, where proper healing can take place. Caius calls for other apothecaries to come to the barracks with herbs, medicines, and potions, for those with less grievous injuries who can remain. He arranges for the count and countess to be informed of their return. Lastly, he directs the team of women coming out of the training centre to be sure every injured man has a fresh bed in the lower barracks to sleep in, even giving up his own for a man who'd had no bed.

Alec helps Evelyn off the horse. She leans heavily against him, exhausted from travelling. But he's sure to be exhausted, too. His dusty reddish hair is rumpled to his forehead with sweat, and there's a distinct slackness to his shoulders.

"The stairs are going to be fun," Evelyn mutters as Alec helps her inside.

"We could always lay you on a stretcher and bring you to the chapel," he jokes.

Evelyn groans. "Leave that for the real injuries."

Two men carry Leo past her. His face is white and beaded with sweat. The grey bandage across his thigh and torso is dark with blood. It's surprising he made it this long. To think of her sore leg as an injury when others had it so much worse...

She clenches her jaw as they ease down the stairs, holding up the line of people wanting to descend. Caius stops behind them.

"Just let me," he says, and picks her up again. He steps down lightly, carries her to the end of their row of beds, and lays her down, allowing traffic to move again.

"Thanks," Evelyn says with a sigh, as every aching muscle dissolves into the softness of her bed.

"Someone will come to check your leg."

"I'm sure it's fine. Make sure Alec lies down for some rest, too. He's taken care of me these past three days, and I don't know how much he slept."

"Between taking you to piss behind the trees, I'm not sure either," Caius says, under his breath.

"What?" Evelyn laughs, embarrassed. "Well, someone had to help me. At least I'm one less person who needs a bath."

"I'd argue that point." Caius raises his brows.

Alec joins them. "So would I."

"Go away, both of you." Evelyn slumps her head into her pillow. "I'm injured. I need to rest."

Laughing, they leave her. Even in the activity of the room—bedding changed, men undressed or redressed, lain down and treated, supplies and personnel shuffling back and forth—Evelyn falls asleep in moments.

When Evelyn wakes, it is to Ilvara's hesitant smile. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she says softly.

"Mama," Evelyn says, her tongue still slow with sleep. At once she knows she slept a long time. "Is it day or night?"