Prince of Traitors

Jasper

The Navaarim girl thinks quickly. She tears a strip of fabric from her cloak and loops it under my arm, tying it so tightly it pinches. I wince and hiss a breath through my teeth.

"Come on," she snaps. She turns from me and trudges through the woods. I watch her go for a moment, but then follow her.

"Where are you going?" I ask as I rush after her.

"To get my things," she says. That's all the information she gives me as she walks through the forest. My shoulder throbs with searing pain, blood running down the front of my shirt.

I'm starting to get dizzy when the Navaarim girl comes across a dirt road. She turns onto it, kicking up dust. She tosses her hat into the brush, letting her hair cascade down her back. It glows bright silver in the moonlight.

The barn she leads me to is decrepit, all bare, worn beams. The roof is mostly caved in, the building full of old hay and broken bits of roof tiles and wooden panels. She climbs a ladder to a hay loft, digging through the rubble to find something. A leather satchel tumbles down to the grass, and then a pair of boots falls with a thump before me. A moment later a bow and quiver of arrows falls to the grass.

When she drops back down, she rummages through the large leather satchel, pulling out a faded blue shirt and a pair of breeches. She wordlessly shucks off her cloak. Underneath, she wears the sheer dress of a prostitute from the pleasure houses by the docks. Bandages are wrapped around her midriff, spotted with blood.

I avert my gaze at the compact waist and small breasts that the dress barely hides. I remember I have a change of clothes in the satchel Zinat gave me, and hurry to get changed, turning away from the Navaarim girl as she does the same.

I'd been wearing casual clothing in the dungeons, but of course they are bloodied and grimy. When I've changed into the clean pants and pulled my boots back on, the Navaarim has switched the sheer dress for the breeches and shirt.

She doesn't tuck the shirt into the waistband of the breeches. It hangs loosely over her frame, a little too big for her. Her boots are meant for riding, the leather soft as it curves around her calves.

"Sit down," she says sternly.

"What?" I untie the makeshift bandage and remove my bloodied shirt, carefully pulling it away from my wound.

"Your shoulder needs to be cleaned and stitched," she says. "Unless you want an infection, Your Highness." She digs through her satchel for a small metal tin, a roll of bandages, and a water skein that she uses to wet my old shirt.

I sit against one of the beams of the barn, and the Navaarim girl kneels before me. She wipes at my ripped flesh with the shirt, clearing away the blood. My shoulder has slowed its bleeding exponentially, only barely leaking anymore. She wipes the blood up a second time, cleaning the wound thoroughly with water from the skein. I flinch as she rinses it off; the water stings. She peers at the wound under the moonlight.

"What happened, anyway?" she asks.

I try to shrug and wince at the pain it brings. "Crossbow bolt, I think," I say. "The guards at the gate must have spotted me and shot."

"It tore right through," she says. She digs in her satchel for a spool of thread and a curved needle. She washes the latter off and threads it.

She doesn't warn me before she pierces my skin with the needle. I grit my teeth, my entire body tensing as she hurriedly but precisely stitches the torn flesh together. I can feel the skin pulling. She ties off the thread and cuts off the excess with her teeth.

She opens the metal tin and scoops out some paste with her fingers. When she dabs it into the wound, a stinging pain jolts through my shoulder. I jump away from her touch with a yell.

"Ow, shit!" I cry. The Navaarim girl rolls her eyes at me.

"It's a healing salve, you child," she snaps. I eye were wordlessly. I'm not sure I want her hands on me. I don't trust this woman.

She applies a generous amount of the salve and I grit my teeth against the sting of the stuff. Eventually, the sting fades, though my wound still pulses with pain. She wraps it in the bandage, tying it tightly. The salve squelches a little as it's pressed into my wound. I groan through gritted teeth.

When she's done, the Navaarim girl stands, replacing the lid of the metal tin of salve and stuffing it and the needle and thread back in her satchel. I grab the shirt Zinat packed me and pull it on, careful to not upset the wrappings on my shoulder. Its collar buttons up, but I leave it open above the chain with the rings that hangs from my neck. I roll my sleeves up and shakily stand.

She glances up at me, rolling up her cloak on the ground and securing it to her satchel. She doesn't answer me; she only turns and starts walking away, leaving the jeweled sandals and flimsy dress behind in the grass.

"Wha-hey!" I call after her. I scoop up my own satchel and follow her.

"What are you following me for, prince?" she snaps over her shoulder.

"What do you think, Navaarim?" I reply. "I'm going with you."

"Like hell you are," she says.

"If it's away from Highcaster, I want to come," I say. I shrug my good shoulder. "You don't have to tell me your name but I'm coming along." She stops and turns to glare at me. I keep walking, catching up to and passing her.

"If I tell you my name will you leave me alone?" she asks.

"Not a chance."

I can practically hear her teeth grinding together in her rage. She glares at my back, and then stomps after me.

"It's Owin," she says shortly. She shoves my good shoulder from behind and stalks past me. "Come on, prince."