Page 183 of Sword & Sacrifice

Emmaline gasped. “You wouldn’t!”

Griselda bared her teeth. “Try me.”

Which was how Emmaline found herself trying to coax an ornery captain to remain on bedrest. “Dresden,” she said, trying not to show her exasperation. “You aren’t in any state to walk right now.”

“F—funny you,” Dresden growled.

Echo snorted delicately behind Emmaline. “Yes, that’s definitely what you were going to say.”

Dresden’s uninjured eye glared at her before refocusing on Emmaline. “Em, I know the signs of a battle. I hear the whispers. Varro is returning, and I’m going to gut that bastard and string his intestines up—” he cut himself off with a grimace.

“You don’t need to bite your tongue,” Emmaline replied, smiling softly as she guided the man back onto his cot. “I’ve heard worse at the sick bed.” She glanced slyly at her companion before adding, “And from Echo.”

Echo shrugged, unrepentant. Although she was dressed as a woman again, she hadn’t quite shaken off her favorite roguish persona. “Language is a great way to vent your anger, Captain. Tell us everything you want to do to Varro and maybe someone will oblige you.”

“Who’s going to avenge me? You? A little wisp of a thing who’s probably never held a sword?”

Emmaline gasped and plunked her hands on her hips. “Captain Dresden, you know better than to look down on a warrior because of their gender.”

“It isn’t her gender,” Dresden replied, rolling his eye. “It’s her size. A wet cat would weigh more than her. And put up a better fight.”

Echo batted her eyelashes. “Oh please, give me more of your assumptions, kind sir, so I can shove them right up your—”

“Echo, this is not good bedside manner,” Emmaline scolded as she fluffed Dresden’s pillow.

When she turned around, she found Koen standing behind her, carrying a tray of food. “Oh, thank you,” she said, smiling as she took the tray.

A soft flush of pride touched his cheeks. “Thought you might need some help.”

“Why do so many people treat me like I’m invisible,” Echo grumbled. “I haven’t even mastered that skill yet.”

Koen ignored Echo and asked, “Do you need anything else, Em?”

“Could you get me some fresh bandages, dear? I want to change Dresden’s dressings.”

Koen nodded eagerly and dashed off to the supply chests.

Turning back to Dresden, Emmaline said, “If you want to heal, you need to take care of yourself, which means you need to eat.” She filled a spoon with stew and held it to his mouth.

He glared at her and reached up as if he would take the spoon, only to glower at his bandaged hand. Finally, he settled back and opened his mouth, allowing her to feed him. Between each bite, his eyes skated back and forth between Echo and Emmaline. Then suddenly he relaxed and smiled. “Thank you, Em. You’ve always been my favorite medic.”

Emmaline beamed at him, happy to see him finally settling in. Perhaps working in the medic tents wouldn’t be so bad after all if it meant she could soothe her patients.

Just as she settled into the role, a warning bell rang in the distance: three distinct, harsh clangs.

“I knew it,” Dresden growled. “That bastard has returned.” He started to struggle out of his cot again, determined to face the traitorous general head-on.

Emmaline’s hands hovered over the captain, trying to keep him on the cot without accidentally exacerbating his wounds. “Please, Captain, settle down.”

He wasn’t the only agitated soldier in the tent. Several of them were calling out questions, arguing with the medics. Two who each had one bandaged leg had grabbed onto each other and were hobbling out of the tent.

“Everyone, calm down!” Medic Hess shouted over the noise. “We are aware of the situation, and your siblings-in-arms will protect the city.”

Arnsveldian soldiers were some of the worst patients. Protests rose from every corner of the tent as they insisted they were fit enough to fight.

Emmaline rushed to the bedside of a woman trying to find her sword despite the severe burns on her arms. Koen stood nearby, watching with wide eyes as he clutched an armful of bandages. He looked pleadingly at Emmaline, not sure what to do.

“Grab me a vial of Liquid Sleep,” Emmaline instructed as she grabbed the soldier’s shoulders, careful to avoid the bandaged areas, and pinned her to the cot.