Page 67 of Gilded Curses

“Good actor.” She touched her fingers to her temple before going to her knees before him. She reached for his bandages. “I don’t think you’re in the condition to do anything tonight.”

“That’s what I wanted them to believe.” He caressed her hands before stopping her from unraveling the bandages. “It’s not pretty under there. Leave it be.”

“That’s not going to happen. They returned my ointment from when we traveled through the Barren Lands. It will help you heal faster and ease the pain. I’m cleaning and treating this no matter what you say.”

He didn’t like the idea of her seeing what lay beneath; she was upset enough as her hands trembled. But he didn’t argue with her; that ointment would come in handy right now, and they didn’t have time to fight over this.

Besides, the faster it healed, the better he would feel. He’d faked being as incapacitated as he was, but he had lost a lot of blood, and his stump throbbed with every beat of his heart. Losing his hand and then having a flame held to what remained of it hadn’t been the most pleasant sensation in the world.

When the last of the bandages fell away, she bit her bottom lip as tears filled her eyes. The red and blackened end of his wrist looked as bad as it felt. He swore he could see his raw flesh pulsing.

“Why did you do this to yourself?” she whispered.

The rage driving him since Desmond announced his new game faded when faced with her sorrow. He cupped her face with his remaining hand and rubbed her cheek with his thumb. When her tears spilled free, he wiped them away.

“Don’t cry for me, Sahira. I made this choice.”

“Why? Why would you choose this? What happened out there?”

“Nothing good.”

She squeezed his knees. “I’m going to get something to clean this and my ointment. When I come back, you’re going to tell me everything.”

Before he could protest, she rose and ran into her room. He heard her rummaging through her things and doors opening and closing before she returned with a bowl, two towels over her shoulder, and a bulge in the pocket of her dress.

“Found this under the sink.” She lifted the bowl a little higher as she hurried toward him. Setting the bowl on the floor, she removed the ointment from her pocket and went to her knees before him again. “Speak.”

With tender care, she lifted the bowl and held it in one hand while she guided his injury into the warm water with her other hand. While she worked, he told her everything that happened on the hunt.

As he spoke, her hand trembled before she steadied it. She removed his stump from the water and gently dabbed at it with the ends of a towel. Despite her tender ministrations, he gritted his teeth against the needles firing through his veins and arm.

“If Zeth lost, then why are you the one without a hand?” she asked when he finished speaking.

“They said they wanted a hand and would have it… no matter what. Desmond didn’t think I’d cut off my own hand, none of them did, but they all took bets on whether I’d cut off Zeth’s or not. I gave them a hand; it just wasn’t Zeth’s,” he said.

She lifted her head. “You cut off your hand so they would all lose a bet?”

“No. I cut off my hand because I’m not their pawn anymore. They can’t keep me under their thumb, and now they know it.”

“Have you ever heard the saying ‘cutting off your nose to spite your face’?”

Orin understood why she didn’t get it; he wasn’t entirely sure he understood it, but he wouldn’t change his decision even if he could.

“I lost my hand, but the look on Desmond’s face when I picked it up, threw it at him, and told him to put it on his fucking mantle is a memory I will never lose. They assumed they knew me so well; they never had a clue.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN

Sahira had thought she knew him so well too, but as she gazed at the brutalized end of his wrist, she realized she’d been so wrong. Blinking away the tears blurring her vision, she dipped her fingers into her ointment and tenderly dabbed it on.

“You shouldn’t have done this,” she whispered.

She couldn’t stand his suffering, and even if he didn’t flinch from her touch, his jaw was set and sweat beaded his brow.

He clasped her chin and lifted her head. “Would you rather I’d taken the demon’s hand?”

Sahira swallowed the lump in her throat as she lost herself to the beauty of his eyes. “Yes.”

She was ashamed to admit it, but it was true. She’d rather see Zeth suffering than Orin. She loved him too much for that.