Bridging the Ancient ✓

Chapter 18

The cloth in my mouth tastes strangely like the dungeons and I want so desperately to spit it out. Renit told me not to so I can protect my teeth from any harm I might cause them. One more injury and we might as well shack up with the rebels for a little while longer.

Bending forward, I fold over myself and clutch my arms tight against my abdomen. Night has fallen and in the small clearing, the only light is the faint glow of the fire. That flame is warming my injured arm.

With the titanium in my bloodstream from the arrow, I can't heal myself. A witch's body, the immortal at least, can heal injuries that aren't life threatening. Unless they're caused by titanium. Renit pulls one of those titanium tipped arrows from the fire, blazing hot. I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Ready?" He asks. I shake my head no. "I can't wait any longer, Roux. This might get infected if I don't care for it."

"Just...talk to me through it. Distract me," I order around the cloth in my mouth. Renit stills, the beginning signs of his rejection, and I glance sidelong at him. "Tell me about...holding your son for the first time."

A terrible subject to focus on but this is a story I actually want to hear. Not the cruel things the king has done to Renit or losing the two people he loves most but rather the happy moments meant to look back on. "The birth was...difficult." Renit swallows. "Darlene almost didn't make it out but once Oisin was delivered, she pleaded for me to hold him—even if I wanted to focus on her." Another swallow followed by a deep breath.

I imagine them in Darlene's chambers, wherever those were in the castle, waiting for the arrival of their child. Renit is a mess of stress and Darlene, cool and confident. But births are difficult for witches, more than conceiving in the first place.

"I didn't think someone could ever be so small and innocent," he continues. "When I held him, I wanted nothing more than to protect that baby from harm. So when he was old enough, I—" The white hot tip of the arrow presses onto my skin and I scream into the cloth as the burn settles—then it's gone. I double over myself and press my forehead into the dirt.

"You...bastard," I hiss through clenched teeth.

"I need to take a look at your ankle." Renit forces me to a sitting position and pulls my legs out from underneath me.

My feet rest in his lap and slowly, he unlaces my torn leather boots. I tug the cloth out of my mouth and say, "As long as you don't burn my ankle off, we should be fine."

Renit gives me a flat stare of annoyance. "I had to do that to stop the bleeding. It doesn't help much with infection but the cut was deep enough to warrant the need." He tugs off my sock and holds my swollen, aching ankle in his dark palm.

He presses light touches to the skin, his brows twitched together as one. I lean back on my elbows and watch his slow, calculated movements meant to decipher what the problem is underneath the skin. If I didn't know him, I would mistake Renit to be a healer—one with gentle hands and a soft preference for helping those in need.

"Finish what you were saying," I offer. "What did you do for Oisin?"

Renit glances at me quickly before looking back to the wound. "When he was old enough, I started teaching him about weapons. That was only months before..." His voice trails off and he sighs. "Anyway, I wanted to do what I could to protect him. I wanted to teach him about self defense and I wanted to train him in a different way than my father would have."

He pulls the sock back over my ankle and tosses the boot towards my stomach. That's as far as his help will stretch.

"Your ankle is fine, just twisted. The soreness should go down in a couple days."