“All right, I’ve done this before, you know. My mother was a healer.” He pulled a dagger out of his boot and put the hilt in his friend’s mouth like a horse bit. I was going to say that his friend might break his teeth on the dagger, but I was fatigued and didn’t want to argue with him. Once he was holding his friend down, I smeared the wound with more ointment before pressing the red-hot metal to the maimed flesh. The iron sizzled and popped against the wound, and the smell of burned flesh filled the room like roast pork. The wounded elf on my cot screamed the whole time, yowling behind the knife in his mouth. His left leg kicked, but the right one didn’t move.
Great, his leg’s broken.
I wasn’t in the mood to reset a broken limb.
After returning the iron back to its place on the shelf, I went back to the wounded elf. I felt along his leg, down his thigh, to his knee and then his calf. The femur was broken right before the joint. I cringed, feeling the give of the bone. If he were human, I’d say he’d never walk again. I covered my face for a few moments.
“Is everything all right?”
“Yes…no. I’m exhausted, sorry.” I wet my chapped lips. “His leg is badly broken. It takes an astonishing amount of force to break that part of a leg. But he saved his knee. I think he turned as the pressure came down.” I bit my bottom lip. “I can give him something for the pain, bind it, and hope for the best. Though I can’t say if he’ll be walking again anytime soon—if ever. I know your kind heals differently. The elvish-smith’s daughter broke her ankle. It was a terrible break, and she was walking on it within a week, sooo…” I shrugged and bandaged the elf’s stomach. The unconscious were like lumps of meat to me. I only saw contusions, lacerations…whatever wound was afflicting the nonlucid party; I didn’t see faces. I only noticed the flat, hard, lean muscle of the wounded elf’s stomach as I passed the bandage over the cauterized, now only weeping, wound.
“Is it safe to leave him here?” the hooded elf asked softly.
“See that boy on the cot? That’s the butcher’s son. The butcher is a devout follower of the Dawn, and he’ll be here in…” I looked out the window. The sky was pale gray, dawn was soon to crest, and I had barely gotten an hour of sleep. “Minutes,” I finally finished as I glanced around the room. I would have to figure out a way to brace and bind the leg before the butcher came to check on Miksa. “Help me move him.”
The elf complied while the wounded one he called Aneurin whimpered all the while.
Probably too exhausted to make much louder noises. I can sympathize.
We lowered him onto my bed, and I started unfastening his trousers.
“I need you to walk down the road, that way.” I pointed toward the rising sun. “At the end will be a small elvish-smith’s workshop. Tell the smith—his name is Ynyr—that Valentina needs a long brace for a patient, and that I’ll trade three weeks of poultice for it.” The elf nodded and slipped out the door with silent footsteps, leaving me alone with my two unconscious patients. Once I had removed the elf’s trousers and he was lying naked in my bed, I focused my attention on his leg.
Above his knee it was largely swollen. I tenderly pressed the flesh; it was hot to the touch. Those whimpers continued. It could have been worse; it was only one break. Last year some idiot merchant was trampled by his horse, and the bone broke in six places; there was nothing anyone could do. I bound his leg, and because I did, he can walk, though with great difficulty. The front door was flung open, and I scrambled to leave my room, hastily closing the door behind me.
As I predicted, the butcher was back, and he didn’t look pleased. With a sigh, I made my way to the cot where the child lay. I checked his breathing and his fever. Surprisingly enough, young Miksa would live. The fever had broken.
“So? What of my boy?”
“He’ll live if you stop giving him water from the river. It’s not safe to drink. As I told you, as I told your wife. As I told the town and posted the notice on my door.” Sighing, I shook my head.
“So I can…I can take ’im ’ome?” He was humbled, as he always was after I told him his son would live.
“Yes. But again—”
“I know, ya damnable wench. Don’ let ’im drink the water,” he snarled at me. I simply stared at him. I was too tired to care.
“Next time you should call the gravedigger and pay him instead. Miksa won’t survive another bout of this illness.” My tone was empty. With a blank expression, I watched as the butcher gathered his son in his arms. He stared down at the boy, and a look of sadness washed over his hard features.
“I’ll cut up the best fat goose for ya. Say wha’ they will in th’ cap’tal, buh’ I dunna see how yer kind deserves the fire. Ya migh’ be a right proper bitch…buh’ ya serve us well,” he said before leaving with Miksa in his arms.
