Page 2 of Of Blood and Banes (The Arterian #2)

A LOSS OF BLOOD AND TITLES

L ittle did I know living was scarier than dying. After my first brush with death in Arterias, I realized living was hard—full of pain, heartache, and uncertainty. But death? Death is final. Quiet. Dark.

And in an odd way…peaceful.

“You were out for several days after the battle in Arterias. You lost so much blood, I’m surprised you’ve managed to survive,” Marge chides and smacks the top of my hand with the head of her staff. Though it’s gentle enough to bar a warning, the top of my hand still stings from the contact.

She hisses, “Woman, are you not listening? You need to take it easy. Give your body the rest it needs to recover.”

Glaring at her, I hesitantly retract my hand from the door handle.

The memory of the sword hidden within the wooden staff is a ringing reminder of all the things I don’t know about Marge.

While some innate part of me trusts her, I’m hesitant to listen.

I need to see Daeja. I need answers as to how long we’ll be held as so-called prisoners. Or…hostages? Are they one and the same?

I grumble, “And smacking me with your staff is supposed to help my body recover?”

“If you weren’t such a stubborn thing, I wouldn’t have to resort to such violence.” She presses the length of her staff against my chest and forces me away from the door.

I laugh. “Are you really herding me right now?”

“If that’s what it’ll take for you to listen to me.”

She sweeps me back away from the door and to one of the beds lining the room in neat rows.

The same bed I’d woken up in, with several blood-flecked rags layering the mattress.

I’d angered the wound in my ribs yesterday when I found out Darian’s true heritage and passed out shortly after.

Even now, my side aches with every move and breath.

As if a shard of glass is wedged between my ribs, and with every unmeasured breath, it burrows deeper.

“Now sit down,” Marge commands.

When I finally sit on the bed, she removes her staff from my chest. Her nimble hands pull the loose, cream-colored shirt tucked into my pants free, and her fingertips graze the thick bandages wound around my torso.

Probably wasn’t the best idea, putting me in a light-colored shirt.

Small flecks of blood bloom like roses on the material.

She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. “See? You’ve ruptured it. It’s bleeding again.”

She turns away from me and hobbles over to a wooden set of cabinets tucked up against a stone wall. Her staff clicks on the wide stone tiles as she returns with a handful of materials.

She slowly peels off the bandages, sticky with my blood, then presses a fresh cloth to my wound. Crimson immediately bleeds onto the material. I level my breathing, straining to focus on anything but the pain throbbing in my ribs.

Five things I see : sunlight leaks through several sets of windows barred in iron grates, washing the stone walls around us in warmth.

Almost twenty beds fill the room from wall to wall, with the wooden cabinets Marge retrieved materials from earlier spanning one side of the room.

Wooden beams arch overhead, accentuating the soft curve of the ceiling.

Four things I feel : I grip the bed sheets in my fist and bite down into my cheek. A throbbing pain pulses harder in between my ribs?—

“This is going to hurt,” Marge murmurs with a twinge of sympathy.

A sharp object tugs at my skin, the sensation mixing with my pain.

I avert my gaze, looking everywhere but where she stitches my wound closed.

But I can’t ignore the pain. Nor the sensation of her needle piercing me, then threading the stitch through my skin as if I’m nothing more than a torn blanket.

Near desperate for a distraction and through gritted teeth, I ask, “Marge, what happened that night back in Arterias? After I passed out?”

“Well, after you fainted word got out the rebels captured Darian. They started to close in on us, but your dragon kept them back. That rebel woman you set free is apparently the lead of this southern town, and she called a halt on their advances. They took whoever was still alive after the battle as prisoners.”

“You said I was out for…several days?”

“Yes. Many of us thought you were dead. Or were going to be. But the Gods have greater plans for you. The rebels let Cole carry you the whole way here, and your dragon followed like his shadow.”

My heart flutters at Cole’s name. Gods, the fear he must have felt while holding me in his arms, bleeding and unconscious. I look down at my hands, and his mother’s ring still wraps around my finger. Like a distant promise.

Marge pours a warm liquid onto my wound, and the splintering pain melts like frost in the morning sun.

“It’s a miracle you survived...” Marge whispers as she winds a fresh wrap around my torso. Once she finishes, she places her hand softly over mine. “You need to take care of yourself, first. We cannot lose you.”

