She didn’t know if the rumors of her mothers’ affairs were true or not, and she didn’t care. If she’d been married to someone like her father, she would have sought solace elsewhere, too. Thomas was right. Queen Bathsheba and King Balthazar were a pestilence on this city. Blood relative or not, if they found Celia conspiring with Ragmen, they’d saw off her head in the square.
The door creaked open, and Oswald stood in the entrance, his blond curls dripping on the white robe. The silky fabric barely covered his chest, and she could still see the letters burned into his flesh. She dragged the bowl of water back into the room before wrapping his arm around her shoulders. She grimaced at the broken collarbone protruding through his skin.
He leaned into her, and she kicked the door shut behind them. His presence threw an extra kink into her plans, but she couldn’t toss him back to his executioners. He was Tobias’s closest friend. And anyway, he’d obviously suffered enough.
Resting against her shoulder, Oswald hobbled across the room to her bed. Gently supporting his back, she helped him recline against her blue satin pillows. He winced, nearly crying out when she helped him shift his legs onto the mattress.
He stared at her though his one open eye—pale blue, the color of glacial ice. His jaw was set tight. “Thomas trusts you. I don’t.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Well, you don’t have a choice right now.” She sat next to him on the edge of the bed, tossing her hair over her shoulder. He smelled of her lavender soap. “Which leg is worse off?”
“That one.” He nodded to his right leg. “And the ankle of the other. They rammed a nail through the tendon.”
Christ. Sympathy pierced her. “Did it hurt—I mean.” She swallowed, staring at his mangled legs. Stupid question. “This is horrifying.”
“What, this is new information to you, Princess? Hark, everyone! Nippexies swim, dogs rut in the street, and your family tortures Tatters!”
Her ears bloomed with heat. “I was banished when I was six. I wasn’t exactly privy to state secrets.” Flustered, she touched her fingertips to his leg. “Stop talking. I need to remember the spell.” She closed her eyes, grazing his leg with her hands and chanting the Angelic words. When she finished, he let out a long, relieved breath as his bones mended.
Her pulse raced. This was all a terrible idea, and it wasn’t a part of her plan. But if she was going to rule over Maremount someday, she’d be queen of the Tatters too. She might as well start taking care of them now.
Her fingers moved from one part of his body to another, healing his ankle and his arms before moving on to his eye. The swelling reduced enough that he could open it, but the deep purple color remained. He stared at her as she moved to his collarbone, resting the tips of her fingers on the bronzed skin by his shoulder. She took care to avoid the exposed bone. The spell wasn’t a panacea. It seemed to set his bones, and the skin grew over the wound, but the collarbone continued to bulge from his chest at an awkward angle. She frowned at the lump by his shoulder, hoping she hadn’t done any permanent damage with her spell.
He glanced down at it. “Good enough.”
She moved her fingers toward the burns on his chest, but he caught her hands in his. “Leave the burns.”
She frowned, surprised by the ferocity in his voice. “They branded you.”
“I am a Ragman. And proud I didn’t give up any real information.” His gaze was unwavering. “I was close to breaking. I would have, if Thomas hadn’t showed up with an iron bar.”
Her throat tightened. She didn’t want to imagine the torments he’d endured. Still, his admission that he’d been close to the breaking point suggested that he was beginning to trust her, at least a little.
He rubbed his shoulder. “It’s over now. And maybe you’re a Throcknell pearl-licker, but I’m certainly feeling a lot better.”
She looked him over. “Anything else broken?”
A faint smile flickered across his lips as he rubbed his toned arms. “Eager to get your hands on more of me now that I’m in your bed?”
A blush crept up her chest. “What?”
“I didn’t see your fingers on Thomas’s neck. You didn’t have to touch me to do the spell.”
Her cheeks were on fire, and she hoped he couldn’t see it in the wavering candlelight. He obviously never learned any manners.
He raised his hands over his head, stretching over her pillows. “Not that I can blame you for taking the chance when you could. Those porridge-faced ferrets who prance around you at court wouldn’t excite me, were I a woman.”
Apparently, he was feeling better. “Oh, really? Well, I’m not the one who wasted time prettifying myself for our encounter.”
He sat up. “We’ve got a little time, but not much. Asmodeus gave the wardens strict instructions. No one was to bother him in his work. It may take a few hours yet afore they find his broken carcass.”