And now I’m alone!
I opened the door to my room and groaned with frustration. I had almost forgotten about the stranger in my bed. That was when I first really saw him. Because I wasn’t focusing on his wounds, I was able to take in the sum of him. He was pale, but all elves were. His skin was the color of cream, and his hair was a warm earthen brown. It was cropped short almost all around but was somewhat long in the front—it was a distinctly elvish style. He had high cheekbones, and long dark lashes that rested on his cheeks artfully. His nose was pointed and twitched when he whimpered. He had a beautiful jawline and an exquisite neck. His lips were full, and a warm blush color, the kind of lips that begged to be kissed. I winced as I swooned over him like a stupid girl.
The outer door opened again, and I jumped, pausing in the threshold of the inner doorway with my hand to my chest before I continued into the room beyond. The hooded elf had returned with the splint in hand. It was a simple contraption the elvish-smith and I had designed together: two long metal rods held together in a few places by leather straps, with a small stand at one end to prop up the leg a little. I locked the door behind the elf and gathered a few herbs from my shelf. Cursing, I looked down at the bucket of snow, which was almost empty now.
Damnit.
I sighed exasperatedly as I put the teakettle on and tossed another handful of sage into the fire. I grabbed the vial of spirit of hartshorn.
“Ynyr told me to tell you hello, and that there is no need for payment of any sort. He’s apparently exceptionally grateful for what you did for his daughter.”
“Regardless of what he says, I’ll be paying him. Ynyr’s a good man, er…elf. He should be paid for his work.”
“So what sort of name is Valentina? I haven’t heard it before…and your coloring…” I looked down at my hands for a moment, surveying my warm golden skin. I was born in the Kingdom of Vanotti, a land of gardens and sweet, warm winds. My father had been a merchant and, after receiving a patent to sell goods in Ersland, moved my entire family here when I was five. I didn’t look a thing like my sister, a blonde with bright emerald irises and an exotic accent. No, I looked like my mother: olive-skinned, with dark hair and a mouth perhaps too full for my face. In Vanotti, I would have been considered an exceptional beauty. Here, I was prized for my shapeliness and my unique lavender eyes, but aside from that, I wasn’t considered noteworthy.
“I’m a Vanotta.” My accent slipped across my tongue like a long-lost lover’s kiss.
“So the rumors are true then.”
“What rumors?”
“That Vanotti women are the most beautiful in the world. They possess in gold and jet what few have in milk and honey. I have never seen irises like that before.”
“Everyone says that about somewhere. People say lots of stupid things to get between a woman’s thighs. In Vanotti, they say it about those pale Ersland girls whose cheeks blossom like roses when they blush. Come, we have to set his leg,” I said as I stepped past him and into the back room. I hated setting bones. “Did you ever assist your mother setting bones before?” I asked lifting the furs from around the unconscious elf’s wounded leg.
“No, I’ve seen it done but never helped.”
“Well, it’s simple enough. Once we have his leg laid on the splint, you just need to grab his ankle and gently pull it toward you until I tell you to let go. I’ll warn you, though, he will scream.” After imparting that bit of advice, I dashed off to grab the tiny bit of rolled leather for him to bite on, before tossing a small linen pouch of herbs into the teapot.
Returning to the room, I carefully positioned the wounded elf’s leg on the splint and placed the bit between his teeth. Tracing my hand down his pale thigh to the swell of the break, I nodded to the hooded elf, who slowly pulled on the ankle as I commanded. The wounded elf screamed till he was hoarse as I slowly aligned the bone pieces together and then signaled to the hooded figure once more. He released the leg, and I started buckling the straps that would hold the leg in place. The wounded elf sobbed behind the bit when we were finished. Tears streamed down his cheeks, which glistened with sweat. His chest heaved rapidly. I almost didn’t want to use the spirit of hartshorn to wake him. Almost. He needed to drink the tea to bring the swelling down and ease the pain.
After snatching the small glass bottle from the nearby shelf, I uncorked it. I then waved it under the wounded elf’s nose, and he blinked into consciousness with a gasp. His eyes were odd. One was a warm reddish-, almost copper-brown the shade of autumn leaves, and the other was a rich green. He gazed wildly around the room.