I glance from her gloved hand up to meet her eyes. “Who is we?”

Her expression softens. “Everyone. We all need you.”

I scoff at the idea. “Does that apply to Darian, too? Or…pardon me for being so informal. Prince Darian? How could you not tell me?”

“Because titles can be dangerous things. And I didn’t need you to focus on it.”

“And what did you need me to focus on instead? Learning medicine?”

She grabs my right hand and traces the dark stain ringing my middle finger—the mark I got when I met Daeja.

“This. Your dragon. You are the first dragon rider of your generation, Katerina. And of all things, you have a black dragon. It is no coincidence.”

I slip my hand out of hers and fight the temptation to look down at the dark ring on my finger. “You knew all along?”

“I did. The day I saw you cutting those mushrooms, it had never been about how you cut them. I saw your fingers and that ring. When I gave you those gloves, it was to protect you.”

“Protect me from what?”

“Not what. Who .”

I flinch. “And who is that?”

“All of the people who want you dead.”

I swallow under the severity of her stare. “People want me dead?”

“Many.” She pats my leg. “Both you and your dragon. Which is why we need you to get started on your training again. But you cannot until you’ve properly healed. Otherwise, you risk being worse off than you are now. Rest for a few days, and then we can reassess you.”

“But I?—”

“I mean it, Katerina. And if you only listen to one thing I ask of you,” she removes the black leather gloves from her hands and flops them onto my thigh, “keep these on at all times. Nobody else needs to know you wear the ring.”

“Does everyone know what the ring means?” I ask as I tug the gloves onto my fingers.

“I’m not sure. Commoners in Arterias likely wouldn’t, since the King is quite prone to erasing all the history and any information pertaining to dragons and dragon riders. The King’s Close Circle is a different story. And as for the rebels…just…keep the gloves on.”

The stir-crazy drive to leave this bed forces me into a frenzy. Had it not been for the waxing and waning exhaustion washing over me, Marge might have needed to shackle me to the bed to keep me down.

“Blood loss,” she tells me when I groan through the struggle of keeping my eyes open.

The rest of the day is a blur. Every time I open my eyes again, the light in the room has shifted to a different part of the day. When a soft hand wraps over my shoulder and squeezes, I open my eyes to find a set of warm amber ones looking back at me.

“Hungry?” Cole whispers and takes a seat on the edge of the bed near my knees. A platter of food rests in his palms.

Shadows stretch across the floors in the telltale sign of sunset, with orange and yellow bathing Cole in a glowing light.

I edge onto my forearms and wince at the pain throbbing in my ribs.

Cole sets the tray down and wraps one hand around the nape of my neck and lower back to help me sit up.

He then adjusts the pillows behind me to support my spine.

My stomach growls when I notice the wide array of fruits, cheeses, and breads on the plate he’s brought me. As soon as he hears it, he grins and places the tray over my lap. I pluck piece after piece. Each bite triggers a deeper sense of the ravenous hunger within me.

I glance up from the tray as Marge shuffles out the door with Archie, leaving Cole and me alone in the room of empty beds and warm light.

I swallow. Cole’s watching me with the intensity of a thousand burning suns.

Calculating every angle of my movements, as if he’s expecting death to claim me at any given moment.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“For what?” His soft expression is lost in concern.

“For this,” I motion down toward the food, “and for getting me to the Dragon Lands. Marge said you carried me the whole way.”

“I told you one way or another I’d be getting you and Daeja to the Dragon Lands, didn’t I? Though, I wanted to be here when you woke up…” His smile weakens, the warmth in his eyes fading. He clears his throat, breaking our eye contact. “I’m sorry I couldn’t.”

I stop mid-chew, analyzing his expression as if it’ll tell me what he’s actually thinking. “And where were you instead?”

“Negotiating.”

“Sethan mentioned his proposal was to leave Darian here and we could all go home, right?”

He sighs, shaking his head and still not looking me in the eyes. “His proposal has changed.”

“To what?”

He pats my shin, then stands. “Don’t worry, I’ll figure out a way to get us home. The only thing I want you focusing on is recovering.”

I lean forward to weakly grip the hem of his shirt, garnering a side-glance and pause.

“Don’t do this again,” I mutter under my breath. “What is it you’re discussing with Sethan?”