I don’t have to wonder who.
There’s only one man in this army who’s big enough to fit the shadowed silhouette I see when he does the chore. The captain drags the tool beneath huge piles of snow and then packs it in against the sides of the tent to help insulate and stabilize it.
He does it each night. Just as he delivers our food and makes sure we have plenty of coals to burn. And never, not once, has he propositioned me. He hasn’t asked for a single thing in return.
I’m not quite sure what to make of that.
I close the tent flap again and walk back over to Polly, tying the ends of the rag as I go. Kneeling down in front of her, I gently press it to her flushed forehead.
She groans, clutching her stomach and licking her lips. “You’re killing me,” she says with accusation.
I pause in my ministrations. Truth be told, Polly hasn’t said much at all. Not since those first few days when she screamed and raged at me. Other than exclaiming how terrible she feels, she’s quiet. Something between us has strained and shattered, but I know that once her body recovers, once it stops needing and craving the dew, she will feel better. She’ll be back to her old self. We can be back to our old friendship.
Though, I have no idea why this process is taking so long. I hadn’t expected for her to be this sick for this long. She vomits nearly every time I try to feed her, only keeping down the smallest bits of bread and water, along with the herbs that the army mender has brought. She’s lost weight, her pallor is gray and pale, and there are deep circles under her eyes that seem to deepen every day, even though she spends nearly all of her time in fitful sleep.
I so badly want her to get better, for her to see that I took her away from Ranhold to help her. This strain between us is just the drug talking. Once she’s back to normal, she will realize that I’m doing all of this to save her.
“You’re making snow drip down my dress,” she hisses.
“Sorry.” I gently start to stroke the snow over the back of her neck, but she jerks away, so I set it down again. Reaching for the little pot I’ve been given that hangs over the coals, I tip it over into the small tin cup. “How about you try sitting up again to sip some broth?”
“Don’t want it,” she says, eyes closed, teeth nibbling incessantly at her bottom lip. She does that a lot now, like a nervous tic from the dew that she craves. She’s doing it so often that she’s peeled off the skin, leaving her mouth swollen and raw. It’s the same with her cuticles. The army mender brought a cream for me to apply onto those areas, but unless she’s asleep, she won’t let me put it on her.
“Come on, just a bit—”
Polly turns her face away again and lies back on her pallet. “Go away.”
A pang of hurt pierces me, but I shove past it. This isn’t her fault.
“Alright, I’m going to empty the chamber pot. I won’t be gone too long.”
She doesn’t reply, but when she starts to shiver again, I gently pull up a fur to cover her, just as her eyes fall shut. I tuck in my overly large shirt that I’ve been given, step into my boots, and then slip on the captain’s coat and some gloves before grabbing the chamber pot and heading outside.
Almost as soon as I’ve stepped out of the tent, a giant mountain is looming over me so close that I nearly barrel into it.
“Watch it!” I bite out as I try to steady the pot so it doesn’t splash all over me. I only have one other set of clothes, and I like wearing this shirt. I refuse to ask if it’s his. I already know.
When the liquid is safe from spilling, I look up, shooting a glare at the intruder. “What do you want?”
Captain Osrik arches a thick, bushy brown brow at me. Honestly, there’s not a single part of him that doesn’t need trimming. His beard is so long I could braid it, his hair is always windblown around his shoulders, and from what I can see at his wrists beneath his sleeves, he’s hairy there as well. I just know that he’s one of those men with chest hair. The male saddles always had to use sugar wax to remove theirs. I would pay good money for someone to strap down the captain and yank on his skin, strip by painful strip.
“You’re staring again, Yellow Bell.”
My gaze cuts away from his hands, flying up to his face. Flustered, I shift on my feet. “I’m not staring, I’m simply amazed at just how much of a hairy giant you really are,” I say, curling my lip up with distaste.
“If you’re interested in seeing my body hair, all you have to do is ask.”