“I’ll let you two speak while I ready the tea,” I said quickly before I left the room. I hadn’t even crossed the threshold when they started speaking in that soft, lilting tongue. The weight of their gazes on me made me move sluggishly as I poured the tea and grabbed a potion from the shelf.
Upon returning to the room, I surveyed Aneurin’s face. It was clear he was in pain; his furrowed brow glistened with a sheen of sweat. He stared at me for a while, his bicolored gaze seeming to assess me as I placed the tea on the small table next to the bed.
“Drink the tea, and then take this.” I held the small vial out to him. “But only take it after you’ve finished all the tea. The tea is for the swelling and pain; the potion will help you sleep and maybe help speed healing. It worked on the daughter of the elvish-smith when she had a similar break.”
“Thank you,” he finally said, holding my gaze with his.
Oh, that voice
. He spoke those two words like they held some sort of dark little secret that was ours and ours alone. A shiver slipped down my spine, making my shoulders rise noticeably. I quickly pulled the shawl tighter around my shoulders.
“Here I thought the carpenter fixed that damned draft,” I mumbled, shaking my head. “There’s no need to thank me; I’m here to help the wounded, aid the sick, and all of that,” I lectured him as he picked up the mug and took a sip. Surprisingly enough, he didn’t make a face as he sipped the tea. It was the first time someone didn’t grimace with every swallow—the smith’s girl vomited after the first mouthful. “You’ll have to stay off of your leg for a while. I’d recommend staying here for a day, maybe a week, and then having your friends fetch a cart to take you home.”
“With all due respect—”
“With all due respect? Why don’t you just say what you’re thinking? ‘You’re a plowing idiot,’ that’s all I ever hear when someone says those words to me.” I snickered as I leaned against the door frame. My tiny outburst won me a short-lived, boyish laugh from Aneurin. He winced after a few moments and placed his hand on his bandaged side.
“I can’t exactly leave by cart.”
“I suppose you’ll be staying here then. It won’t be the first time I’ve treated a patient for an extended period of time…” I eyed my bed—my warm, soft, comfortable bed that I’d be giving up for the next however long.
“I’m going to tell the others he’ll be okay. I’ll leave payment on the table,” the other elf said quickly as he stepped past me. And I had a brilliant idea.
“No coin. Just follow the river upstream to the wood and remove the carcass that’s polluting the water.”
“All right, I’ll come back tomorrow to check on him.” Without another word the hooded elf left.
“Fucking Islwyn,” Aneurin grumbled in a ragged breath between slow sips of the tea. His hands were shaking.
Isn’t that cute, he’s trying to fight the pain.
“Not a fan of your friend?”
“He’s not my friend.”
“He certainly seems like he’s your friend. He cares for you,” I offered him a smile, a quick tug of my lips.
“He’s…family.”
Riiiight.
I quirked a brow before leaving the room. I locked the front door and stared at the two cots. One had blood on it from when I treated his first wound, the other the butcher’s boy’s vomit.
I should have made the “friend” clean up before he left.
I watched as he finished the cup and drank the potion. He passed out before the vial left his lips, leaving me to curl up with the extra fur on a chair in front of the fire while the winter wind howled outside the window and the snow continued to fall in fat, slow snowflakes. I was probably the only person in town hoping to get snowed in.
Winter raged on, and snow fell inch after inch until it piled up to the window. On the third day we were snowed in. The door wouldn’t open. It wasn’t a problem for me; I always made sure I had more than enough firewood and food. Water wasn’t an issue either with the snow that gathered outside the window.
I stared out of the warped glass at those falling flakes that danced on the wind. The snow didn’t seem like it would be letting up anytime soon. I was more than a little grateful for the break the snow afforded me. If someone got desperate enough, they’d dig out my door, and I’d gladly treat them. But until then I would keep to myself and tend to Aneurin, who was pleasant enough—read quiet. He kept to himself for the most part and only bothered me if he needed water—which wasn’t too often. However, I did need to clean and change his bandage.
With a sigh, I gathered fresh bandages, ointment, and a cake of soap. When I entered the bedroom, he watched me curiously. That odd gaze followed me as I moved about, but he said nothing as I set things on the small table next to the bed. I then walked back into the larger room and set the kettle on the hearth.