Witch Born(72)

Four sailors were dead. A dozen more were injured. In one of the officer’s cabins, Senna treated them with her plants. They thanked her almost reverently. She had to turn away so they wouldn’t see the frustration on her face. They had risked dying just to save that stupid horse. Joshen caught her gaze and chided her with a look. She turned back to the men and thanked them profusely for saving Sunny.

She turned to disappear into her cabin, but Cord blocked her way. “Can you help me with this?”

She cringed at the sight of blood spilling from his collarbone down his open shirt. She gestured for him to follow her inside. “Lie down.”

He was lucky. If the knife had gone much higher, his throat would have been slit. After giving him some whiskey, Senna washed the wound with salt water and numbed it with some herbs before sewing it as neatly as she could. More herbs for swelling, heat, and infection. Then she covered the wound with clean bandages.

She was proud of herself for not even hesitating on the first stitch; she was getting better at treating injured men. She mixed some tea to speed their healing. While it heated she took a blanket and dried her hair with it.

Cord watched her in silence. “You saved my life.”

She shrugged, then set down the blanket and checked the tea. “Your cut wasn’t that deep.”

He chuckled then winced, his hand straying to his wound. “Not for patching me up. When you killed that soldier.”

The porcelain lid Senna was holding slipped from her fingers and shattered on the floor. She stared at the pieces, knowing she could never put them back together. A sob burst from deep inside her. She clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle it. She would not cry. She was done with tears.

“He would have killed me. Still managed to cut me good as he fell.” Cord stared at the wall. “Killing a man, it changes you inside.”

She saw everything in perfect detail. The man slowly falling into the surf. The smell of gun smoke. The soldier that tried to take her…she could feel the bruises forming where he’d gripped her.

Cord shook his head, his dark hair brushing his shoulders. “Some of them stand out more than others.”

Senna was glad he wasn’t trying to pretend like it was all right.

Cord turned to her, and as he watched her the burning intensity in his eyes surprised her. “Don’t look into their eyes,” he said. “Don’t watch them die. Don’t think about them at all. You understand?”

She met his gaze. “It hurts,” she said pleadingly.

“It’s supposed to. But the less you have to remember, the less those memories will torment you later.”

She tucked her hair behind her ears and nodded.

“You’ll be all right. Witches might be more subtle than a soldier with a musket, but they’re just as deadly.”

She watched the storm, water crashing against water. Chaos, and yet order at the same time.

Reden came through the open door. He cringed as he sat in one of the chairs, a haunted expression on his face. “Stop blaming yourself, Senna. In a war, people die.”

“Am I really that transparent?” she wondered aloud.

He took the same blanket she’d used on her hair and dried his face. “Not to everybody.”

Cord laughed. “Just to her Guardians.”

Joshen chose that moment to come in. “You’re not her Guardian.” His gaze met Senna’s. “I need your help with one of the horses. Bring your herbs.” He turned and hurried back the way he’d come.

She hustled after him. When they reached the horses, Joshen took one of Sunny’s hooves between his knees and looked up at her.

“He bruised his frog.”

Senna frowned. “His what?”

Joshen let the horse’s leg down. “The inside of his hoof, the soft part.”

“Can he still be ridden?”

“We don’t have much of a choice, do we?” Joshen pursed his lips, clearly unhappy about it.

Senna watched him, knowing how much it hurt him to push his horses so hard, and that this wasn’t the first time he’d been forced to risk them for her.

“Can you make a poultice for him?” Joshen asked. “Something to draw out the pain and swelling?”

“Of course.”

“Bring it to me when you’re done?”

She nodded.

Joshen grunted and moved away from the horses—away from her. “I need to refill my musket powder and balls. I’ll be back.”

She watched him walk away. “You’re angry.”

Partway up the stairs, he paused. “Yes. But not with you. That was too close.” He ran his hands through his hair. “You don’t know what it’s like, knowing danger is coming for you. And I have to stand between you and that danger, not knowing if I’m strong enough to keep you safe.”