Page 167 of Of Bargains & Betrayal

“I know. I know.”

He clenched his teeth as he worked his shirt halfway up, bearing planes of taut muscle littered with bargain marks, scars, and one pissed-off wound. “Be happy you’ve never been a dark fae on the other end of bright iron. It hurts even worse than it looks.”

Bright iron. I’d seen what it did to those shifters in Embervale, and that was after decades of seeing how horrifically injured Odessan miners were in their pursuits of excavating it, oblivious to its true danger.

“What do I need to do?” I was already on my knees beside the chaise, rolling out the contents of what was a small medical kit—loaded with needles, thread, lengthy bandage rolls, and squares of an impossibly soft cloth. All that, I understood, but the fluid-filled vial was outside my slim expertise in field medicine.

“Soak up that liquid with—” Maksym’s jaw worked, and he rolled his head back with a hiss, “a little cloth. Stuff it in me. Give me a stitch or two. Three, if you’re feeling—fuck.”

“You know I’m no medic, right?” Despite that, I was following his instructions. One small square sucked up every drop of the draught, and I set it aside while I loaded a needle with an ample length of thread.

“Better you than me, princess.”

The pain in his voice had me moving a little quicker.

“Is it getting worse?”

“The bright iron has a tendency to do that until—” I stuffed the cloth into his wound, and Maksym clammed up for a few solid seconds, breathing sharply through his nose. “It’s neutralized.” A lengthy breath poured out of him, only for him to tense when I went in for the first stitch. “And with the ward attacks, I’m—goddess below, that stings.”

“Sorry.”

I didn’t dare look at Maksym as I worked through giving him far more than just three stitches, plus a break from my questions.

He could keep up his semi-tough exterior all he wanted; it didn’t matter when all I could see was how truly mortal he was beneath his utterly ethereal shell.

When I insisted on wrapping a bandage around his mid-section, Maksym regarded me with a look reminiscent of a child who’d been told they were too sick to play. The look worsened when I refused to let him stand right away.

“Just sit still for a fucking moment, will you?” I wiped the drying blood from my hands onto my pants and caught myself trying to wipe off the bargain mark from my palm for what had to be the hundredth time since I’d gotten the damn thing.

Maksym chuckled. “You’ll stop thinking it’s dirt someday, I promise.”

“Oh no, it’s not time for jokes.” I fixed him with a stare. “Why is Gallan getting Apollo ready for me? I swear to the gods, if you are sending me away from here⁠—”

“You aren’t going away in the manner you think you are.” Goddess help us both, he was putting his jacket back on. “You are much better suited with the forces at the gate. I assume you have half-decent aim, soldier?”

My spine pulled fully taut. “Of course I do.”

Sure, it had been a few months since I’d spent any considerable amount of time with a bow, but it would take a hell of a lot longer than that to undo the years I spent learning how to shoot a little farther and a little faster than most of my old squad. While on horseback.

“Incredible.” He smiled, but it brought me no reassurance. “And even if you can’t bring yourself to return fire on your countrymen, your knowledge of their military will be invaluable. Jasper will need you there regardless.”

“And what about you?” Those words tumbled out of my mouth with no thought. “I’m supposed to just leave you like this?”

Maksym’s smile grew, lifting his amber-black eyes.

“Look at you, worrying about me now. I’ll be fine back in the war room. The sprites are a rather attentive flock, if you haven’t gathered that already.”

I had, immensely, and it was some combination of that and the pleading look Maksym gave me that had me sighing.

“Fine. But I…” This was not the parting thought I wanted to leave Maksym with, but I couldn’t let it keep weighing on me. “I need to tell you something before I go.”

“If it’s about Jasper, I already know.”

Every bit of careful explanation I’d thought of withered on my tongue. “You do?”

Maksym nodded and, in a move that left me with even fewer words, he reached for my hand, drawing me back to stand between his legs. “I do. And I don’t truly care or fault either of you.”

His attention settled on our threaded fingers, and he exhaled.