“Only a few. The Mimkia will do the rest. Just a bit longer, Temp,” Aleks murmured softly. “Madrid, will you rub this over the lacerations on her other arm?”
Tempest’s eyes drooped as she watched Madrid lift her arm and liberally slather a pale paste on her bicep. A tingling sensation ran across her skin and her aching bruises, scratches, and sore muscles disappeared.
“That’s amazing,” she slurred, realizing her pain was completely gone. In fact, she could only feel pressure from Aleks working on her wounds. “So, this is Mimkia, huh? I understand why people fight over the stuff.”
It was bloody glorious.
Madrid studied her arm and glanced away, doing his best to turn into a stone statue. Tempest had wondered when he’d distance himself. He was a Hound, but being the Hound set him apart. And he liked it that way.
“I suppose you’ve never had cause to use it before. It can be used to heal almost any injury, though it’s no good for fevers and sickness,” Aleks responded, breaking through her thoughts. “Which is too bad, because you sure could have done with a one-drug-heals-all approach to the multitude of illnesses you had as a child.”
Tempest said nothing and allowed herself to drift, her weary body shutting down.
There was something relaxing—nostalgic, almost—to have the man looking after her in such a way. Once more Tempest indulged the idea that he really was her father. He’d always been the one to look out for her practical concerns, the one to heal her, the one to make her eat even if she didn’t want to.
You don’t need to know. Knowing he cares for you is enough. Who cares who your sire is?
“Dotae be good, that was incredible!” Maxim exclaimed, his heavy tread giving away his excitement.
Tempest’s eyes snapped open, and she turned her head, flashing a smile at her favorite uncle. He dropped to his knees and placed a kiss on her sweaty temple.
“You did good, girlie. Real good.” Maxim glanced at her back and whistled. “He got you good, didn’t he?”
“He tried.”
Some of her uncle’s excitement melted away, revealing a glimmer concern. “When Madrid—” He shot an icy glare over her head, “—made the announcement, I swear my heart stopped.” His brown gaze dropped back to her face and warmed. “You fought as a true warrior today. Not many get to lay eyes upon a lion and survive to tell the tale.”
She swallowed hard. She didn’t feel much like a warrior. Killing that lion had been self-defense, but it still felt wrong. The poor creature didn’t deserve to die like that. “Will you make sure the beast is buried? He was a worthy opponent. He shouldn’t be discarded like rubbish, and I can’t stomach the idea of using his pelt.”
Maxim nodded. “By law he is your kill. I will do as you wish.”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Maxim pulled away from Tempest and stood to roughly pat Aleks on the shoulder. “Fix her up quick, Aleks. We all need to be presentable in time for the celebration feast, and something tells me Tempest will not want to show up covered in blood and guts and—”
“We get the picture,” Aleks said good-naturedly. He looked at Tempest. “Your servant friend—Juniper—is waiting in the barracks with an outfit for the evening, I believe.”
Tempest’s stomach lurched in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with her Trial or the pain. “Do I really have to wear a dress?”
Maxim laughed. “Really really. And who knows? You might actually like being a lady of the court now that you’re eighteen. For all we know, you’ll fall in love tonight and never pick up a sword again!”
Madrid rounded the cot and all three of her uncles stared at her in silence and then simultaneously burst out laughing. Every member of the Hounds knew how ridiculous Maxim’s claim was—and Tempest most of all.
“Never,” she sputtered, horrified. Not in a million years would she put her sword down for a man.
Tempest fingered the ravaged purple cloak laying on the floor. They could laugh all they wanted, even play matchmaker, but she wasn’t having any of it. Her life was just beginning. The stained purple silk slipped through her fingers like water.
Hell. She’d rather wear what was left of her ceremonial cloak than a dress. Her lips pinched. And if it was anything like the king’s gift that morning, Tempest was guaranteed to hate it.
“It is a shame this has been destroyed,” she murmured. “I rather like it, now. Especially compared to a dress.”
Aleks took the material from her and tossed it into the wicker bin. “I’m sure it can be replaced. Now, the Mimkia did its job. You won’t feel any pain for a few hours, so you’ll be able to get through the celebration feast tonight and fall asleep before the pain returns.” His light brows pulled together as he frowned disapprovingly at her. “Your wounds are sealed for now. Don’t get wild or you’ll ruin all my hard work.”
He helped Tempest sit and the room spun. She pushed her left hand against the cot to steady herself.
“Anything else, worried one?” Tempest asked sarcastically.
Aleks rolled his eyes. “Get along to your room and clean up. Mimkia paste takes an hour or two to fully seal the skin, so keep it dry as long as you can before washing it off and binding the wound.”
Tempest nodded, slowly getting to her feet and testing that she was strong enough to stand. Now that the heady, addictive rush of adrenaline was leaving her body, she felt like she might faint where she stood.
“All right,” she said. “I’ll keep it dry. Do you think I could get away with having a nap before—”
“Don’t you dare,” Maxim cut in. “You and I both know that if you fall asleep that’ll be you out for hours and hours.”
“Yes, and that would be the point…” No one would really miss her once they started in on the spirits.
“You’re coming to the feast, and you’re wearing the damn dress, girlie. Now, get to it.”
And here I thought becoming a Hound would give me more freedom. Lies.
Tempest slowly skirted around her uncles who watched her like a hawk as she shuffled toward the entrance of the tent like an invalid. She paused and pulled herself together. It was time to put on a brave face for whoever might be lurking outside.
“Hold your head high,” Madrid said.
She cast a glance over her shoulder at the Hound master before pushing through the canvas flaps into the cold air, a smile upon her face.
She had won today.
She’d accomplished step one of her goal. If reaching step two involved wearing a dress and acting like a lady for the evening, then so be it.
How bad could it be?
“I’ve never seen such a conflict over whether everyone should be celebrating or not!”
“Won’t stop anyone getting riotously drunk, regardless of their stance on the matter.”
“What do they care, anyway? A Hound is a Hound. And Tempest more than proved herself today.”
“Thanks, Uncles,” Tempest muttered into her wine, flushing furiously. She did not need to hear Maxim, Dima, and Aleks defending her right to belong in their ranks. She had won her position fair and square, the king had acknowledged her, and that was the end of it.