The Jack of Hearts (House of Cards Book 1)

Chapter 8 | Final Court

The Cluvani Wilderness

The Lady Khalon du Ihlath moved through the survivors and tended to their wounds as dawn came drifting through the trees with more rain. Her voice was level, without sympathy or coldness as she addressed each injury.

It remained even as she wrenched her brother's shoulder back into its socket. Lord Xavion du Ihlath gritted with teeth through what must have been considerable pain. Lady Khalon strapped his arm to his chest and moved along, systematically working through the camp.

Lady Nuru approached Rosalyne and cocked her head, interrupting her observations. She held out a spare tunic and a twisted coil slipped from behind her ear. The young woman blocked the jaquelle from the rest of the camp as Rosalyne took it gratefully and let her salvaged cloak slip from her shoulders. Nuru was the only Cluvani shorter than Rosalyne and the dark periwinkle wool of the tunic only fell to her knees. It felt blessedly warm and dry as she belted the cloak about her waist again with a spare strap of leather.

Rosalyne curtsied her thanks and the lady's face crooked with a half-hearted smile.

Rosalyne wrestled her hair into a plait as she watched, wincing every time she turned her ribs. Mud and filth caked up to her knees, scraped and bruised. Her hair was matted and hardly tameable, the ends springing from her plait whenever she turned her head.

As Rosalyne tied off the ends, a shadow passed over her. «Highness.»

Lady Khalon stood above her, glaring down at the jaquelle with a square jaw and slim, intelligent eyes. «May I look to her injuries? Rian says she took an arrow to the arm.»

Rosalyne nodded, inviting the medic to sit with a wave of her hand. She rolled up her sleeve and carefully unwound the bandage.

Lady Khalon leaned forward, hands on her knees, and clicked softly over the slash across Rosalyne's face.

«This'll have to be cleaned and sealed.» Khalon pointed to Rosalyne's arm. She had Rosalyne raise her arms and unbelt her cloak so she could run her hands over the jaquelle's sides. Khalon nodded. «Highness' ribs are bruised too — not much I can do in this mess. That cut too — I can clean it but it'll scar.»

Rosalyne grimaced with vanity. No one had ever accused the jaquelle of being a beauty. She'd had every opportunity to wish for handsomer features. Her mater had commanded her to visit the shrine each day to pray for it. And she'd gone.

Lady Khalon raised soaked a bandage with her bare hand to clean her cheek.

The jaquelle sat back and removed her dingy gloves and offered them to the medic. Lady Khalon frowned with confusion.

Khalon sat back on her haunches. «If the jaquelle doesn't want me to touch her — I don't have to treat her.»

The jaquelle held the gloves further out. «I am grateful for her ladyship's services but it is a matter of her protection.»

The lady looked to Lord O'rian, who had already received treatment, and he jerked his chin forward. "Wear the gloves — you'll feel it if you don't."

The lady pulled on the gloves carefully and raised the cloth again with less surety than before.

The alcohol burned in Rosalyne's cheek but she did not flinch.

The lady withdrew her hand and asked the jaquelle to brace her wounded arm up. Rosalyne grasped her opposite shoulder, arm folded over her chest.

Khalon flushed the arrow wound with water first, then poured the bottle of brandy directly over the open flesh.

Rosalyne took in a deep breath and rolled her head back to stare at midnight bleeding from the sky.