Of Fate and Fire (A Kingmaker Chronicles Novella, Book 3.5) by Amanda Bouchet

Author:Amanda Bouchet [Bouchet, Amanda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-07-10T23:00:00+00:00

~ 5 ~

Piers wanted to look at the Shard of Olympus. Sophie wanted to clean his wound. Since he was apparently incapable of saying no to her, he found himself seated on a stool in the brightly lit bathroom getting something called saline solution spewed all over him. It didn’t feel good.

“It’s nothing,” he mumbled. This wasn’t the first time something had gone in one side of him and come out the other. It happened. That was war.

As if to echo his thoughts, Sophie murmured, “Jesus, you’re covered in scars.”

“Piers,” he corrected, stung she’d somehow forgotten his name. That hurt more than this ridiculous little bullet wound.

She paused, then laughed. “I know—Piers. It’s like saying holy shit or oh my God. Honestly, I was taught not to say any of those things, but I slip sometimes. Maybe you have an equivalent from Thalyria I can use. It’ll be totally guilt free, which I would love.”

He thought about it, trying not to get distracted by Sophie’s light, delicate touch as she patted his torso dry with a clean towel. “Well, there’s oh my gods—plural. Everyone uses that, and there’s no guilt involved. A friend of mine—Flynn—he likes Hades, Hera, and Hestia!”

“That’s catchy.” Sophie set aside the towel and picked up another bottle from the counter. “Maybe it’s the alliteration.”

Piers shrugged, immediately regretting it. His wound wasn’t terrible, but it was still there and aching.

“Don’t move,” she scolded. “Now, brace yourself. This might sting.” She squirted his shoulder with an ice-cold liquid that nearly sent him flying from the room.

“Zeus’s bollocks!” Piers roared. He clenched his teeth. It was all he could do to keep his backside on the stool while the fires of Hades consumed his skin. “What in the Underworld is that?”

“Ooh, I like those. Zeus’s bollocks! What in the Underworld?” She squirted him again, this time from the back, pushing his hand away when he tried to probe his shoulder. “No touching!”

“What. Is. That?” Piers ground out, breathing hard.

“Antiseptic,” she said brightly. “It sterilizes the wound.”

“Humph.” As much as it hurt—and it did—now—Piers couldn’t argue with that. His mother and sister—both accomplished healers—were always talking about cleaning open injuries to prevent infection. Besides, anyone with half a brain knew from simple life experience that keeping clean prevented a variety of unsavory conditions. “You could’ve warned me.”

“I did. I said brace yourself.” She snorted. “Then you started screaming like a baby.”

Piers glared at her. “I did no such thing.”

“Oh, sorry…” She wasn’t sorry at all, the little witch. He narrowed his eyes at her. “You started swearing like a sailor.”

“That’s better,” he said stiffly. “And there’s more where that came from.”

“I’ll bet, Mr. Macho Man.”

“Piers,” he said, exasperated. “It’s not that hard.”

Grinning, Sophie knelt and patted his torso dry with another clean towel. “Okay, Piers. We’ll let the bullet wound airdry, but let’s wipe off the rest of this. At least it’s not bleeding anymore.”

Piers glanced at his shoulder. It looked fine. Sure, there was a hole, but it was very small.

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