Page 40 of Daughter of the Serpent

At the full exposure of her wounds, Sylvie thought she heard an intake of breath.

Was it the severity of the whipping, or the revelation of old scars that prompted such a response?

An unsettling notion seized her thoughts.

Would he think her wicked for having incurred so many scars?

It was clear that most of the servants of the light remained untouched by the kiss of the high priest's whip, unmarked by his disdain, yet she had not been so lucky. Despite her best efforts, somehow she always seemed to earn his displeasure.

“You are to train me then?” She asked, desperate for distraction.

“Yes,” he replied curtly, keeping focused on his task. His fingers, weathered and rough, met her skin, the subtle contact sending a ripple of heat through her despite the pain.

Sylvie’s eyes narrowed, her voice clipped as she tried to keep herself together. “What could you possibly gain from such an arrangement?”

The soft thud of Brunhilda’s herb basket hitting the floor echoed behind her, followed by the gentle splash of water sloshing in the basin. Sylvie kept her gaze fixed ahead, her shoulders stiff, refusing to look back. The faint clink of glass jars followed, then the wringing of a cloth, the excess water dripping the only sound that seemed to stretch the silence between them. For a moment, she thought he might not answer. But then, his rough voice cut through the silence.

“As I said, they would have killed you.” He spoke with a finality that left little room for argument. “They were out for your blood - innocent or not. It was the only way.”

Sylvie flinched, her heart sinking as the truth rose to the surface, a truth she already knew but had not wanted to recognize.

“It appears I am doomed, either way.”

And it appeared she was. No matter what she looked at her situation, there would be no escape.

Soon the caress of the dampened cloth met her flesh, causing her to wince with the contact. It stilled for a moment as if to let her catch her breath, before he continued. His fingers, though rough, seemed nimble and practiced, attended to her with a delicate care, something much more gentle than Brunhilda would have ever been.

“Only if you give up.” He said finally, pausing.

Her nose wrinkled at the recognizable aroma of the healing balm concocted by the healers.

She clenched her hands tightly in her lap, yet the anticipated sting never arrived; instead, as his hands made contact with her skin once more, a sudden rush of warmth enveloped her, instantly soothing the pain.

"Better?"

She nodded, surprise flickering across her expression. Even as his touch left her skin, she could feel a tingling sensation, a warmth threading through her flesh as if weaving it back together, soothing the throb and ache.

“I wasn’t to be given any magical aid.” She said, still startled at the sudden refreshment she felt. The tiredness, the heavy burden from the day seemed lessened, the pains sharpness - still there, but less potent. Lifting her gaze, she watched him as he reached for the clean bandages from the healer’s basket. Inspecting him further she caught a glimpse of a scar just visible where his cloak parted. The jagged line carved a path from the base of his tunic toward his jaw, a reminder of battles fought and maybe, losses endured.

“I have only laid the foundations for healing, nothing more.” He responded finally. “It will ensure the wounds will heal and not fester. We will need to speed up the process if we are to start your training.”

He said nothing more as he began bandaging her back, and once he was done she felt relief flood through her. Slipping her robes back around her shoulders, she welcomed the shelter from his eyes. Her whole life had been about staying hidden, never revealing herself orher weakness, yet now, here she was, bearing both. She leaned further back into the shadows, sheltering her eyes from view as he stood and came to face her.

Kneeling before her he reached forward, pressing a damp cloth to a cut along her cheek from Brunhilda’s hand.

She winced at the pressure, but tried to hold steady.

For a moment she wondered what she must look like, battered and bruised - not to mention her eye on full display. Most shrinked back at the sight of it, recoiling from her completely - yet not once had he mentioned it, nor did his eyes linger too long. Instead he had treated her with more respect and gentleness than she was used to, a tenderness that defied reason.

His dark hair fell in his face as he concentrated on his task, dapping gently at any remaining blood. Up close, she noticed details she hadn’t before: the fullness of his lips, the faint hollows beneath his high cheekbones, and the way his thick, raven hair curled slightly at the ends. He bore none of the polished look of the men from the temple, nor the battle - worn pride of the warriors who patrolled its grounds. His beauty was something else entirely - wild, untamed, like the very earth had carved him from its rough edges and jagged stone. Like the forest itself had shaped him. It wasn’t just in his features but in the air he carried, a beauty steeped in something ancient, something earned. Though he couldn’t have been much older then Haldor, there was wisdom etched into the lines of his face. A certain quiet strength no doubt honed by hardship, that created a presence as unforgiving as it was breathtaking.

As if sensing her stare, he paused, lifting his gaze from beneath long, dark lashes. Their eyes met, and the firelight danced in his molten gaze as he seemed to see right through her. Her breath hitched, the warmth of his presence spreading through her chest like an ember catching flame. For a heartbeat, neither looked away, caught in a wordless exchange.

“Thank you,” she whispered, the words fragile as they left her lips.

He nodded, the motion barely perceptible, as he gathered the bloodied cloths and returned them to his basket. “You should get some rest,” he said, his voice softer now. He rose to his feet with a fluid grace, moving toward the door.

As he reached the threshold, his voice lingered. “You’ll need your strength for what’s to come.”