Norah knew the woman was enjoying her discomfort, and a flash of irritation rose in her cheeks. “Does the Shadow King make all women wear such things?” she asked shortly.
The woman raised a brow. “Make us?” She laughed. “I designed it,” she sneered. “We want our enemies to know who they fight in battle. We want them to know our women can gut them.”
Norah swallowed back a patronizing reply. The woman’s statement was a powerful one, and it struck her deep within. Her irritation faded. Mercia could learn a thing or two from these people. “Fair,” she mumbled.
The woman shifted, clearly surprised at how the conversation had turned.
Norah drew her gaze around the tent, unsure of what to do. Then she looked down at her hands, which were stained with the king’s blood. She wrung them together.
The woman called out again in the Shadow tongue, and within a few moments, a soldier entered with a basin of fresh water.
Norah glanced at her, appreciating the small kindness. She wasn’t sure how to respond in these situations, still being held against her will and with war on the horizon, and she bit back the thanks on her tongue. She submerged her hands into the basin, and the water turned pink as she washed the blood from her skin. “What’s your name?” she asked.
The woman’s eyes narrowed, and Norah bit the inside of her cheek, feeling foolish. Of course, she wouldn’t answer.
“Katya,” the woman replied, surprising her. “Captain Katya Sator.”
Norah’s eyes widened. Captain. She pursed back her smile, trying to keep it to herself. Yes, there was much Mercia could learn.
Her eyes moved to the king again, and worry rippled through her. Blood dripped from his left nostril.
“Oh no,” she breathed as she scrambled beside him. She turned his head toward her, and a small trail of blood trickled from his ear. She looked at Katya in alarm, and the woman called out to the others.
The soldier who had stitched the wound ducked back into the tent, and Norah backed up as he checked the king by moving his head and eyeing the trail of blood.
“What does it mean?” Norah asked him, her fear growing. “What’s happening?”
The soldier looked back at Katya and spoke to her in words Norah didn’t understand. But the captain’s eyes revealed her own dismay.
The sound of horses outside caught their attention, and suddenly, the brute commander pushed through the front of the tent, leading a man behind him: a Horseman. It had been Horsemen who had attacked her. Bile rose in her throat, and Norah shuddered bitterly.
The commander motioned the man closer, and Norah backed up quickly to give space. The Horseman tipped the king’s head to the side and saw the blood run from his ear, then quickly searched a small pack strapped to his waist. He pulled out a vial of liquid and poured it into the king’s mouth, holding his head for the antidote to run down. More blood ran from the king’s nose and ear.
The Horseman looked at the commander nervously. Norah’s heart beat heavy in her chest; she understood that look. The outcome was bleak.
The commander growled out orders in the Shadow tongue, and everyone cleared out, including Katya and the Horseman. He eyed Norah darkly but let her be. Then he sat on a trunk not far from the king and waited.
He pulled the wrap from his head, and she realized it was the first time she’d seen him without it. Mikael had told her they were the same age, which had been hard to believe with his face covered, but she saw it now. The sharp line of his jaw tapered squarely to his chin, and his nose fell straight and symmetrical under his dark brow. He held a similar look as the king. It was a handsome face, she loathed to admit. Everything else about him was as she had imagined, though. His thick, black hair was tied back, and the hair on his face was cut short, almost to the skin.
She spotted the marks down his cheek, from where she had caught him with her nails, and the bruising around the stitched split in his brow. She held back the smile of pride in her work.
He looked up to see her watching him. His eyes were black. Murderous.
Norah pulled her gaze away. The sun was setting, and her body ached. “What if it’s too late?” she asked, putting her own hatred aside. “How long before we know if the antidote is working?”
“What do you care?” he snarled.
“I brought him back, didn’t I?” she snapped.
There was a silent rage about him. He wore his hatred on his skin. Norah let out a long breath. She didn’t have the energy to fight with him. She pushed herself back to a bedroll on the other side of the tent.
“You won’t stay here with him,” he said shortly.
“By all means, appoint me another keeper,” she challenged.
Anger flashed across his face. She knew he wouldn’t risk trusting another to watch her. “If you try anything—”
“Obviously,” she said, cutting him off.
His nostrils flared in anger, but he didn’t say anything else.
Norah lay down on her back. She needed sleep. She pulled the furs over her, trying to get comfortable, and closed her eyes.
Chapter twenty-nine
She woke to the cold. It was still night, but dim candlelight kept the tent from total darkness. Norah didn’t stir, trying to keep the warmth trapped under the furs, but she opened her eyes to see the commander sitting beside the king. She watched him.
His hand was on the king’s chest and his head hung with emotion. His brow sat heavy with worry. Despite his callousness, his pain touched her. And something more caught her attention.
He whispered to the king in the Shadow tongue as he gently pushed the hair back from his brow. He let his thumb graze the sleeping king’s cheek and brush over his lips. His eyes held a longing sorrow she’d seen before—in Alexander’s eyes. She didn’t have to understand the words to understand the meaning. He loved him.
Mikael had told her the commander was like a brother. Soren had saved him during the war, brought him home. Of course they cared for each other. But this care seemed beyond the love of a brother.
Norah pinched her eyes closed tight again and steadied her breath. She saw nothing, she told herself. She wouldn’t give the brute another reason to want her dead.
When she opened her eyes again, it was morning. Surprisingly, she’d slept. The tent was empty, except for the king, who was still asleep. Where was the commander?
Her mind turned to Mikael. Slowly, she pushed off the blankets and moved to his side. His breaths were deep and steady. Gently, she took his head in her hands and turned it to the side. No blood came from his ear—a good sign. His color seemed to be returning—also a good sign.
She pushed the blanket back from his leg to check the dressing. No blood had soaked through. “That’s good too,” she found herself whispering. What was wrong with her? She scolded herself. She should have left him; she should have escaped. But a stinging disappointment needled her—she knew if given the choice again, she’d choose the same.
Norah reached to pull the blanket back over him but paused, letting her eyes trail up the exposed skin of his side. His body was well muscled. Even in his state, he had a strength about him. She ran her fingertips over the ripple at his hip, but then caught herself and quickly pulled the blanket back over him, tucking it under his side.