𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑻𝑻𝑬𝑹 | 𝑘.𝑏.

16

| | |
A S L E E P
| | |

NINA TRIED TO PUT FETA'S body back together in the dimly lit cramped little surgeon's cabin, but healing had never been her strong suit. The clarity that came with doing damage was a far more effortless impulse for Nina to follow than the slow, deliberate nature of healing. There was a rhythm to each choice, each painstaking motion. Rhythm had always been Feta's thing.

Inej had done her best to walk Nina through the injuries, hauntingly recalling the motion and force that had been used to inflict each one. Just in case it helped Nina narrow down which angle she should work. Occasionally, the Heartrender would mutter something under her breath about the science of it all, how she had to search within Feta's body for the damage and stop the bleeding at its source, something a lot trickier than sealing the skin like she'd done with Wylan.

"You managed it with me," Inej had reminded her as if on cue, although her certain, pleading, coal eyes hadn't wavered from Feta's fragile form.

Nina had snapped at her, throat dry, to get some rest.

When Inej had come to, Nina had been focused on healing Feta's throat, murmuring desperate wishes all the while that the Siren's voice could be salvaged. Inej had attempted to explain the disastrous fight to Nina: how Oomen had cornered Inej, how Feta hadn't hesitated to latch onto Oomen. And while she'd done some damage of her own, Feta clearly hadn't expected Oomen to get a solid stab in, and she clearly hadn't expected the demonic joy he derived from ruthlessly supplying them. He had just kept going, a frenzy of his glinting blade carving her up, of Feta's flailing hands. There had been so much blood.

The entire cabin reeked of death. Not a very encouraging scent.

Not until Nina had taken a shaky step back from the cot, unsure of how many hours had passed, unsure if there was anything else she could do, did Inej close her eyes again.

With the use of a wet towel that looked a little grimier than Nina would have preferred, she attempted to wash the red from Feta's skin, from her tattoos. The blood had mixed with the shimmering effect of the inked Rusalye scales and the final masterpiece was making Nina's stomach broil. Covering Feta's body with a light wool blanket, Nina tried to focus on how similar she and Matthias were built rather than the terrifying notion of listening for a pulse.

Feta was slimmer than most of the bulky Fjerdans Nina had encountered, although her shoulders had the same proud set as Matthias: though her's was that careful set of a performer, not a soldier's rugged heft. Her jaw was just as glacier sharp, and her hands just as calloused. It was strange to think they could have been neighbors, friends—

Tears sprang to Nina's eyes and she was at once relieved Inej was resting.

Whilst trying to wipe away the blood that had traveled over Feta's lips onto her chin, her neck, her chain of inked waves on her collarbone, Nina had gently straightened the glass vial that hung around her neck and revealed a pulse. Weak, puttering, shrinking, but one Nina hadn't conjured. She strengthened it in a tentative flush as she swiped the fresh tears from her cheeks.

This march, too, reminded her of Matthias, although this determination was grittier than Matthias' footprints in pure Fjerdan snow. There was a distinct Ketterdam rain to this.

Perhaps that had been what was in Kaz's face when he'd set Feta down on the table. Determination, a must. A knowing.

He was still the same Kaz, of course — cold, rude, impossible — but it wouldn't be fair to deny something else prowled just beneath all that anger. Or maybe she was just a romantic.

Nina brushed Feta's curls back from her face. Checked again for the pulse, jolted with joy when it presented itself yet again. Nina paced it.

Maybe if my training hadn't been so short, Feta would be awake right now. There would be no doubt she would survive.