The Emperor's Edge 2: Dark Currents

The Emperor's Edge 2: Ch. 21 Pt. 1

Pain brought tears to Amaranthe’s eyes before she opened them. Her breath snagged, and she reached for her abdomen. Her fingers scraped against rough bandages, an act that brought more pain. She yanked her hand away. She tried to draw in a deep inhalation to calm herself, but that hurt too. As she opened her eyes and struggled to focus them, she settled for short, shallow breaths.

She lay on her back. Bare branches stretched below a gray sky promising rain. Daylight had come, though she could not guess whether it was morning or afternoon.

Something touched her cheek. She turned her head slowly since her neck, too, had complaints.

Sicarius sat cross-legged beside her. Relief flooded her at seeing him alive—and at being alive herself.

He lifted his hand, seemed not to know where to put it, and settled for resting it on her shoulder. Though the pain dampened her humor, she managed a smile. “I must look really bad...if you’re deigning to touch me.” It hurt to speak, and her voice rasped like sandpaper on wood.

His eyebrows rose infinitesimally.

“You usually only do that in combat practice.” She kept her voice soft so she need not take big inhalations. “Or to pull me out of the way...because I’ve gotten myself in trouble.”

His jaw flexed, and Amaranthe regretted the last sentence. He might feel he should have been faster and pulled her out of the way this time.

“Sorry,” she whispered. Her ancestors knew it was not his fault she had nearly died. He had tried to stop her from the ludicrous plan.

“For what?” He spoke quietly. His gaze flicked toward the lake.

The susurrus of men’s voices came from that direction. A conversation, not casual but argumentative. There was still trouble. Amaranthe would ask what it was soon, maybe even attempt something ambitious, like sitting up, but she wanted another quiet moment before the need to plan overwhelmed her. Besides, there was a hint of downward pressure from Sicarius’s hand, as if he knew about, and did not approve of, her thoughts to sit up and get involved.

“I'm sorry,” she said, “for risking all our lives on something that we could have left for others to handle, for getting mauled, and for being a burden. I should have listened to you. Next time I will. I'll...acquiesce to your wisdom.”

His eyes crinkled. “You will not.”

“No, I will. I’ve learned my lesson.”

“Doubtful.” Was that a smile on his lips? Ever so slight? If so, it faded quickly.

“Akstyr did his best to close your wounds,” Sicarius said, “but he detected the beginnings of an infection.”

“Those makarovi claws did look dirty.” She smiled, though Sicarius’s tone, even grimmer than usual, warned her worse news was coming.

“The knowledge of how to heal it is beyond him. He did better than I expected, but he lacks experience.”

“Well, I’m tough. I bet my blood schemes just as much as my brain, and it’ll figure a way to destroy any pesky infections.”

Sicarius said nothing. He always said nothing, but this time he avoided her eyes, and she had no trouble reading his silence: he thought she was dying.

“She’s awake!” Maldynado blurted. “She’s alive!”

Footsteps pounded her way. Maldynado, Basilard, and Akstyr knelt around her. Sicarius stood and backed away.

“Boss, are you all right?” Maldynado asked. “How do you feel?

Amaranthe blushed, feeling foolish to have gotten herself in so much trouble that she needed this much attention. But emotion welled inside her too. It meant much that they cared enough to provide that attention.