The Pyres of Vengeance (The Swords of Dominion Book 2) by N C Koussis

Author:N C Koussis [Koussis, N C]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: anonymous
Published: 2023-05-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 21

TO BEAR

Tribuum, 1045

The Saburrian physician would find his services much maligned on the mainland. Centuries of poor treatment by men with saws and unsteady, drunkard hands, has given the barber-surgeon a poor reputation on the Continent. Then it is up to the noble physician to comport themselves in such a way to counter this belief.

— Master Al-Faruk of the Baushar Academy

Selene screamed as her bones scraped against each other, the noise like taking files to her jaw. Pain shot through every fiber of her body. Spots of white burst like suns across the inside of her eyelids. Only childbirth was more painful, though this was a close fucking second. Frix and Gregor held her tighter, braced their bodies against the table, bashed around as she thrashed in pain.

“Hold her tighter,” the surgeon said.

She barely heard the words. Fixed on the ridiculous southern accent, she shrieked, “Republican bastard, I bet your mother fucks any man she comes across!” The pain lessened, and he leaned back. Then he came close again with a small needle, stitching the skin, bolts of pain like lightning jolting up her leg.

“Ah, fuck you. Fuck. Arsehole. Bastard. Prick. Fatherless cunt.”

“There, done,” Muselio huffed, getting up from the bench. He lifted his eyeglasses up, dark features gathered in a frown. “I’ll wrap and bind the leg, then we’re finished. It was a clean break.”

“What does that mean?” Frix said.

“It means I might walk, after all,” Selene said, shaking off her shoulders, and sitting up.

“If she keeps off it for a few months,” he said. “You are her husband, yes? Make sure she does.” He stepped close to him. “Women don’t listen to you unless you… you know.” He gestured with the back of his hand.

Frix’s eyes widened. “I’m not—”

“Piss off, you drunk,” Selene shouted.

“Northern women,” the surgeon yelled, throwing up his hands.

Leon bellowed with laughter, watching from the shadows with Kyrah and the others. She was glad Leon was feeling better. For a moment, or many, she worried that his wound had festered, but Muselio packed the wound with linen to stop the bleeding, which he said was the cause of his torpor. He sewed it up, and a few bowls of stew later, Leon had already regained his healthy pink color. And his laugh. He’d have to get the packing removed in a week, but that was better than an agonizing end by afternoon.

Elias sat in the corner, hand resting on a propped-up knee, while his friends shuddered in and out of consciousness, scarcely looked up at Muselio as he went over to the fire.

Muselio glanced at Selene. “Did you kill these men with your tongue as well?”

“They’re not dead,” Frix said.

The surgeon took his tongs to a bandage from a plate sitting above a boiling pot of water. Boiled linen. The surgeons in the Order did the same thing. Supposed to help with the rot.

“In all my years, I’ve seen many dead,” he said. “Believe me when I say that these men are dead.”

He returned

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