Blood-Bound [ Lore of Penrua: Book I ]

58

They worked through the night. All of them.

The longhouse was crowded with wounded. The Starborn had been lain on the floor in the open space opposite the kitchen. Mhera hardly knew what she was doing, but she did her best with the rudimentary skills she had. There were eleven wounded Starborn men when Mhera first arrived, and by the end of the night another five had been brought in. Not all of them survived.

No one gave her trouble for helping them; in fact, to her surprise, Sashta worked at her side into the early hours of the morning. There were others tending to the Arcborn wounded gathered there.

Matei, back among his people rather than crouched outside the infirmary, seemed to recover some of his energy. He worked as tirelessly as the rest. The longhouse being the center of life in Hanpe, it was where people seemed naturally to assemble after the horror and chaos of battle. From Mhera's vantage point, it seemed Matei was keeping the confusion to a minimum to allow space for the wounded to be cared for. He oversaw the distribution of rations to the exhausted fighters who came, and gave them instructions to restore order.

Mhera brushed her braid back over her shoulder for the hundredth time as she knelt on the floor, a pitcher in one hand and a cup in the other. She leaned in to give the next Starborn soldier a drink of water. She was moving in a haze of exhaustion.

"Mhera."

It was Matei. She did not look up.

"You're exhausted. Come with me. You must rest."

She did not speak.

"You've done what you can. These men will be cared for."

Mhera gave a short, humorless laugh. "They are prisoners here."

"Yes. But they live—and they will be cared for." Matei waited for a moment as Mhera moved on to the next man. "Mhera."

Mhera did not want to be in any close quarters with Matei. He had hurt her cousin, had probably killed him. What would she find when she went back to the infirmary? Perhaps Kaori would not survive. Perhaps he was already dead. Aun had said she would call Mhera if things turned for the worst, but there may not have been time.

The man lying before her reached out to clutch at her sleeve. "Lady. Am I dying?"

"Hush, sir," Mhera said. She pushed his dark hair back from his brow. "You're safe now. You took a wound to your shoulder. It is deep, but we have bound it. Close your eyes and rest."

She stood up, swaying a little on her feet, her pitcher of water in hand.

"Mhera."

"Stop!" Mhera cried. It was almost a scream, and heat flooded her cheeks as two dozen weary faces turned to look at her. She lowered her voice. "Leave me to my work."

He came toward her, his hands up as if she were some kind of wild animal to be placated. "Mhera, listen to me—"

She crossed the distance between them, raising the pitcher in both hands and meaning to bring it down on his thrice-damned face, but he flinched back to avoid it. He reached up and grabbed the pitcher in both hands as she began to raise it again. Water sloshed, spilling over them both as they struggled with the vessel. Matei's hand closed around her right wrist, which held the handle of the pitcher, and it slipped out of her grasp. It cracked into two pieces on the floor.

"I'll kill you," she sobbed. "I'll kill us both."

"Do it, then," Matei said, "but to do it, you will need your strength. Come and sleep first."

Mhera jerked, trying to free her arm. She raised her left fist to strike at his face, but Matei caught that one, too, and he held both of her trembling fists close together in front of her chest so that she could not turn away from him. The sobs that shook her body made it too difficult to fight him.