Gut wound. And a bad one, by the look of it. Any cutter from the Second Division gathering wounded would have left this girl where she lay in favor of those who might have a chance to survive. A wound to the muscle might heal clean, and if a limb was injured it could be amputated, but a puncture to the viscera meant festering and a long, nasty death as sure as sunrise.
Winter suddenly was back in another tent, on another continent. Bobby had taken a similar wound, after making Winter swear never to take her to a cutter. At the time, Winter had been foolish enough to imagine she might be able to do something about it on her own. Graff, a veteran sergeant, had disabused her of that notion, and only Feor’s sorcerous intervention had saved Bobby’s life. For a while.
She shook her head and wiped at the tears pricking her eyelids. The question is, is this woman as naive as I was? Or has she guessed that Abraham has something more than ordinary healing to offer?
The spearwoman was looking down at the girl, and her fierce expression was gone, replaced with an overwhelming grief. She’s desperate.
“Please help her,” she said in Murnskai even Winter could understand. “My sister.”
There was a long moment of silence.
“I’ll do what I can,” Abraham said. “But we need to be alone.”
The woman nodded and crawled out of the tent without another word. Winter hesitated for a moment.
“You’re sure about this?” she said. “She knows that’s not a wound anyone can live through. Which means she’s going to know—”
“It doesn’t matter now,” Abraham said, looking down at the dying girl. “She’s here. I’m here. I can’t just ignore her.”
Winter nodded slowly.
“We’ll deal with the consequences when they happen,” Abraham said. He let out a long breath. “Wait outside, please. It’s easier with no one watching.”
Winter pushed her way out of the tent on her hands and knees, clambering awkwardly to her feet beside the spearwoman leader. Someone had draped a fur blanket over Alex’s shoulders, and she looked comfortable enough. The rest of the spearwomen were still going about the business of setting up the camp, but throwing frequent glances in their direction.
“He’ll help your sister,” Winter said, in her halting Murnskai. “He is... a very good healer.”
The spearwoman nodded vaguely. She was staring into the forest, in the direction the red-?eyes had come from. Winter followed her gaze, searching for movement, but there was nothing but the dead trees.
“What’s your name?” Winter said. “I’m Winter.”
“Winter.” The woman frowned, and touched her chest. “Letingerae.”
“Letin... gah... ray?” Winter struggled with the unfamiliar syllables. The woman grinned, for the first time since Winter had met her.
“Leti,” she said. “I’m Leti.”
“My friends are Alex and Abraham,” Winter said, pointing. “What’s your sister’s name?”
Leti looked away. “Vess.”
“Winter?” Abraham’s voice came from within the tent. “You can come inside now.”
Leti pushed through the tent flap so quickly the whole structure shook, Winter worming her way in after. Abraham was undoing the bandage from Vess’ middle, using it to scrape at some of the dried blood and pus. Even through the grime, it was clear that there was unbroken skin underneath, and the girl’s breathing was visibly eased. Leti’s eyes widened.
“She will sleep for a long time,” Abraham said. “A day or two, maybe. And we will need water, to clean her. But she will be fine.”
“You...” Leti paused, swallowing hard. “You are—” And then a word Winter didn’t recognize.
“What’d she say?” Winter said.
“It means... Blessed One, maybe?” Abraham frowned. “I’m not sure I understand the theology.”
“It doesn’t sound like the sort of thing you kill someone for being,” Winter said.
Abraham nodded and said in Murnskai, “I think so. I may not understand you properly.”
“She will live.” Leti looked down at her sister. “She will really live?”
Abraham nodded. “She will live.”
“I will clean her.” The spearwoman didn’t look up. “We will find you a tent. You are welcome to share our fire.”
Winter closed her eyes and breathed a prayer of thanks to anyone who might be listening.
7
Raesinia
Raesinia had never been out on the ocean before. The river Vor was deep and wide enough that oceangoing vessels could come as far north as Vordan City, and she’d been aboard a few of those—?most notably the Rosnik, where she’d been captured by Ionkovo during Maurisk’s coup. Once, as a girl, she’d gone with her father to Vayenne, at the mouth of the river, and seen the harbor there.
That trip had taken several weeks, with frequent stopovers for official functions along the way. The Prudence made the same voyage in a little less than two days, even accounting for several halts at military checkpoints. Raesinia was no judge of ships, but the courier looked fast, sleek and streamlined as a dolphin with two masts whose spars seemed absurdly overlarge. She’d taken them downriver with only a few sails deployed, giving Raesinia the impression of a spirited horse eager to get out of the stalls and into a field where it could work up a gallop.
Certainly, she moved well compared to the fat-?bellied merchantmen they passed along the way. Prudence had no room to spare. Aside from her small crew, she carried only passengers and a sack of diplomatic correspondence from the Borelgai embassy. Even the Queen of Vordan was asked to share a cabin, though the captain had offered up his own accommodation for her use. Raesinia didn’t mind sharing with Cora, though, especially since the girl was in on her secret and Raesinia didn’t have to pretend she could sleep.
Cora didn’t sleep much, either, as far as Raesinia could tell. She’d hardly been able to sit still since she’d first heard about the voyage. Their destination, Viadre, was the capital of Borel, and as far as trade and finance were concerned practically capital of the world. To someone like Cora, for whom the stock books of the Exchange were light reading, visiting the great markets of Viadre was the next best thing to visiting the kingdom of God.
Besides Cora, Raesinia had brought the minimum entourage she thought she could get away with: Barely and Jo as her personal guards, a pair of maids chosen by Mistress Lagovil, and Eric. Duke Dorsay was on board, and the Borelgai ambassador, Ihannes Pulwer-?Monsangton; and with their staff and guards along as well it was no wonder the Prudence felt decidedly cramped. Raesinia spent as much time as she could on deck, staying out of the way of the crew and marveling at the speed with which the coastline slid by.