No. There was no gain to be had by obsessing over tragedies that didn’t happen. Still, her insides churned with fear and adrenaline. It took all her self-control not to run to him and pull his messy head to her chest and slap the doctor’s hands away. Those impulses were both fierce and foreign, giving her no inner peace.
“Seems like you survived,” she said then.
“Not trying to brag, but I’m bloody good at it.”
Frustration rose like a stormy wave, but she quelled it. He wouldn’t appreciate being chided in front of the physician. Thalia wrapped that concern up and packed it tight and deep, along with her sorrow over Tirael. Layers of sadness and grief, hardly acknowledged, trembled within her, along with feelings she could scarcely name. The other Eldritch couldn’t see her weakness or uncertainty, however. They followed an icy, confident woman, one worthy to be queen.
Rather than quarrel with Raff, she turned to the doctor. “Is his treatment finished?”
“For now. He needs rest, though, and to stop taking terrible wounds.”
“Understood. I’ll try to keep him out of trouble,” she said.
“I’d appreciate it if you could extend that claim to the rest of us. Daruvar has seen sufficient excitement.”
It wasn’t quite a reproach—Wyeth wouldn’t dare—but the words held a similar shape. Thalia inclined her head. “I’ll do my best.”
Raff stood on his own. “I’ve been fantasizing about warm food and a hot shower, or vice versa, for what feels like forever. Any chance that a war hero could get some recognition around here?”
“A war hero? Really?” But she took the hand he held out to her. “Thank you, doctor. We’ll get out of your way now.”
She had no idea who to ask in the current hierarchy, who had been just below Lileth, so she stopped a random Eldritch staffer in the hallway. “Who’s been running the keep since…” There was no way to finish the question, not physically possible.
The woman knew, though, her eyes soft and kind. “Madam Isoline. Do you need her for something?”
“Not right now. We only require some food, as fast as you can prepare it.”
The worker nodded, glancing between her and the dirty wolf warrior at her side. I probably don’t look much better.
“Right away, Your Highness.”
“Oh, and if there’s venison left from Raff’s hunt, please give him a generous portion.” She suspected that the additional protein would help mend his injuries faster, though she was no expert in Animari care.
I need to become one.
As the staffer left, Raff brushed Thalia’s tangled hair away from her face. “Let’s take a break, shall we? It’s been rough.”
“Agreed.”
At her urging, he took the first shower and while he was safely out of earshot, she cried. For Tirael, the secrets she’d kept, hatred nursed furtively and kept alive through years of conspiracy and secret violence. She must have wanted vengeance for her mother and to stand proudly at their father’s side. Now she shared her mother’s ill-starred fate, a head on a pike, hair streaming in the bitter wind.
Thalia wiped her face as Raff stepped out of the bath in a whorl of steam. She’d hoped he take long enough in luxuriant scrubbing that he wouldn’t catch her, but he zeroed in on her tears straight away. Wearing only a towel—and that in the most cursory fashion—he dropped down beside her, water still beaded on his chest and shoulders.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“You’re not. Come here.”
When he opened his arms, she went. Before she met Raff, before Lil died, Thalia had always cried alone. Always. Lileth had hammered it into her head almost from birth that she couldn’t trust anyone with her vulnerable moments; she had to hide them, deny them, pretend she was nothing but a suit of armor filled with endless courage.
She’d meant to stop, dam up the waterworks, but with his arms around her, the tears fell faster, and her sobs came loud and harsh, until she feared she might choke or pass out. He took it all while stroking her back and whispering nonsense words into the tangled mass of her grungy hair. Thalia didn’t even know why he would; none of this was covered in their agreement, but she held onto him with all her strength, her face against his warm, hairy chest. Unexpectedly comforting.
Who knew what else she might have said or done, if a knock hadn’t sounded. Raff released her gently and stood. “That’ll be our dinner. I’ll take care of it. You get cleaned up.”
Thalia retreated to the bathroom, conscious that he was shielding her. The room was still steamy, and the mirror blurred, but that made it easier to strip without minding how much weakness she’d revealed. Trust didn’t come easily to her, but he’d had so many chances to betray her that she couldn’t imagine him turning now. No matter why, Raff continued to honor their agreement and offer perplexing extra services.
Like holding me while I wept.
He’d probably object if she told him that the three words that sprang to her mind to describe him were sweet, generous, and gentle. Smiling, she stepped into the hot trickle of water that was the best Daruvar’s ancient pipes could provide. Because of the low pressure, it took a long time to scrub herself clean and rinse her hair properly, a delay sufficient to get her emotions in order, as Raff had doubtless known. She put her hair up in a towel and wrapped another around her body. For Thalia, that wasn’t an oversight but an intentional choice to respond to the intimacy of his dishevelment in kind.
When she stepped out of the bathroom, he had the food laid out on a low table, the fire built up in the hearth just beyond. “We dine by firelight?”
That, too, was kind, as the flickering shadows were forgiving of her red and swollen eyes.
Raff beckoned, patting the place next to him. “You have bread and a bubbling vegetable soup. I have a slab of venison in gravy over a bed
