Page 94

I couldn’t object even if I wanted to. Henrik leans down and scoops me up in one smooth motion, holding me with one arm supporting my back and the other under my legs. I burrow against him, trying not to whimper.

Pranmore’s magic feels like fingers in the wound; they explore and manipulate, tug and pull.

“Tendons are tricky,” he says as he works. “And so difficult to get a hold of.”

My stomach rolls, and I close my eyes tighter.

“Can you heal her?” Henrik asks, his voice tight with concern.

“Oh, yes,” Pranmore says calmly. “It just takes longer than I like, and I hate to see her in pain while I work. How are you doing, Clover?”

I meep out a reply, hoping I sound brave.

“Not too much longer,” he promises. “The worst of it is over now.”

Not too much longer feels like an eternity. Just when I think I might pass out, the pain begins to subside.

“Just knitting it all together now,” Pranmore says. “Feeling any better?”

“Yes,” I manage, trying to catch my breath.

And then he’s finished.

The elf steps back, surveying his handiwork. “It’s going to itch something fierce in the next few days—that’s normal. It must finish healing on its own, but I’ve done the brunt of the work.”

I look down, breathing a sigh of relief to see the injury has all but vanished.

“Let’s make sure I connected everything correctly,” he says. “Move your arm around.”

I don’t want to, and I want to tell him as much, but I don’t want to look like a child in front of Henrik.

Hesitantly, I try it. “It’s stiff.”

“It will be,” Pranmore says. “I’ll help you exercise it in the next few days. You’ll be using your bow before you know it.”

“Thank you, Pranmore,” I say, and much to my horror, my eyes sting with tears. “You really are a handy elf to have around.”

He nods as if he already knew as much, and then he turns. “I’m famished. I’m going to join the others—I saw bread and apples, did I not?”

“And squirrel,” I can’t help but add.

The elf grimaces as he walks off. “Of all the barbaric…”

Once we’re alone, Henrik adjusts me in his arms. “Are you all right?”

Gulping, acknowledging I’m pressed against his very fine chest, I nod.

“It wasn’t too traumatic?”

“You’re waiting for me to burst into tears again, aren’t you?” I chastise lightly. “What kind of girl do you think I am?”

Last night, Henrik almost kissed me. Tonight, I’m in his arms.

“My favorite kind apparently,” he says quietly.

Startled, I meet his eyes.

But instead of elaborating, he clears his throat and looks away. “Can you stand?”