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Thronè could still feel the knife entering her side.
She shut her eyes and grit her teeth. What hurt worse, the blade, or the fact that Father had been onto her the entire time? She could still hear the laughter in his voice as he mocked her efforts.
That man… He would die by Thronè’s hand, and she would gain her freedom. One way or another.
There was a firm hand on her shoulder. Thronè tensed, expecting an attack, then forced herself to relax.
Camp. She was back at camp, with the others. She was safe here.
“Thronè,” a voice said.
Castti.
Thronè opened her eyes and found the apothecary looking at her with her concern. “Let me help,” she said, already opening her satchel.
“…There’s no need,” Thronè said, brushing her away, then winced as her wound jostled.
Castti frowned. “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, voice surprisingly stern.
No, Thronè thought. Not surprising. She had seen the woman face down monsters and humans alike without flinching.
She wasn’t scared of someone like Thronè, even with all the blood on her hands.
“It’s only going to fester if you leave it that way,” she continued. “Then where will you be? Don’t you want to obtain that freedom you so desperately crave?”
Thronè bit her lip. A bad habit of hers. Thieves shouldn’t have such visible tells.
“…Fine,” she said reluctantly. “You can give it a look.”
Castti’s eyes brightened. “Thank you. It will only take a moment.”
She rummaged through her satchel, muttering to herself about ingredients as she did so.
Thronè sighed, feeling something like fondness welling up in her chest that she quickly tried to smother. She couldn’t let herself get attached. The last time she had…
It didn’t matter. These were travel companions, and nothing more. A means to an end.
And yet…
Temenos was hovering close by, looking like he wanted to help but was unsure how. Partitio was at his side, hat in one hand and the other on Temenos’ shoulder. Hikari’s fist was clenched tightly on his sword. Agnea kept sending her quick glances as she minded the fire. Osvald opened and closed a book anxiously, silent but obviously agitated. Ochette even looked like she had been crying.
And then there was Castti, carefully lying herbs out on the rock beside her.
It dawned on Thronè that they were all worried. About her.
Once, she would have laughed at a thought like that. Such a thing was unimaginable in the Blacksnakes. Even those she had been closest to had been happy to see her brought low when it came down to it.
Not this group, though. Though they only had known each other for a relatively short period of time, they had grown closer than anything Thronè had ever had in her dysfunctional past.
Thronè realized with horrible clarity that she cared about these people very much.
And that she could have very well lost one of them today. If Father’s dagger had been aimed at anyone else…
She stared at Castti and tried not to imagine red staining her lovely blue and white frock. Of the light fading from her beautiful eyes as she crumbled to the ground…
Thronè gripped the edge of the rock she was sitting on, feeling ill.
Yes. It had been better this way.
Besides, Thronè was used to taking hits.
Castti pulled a bottle from her satchel, and Thronè frowned. “Nothing like that. Please.”
She frowned. “The pain…”
“You can apply something topical. I want my mind clear.” In case Father had me followed here. It was unlikely, and Thronè hadn’t noticed any tails, but a bit of paranoia never hurt.
Castti sucked in a breath through her teeth, looking like she wanted to argue. Then she shook her head. “Very well. Sit still, please.”
Thronè tightened her grip on the edge of the rock as Castti began to dab a numbing solution on her wound. It stung like all hell, but Thronè had had the urge to cry out beaten out of her a long time ago.
Castti muttered under her breath as she worked, brow furrowing. Thronè almost wanted to smile at that, despite her pain. It was endearing, watching the apothecary work her miracles.
“The wound is deeper than I thought. I’m going to need to stitch it up.”
Damn. That was the exact outcome Thronè had been hoping to avoid. “…Do what you must,” she said, pushing down her discomfort at the notion. Better this than a rotting gash in her side. She had no desire to join her former compatriots in death.
At least, not yet.
Castti got to work, quickly sterilizing a needle, and pushing it through Thronè’s flesh. Thronè did her best not to whimper.
She worked silently for a few minutes before Thronè broke the quiet between them. “…You must think me a fool.”
The needle paused as Castti look up at her. “And why,” she said slowly, “Would I think that?”
“Going after my ‘parents’ like I am. It’s probably going to get me killed more likely than free me,” Thronè said, gesturing to the wound on her side.
Castti was quiet for a moment. “I do think you can stand to be more cautious at times,” she said finally. “But no, Thronè, I don’t think you a fool. If I were in your position, I pray I would have enough courage to fight back against my fate as you do.”
Thronè snorted softly. “You’re the most courageous person I know. I bet you would have won your freedom a long time ago in my place.”
The apothecary looked down. “You flatter me.”
“It’s the truth,” Thronè said, perhaps a bit more earnestly than she intended.
Castti’s lips quirked into a smile. “…You may not believe me, but you’re a good woman, Throne.”
“You’re right,” Thronè said softly. “I don’t believe you.” All she could see was the red on her hands, the stench of blood clogging her nostrils.
She was silent for a moment, then slowly, Castti raised her hands. They were crimson with Thronè’s blood, and they made the thief recoil. “Look at my hands. Do they look like those of an innocent woman?”
“That’s my blood,” Thronè said faintly.
Castti shook her head. “It doesn’t matter whose blood it is. What matters is that I have plenty of it on my hands, the same as you.”
Thronè wanted to argue that it was hardly fair. Killing and healing were hardly the same professions, even if they both got one’s hands dirty.
But then she remembered Castti’s struggles with her past, with the shadow of what Eir’s Apothecaries had allegedly done hanging over her. Castti couldn’t be sure she was innocent either, as strongly as Thronè believed it to be the case.
It wasn’t fair, that someone as good and as wholesome as Castti had such darkness following her. It wasn’t what she deserved.
But life wasn’t fair. Thronè had learned that time and time again.
Thronè exhaled and realized that while she had been thinking, Castti had finished stitching up the wound and was in the process of bandaging it.
“Now, be careful not to get it wet. Come see me every evening so I can rebandage it, ok?”
“…Ok,” Thronè replied, staring down at Castti with something akin to awe. How could she stand the bloody business? “Thank you, Castti. I mean it.”
Castti straightened, so she and Thronè were at eye level. Very slowly, like she was trying not to startle a wild animal, she put her hand on Thronè’s cheek. “Don’t mention it, Thronè. We couldn’t go and lose you now.”
“…We?”
Castti laughed softly. “Ok, I may be a part of that group.”
Thronè realized she was leaning forward just as Castti was. Their lips met gently in the middle.
It was a tentative thing, their kiss, but it grew surer the longer it continued. Eventually, though, Thronè pulled away and looked at Castti searchingly.
“I don’t want to see you hurt on my account,” Thronè whispered.
Castti briefly pressed her forehead against Thronè’s. “Don’t worry. I know how to take a hit.”
Thronè either laughed or sobbed quietly, she herself couldn’t tell. Castti flicked a tear away with a thumb in a practiced motion. “Of course you can.”
After a few moments of that, Castti stood, tugging Thronè by the hand. “Come on. The others are worried.”
Oh lord, the others. They all seemed absorbed in their tasks, but Thronè had a sneaking suspicion they all had seen. She was never going to hear the end of it from Temenos, at the very least.
But as she looked up back to Castti’s face, Thronè found she didn’t much care.
She had found her real family.
And for now, that was enough.