Page 84 of Obsidian Throne

I had deduced quickly that I would be the most useful helping with the wounded. That is, as soon as the male healers got over themselves.

I was by no means an expert, but I could tend to a battle wound as well as the next person. It was appallingly apparent after a few hours that we didn’t have anywhere close to enough hands to handle the vast quantities of injured soldiers.

So, I requested Kirill’s company and rode my horse the short distance to the nearest village while Evander dealt with the local lord. It wasn’t difficult to find the main inn, which, if Socair was anything at all like Lochlann, was where I would be able to accomplish the most.

From there, I used a combination of my halting Socairan and the common tongue to explain to the aging innkeep what I needed: young, strong women to help me at the war camp.

The balding man was not receptive, but he knew who I was. Who Evander was. So he nodded tersely, fetching his daughter for me.

She shook her head when I told her why I was there.

“It is not done, my lady,” she said in Socairan.

“It is now,” I told her, my voice more encouraging than commanding. “Your clan needs you.”

If that didn’t work, I wasn’t above leveraging the villagers’ fear of my husband and my hair to get what I needed. But something in my expression must have swayed her, because she had a group of ladies gathered with the hour.

All told, twelve women came back to the camp with me, which was frankly, more than I could have hoped for.

Evander was standing outside the war tent as I strode into camp. His face was carefully neutral when he caught sight of me, but intrigue shone from his pale-gray gaze.

I asked the women to wait a moment while I went to speak with him.

As cold as it was, his nose was barely pink compared to the way I knew my entire face was likely red. Only Evander could look handsome in the middle of a frigid war camp. Damn him.

I didn’t even want to know what I looked like, with the melting sleet no doubt frizzing up the curls around my face.

My husband raised a single, dark eyebrow as I strode over and peered tentatively up at him.

“I could use your assistance with something.” Because the healers were absolutely not going to go for this.

Already, the women were garnering suspicious looks.

“Oh?” he asked, his assessing glance landing on the group of women huddled at the outskirts of camp.

“Really,” I clarified. “I just need you to stand next to me and look authoritative.”

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. “I can do that.”

My smile widened.

It didn’t escape my notice that he didn’t ask me what this was for. Perhaps he had guessed, but the fact remained that he trusted me enough to lend his support without asking.

And that...that meant everything.

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

ROWAN

The healers took to the new arrangement about how I expected them to, though Evander’s glowering presence certainly helped.

They recovered quickly when they saw how useful the women were, though.

Johanna, the innkeeper's daughter, was a particularly quick study. She had a fire that resonated with me, one that allowed her to be forceful enough with the soldiers to tend their wounds, but kind enough to reassure them.

“We have many wounds at the inn,” she told me in Socairan.

At least, I thought that was what she said. My knowledge of the language was woefully underprepared for war, and I belatedly realized, overprepared for requesting all manner of food.