Page 40 of Lore of the Tides

A large leather bag.

Syrelle gripped the bag in his fist like he was going to strangle it as he stomped toward her. Lore shrank away from him, but he grabbed her arm, and... oh, okay, the leather bag was a medical kit. Like one her aunt brought with her on house calls. Only way more stocked and sophisticated. He found a bottle of something vile with vapors that assaulted Lore’s nose the moment he yanked the cork out with his teeth; gods, he was unhinged. He spat the cork across the room, not even watching as it bounced off seemingly every piece of furniture before disappearing behind the wardrobe.

Lore pursed her lips. It would be him on his hands and knees later to locate the cork—she wasn’t going to find the damned—

“Ow, that burns!”

“I have to make sure you aren’t infected; sailors are notorious for neglecting their weapons,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. He made to set the bottle down before thinking better of it and doused her still-bleeding cuts withmoreof the liquid fire in a bottle.

“Okay, that’s enough! Whatever this stuff is, there is no way any impurity can flourish now.”

Syrelle growled.

Lore hissed.

No way she was letting him pour more of that on her without putting up a fight.

He cut his eyes at her before shaking the bottle and setting it on the bedside table. “No more left, anyway.” Then, with alarming quickness, he scooped a clear goop out of a small, squat jar, and before Lore could ask,What the hell is that stuff?he slathered it on her arm and calf.

Lore sniffed at her arm warily and relaxed a smidge.

She recognized this one by its earthy smell. She’d made a similar salve for her aunt countless times, and at least her wounds had immediately stopped burning from the first medicinal concoction he’d subjected her to.

With another growl, Syrelle ripped a length of cloth from the bag and wrapped the pieces around her arms, tying each of them tight, though his fingers, she noticed, were still shaking.

He finished tying off the one on her calf before tending to her cheek.

“Stay still. This one isn’t deep, but still needs to be cleaned,” he ordered as he gripped her chin. She couldn’t help it, she’d flinched away the moment he’d procuredanotherbottle of that blasted burning liquid from the bag and came near her face with it... This stuff was torture.

“I am staying still,” she said through a sharp intake of breath. Gods, itstung. She felt like her face was onfire.

“As still as the puppy I had as a kid.”

“Must have been a very calm and collected dog...”

“No, he was wild and rambunctious and only stopped moving when he would finally wear himself out and sleep.”

“Are you finished yet?” His attempt at a distraction wasn’t working.

“Just about.” And then he doused her again.

“Fucker! It burns!”

“I know. I know. I’m sorry.”

He slathered her cheek with the earthy-smelling salve. The familiar aroma calmed her still-racing heart a little.

He clenched the little bottle in his hand. Lore was afraid the glass would burst and cut him, and then she would have to help clean him up... only she wouldn’t.

She still hated him.

“Feel better?”

“No.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would after what they tried to...” He dropped the bottle of salve back into the leather bag and placed it on the bed.

“They were going to feed me to the razorfins.” Lore cackled. The sound bubbling out of her was not so much a laugh as... hysteria. “And then... and then they were going to all watch whatever was left of medrown.”