She wants to say, I am here. But what if her words are not enough? What if she is not enough of a salve for his nameless pain? For the first time in her life, she finds she does not know how to help someone. She does not know what to do.
Sayfa 169 - Headline Book Publishing
In Avalon
Slowly, he nods. “I know how to treat this. Nimuë taught me just the
other day. I doubt she gave the knowledge to those usurpers in
Brocéliande.”
I swallow hard at the mention of Nimuë. “I don’t think she did.”
“Take off his shirt and clean his wound. There are clean cloths in the
closet over there. I’ll set some water to boil on the hearth.”
He places a caldron on the fire and stalks out of the room. I unsheathe
my knife and use it to cut Talan’s already shredded shirt. It clings to his
bloodstained skin, and I peel it off him in strips. The wound is long and
ragged, the skin around it swollen and red.
I rush to the closet and yank it open. It’s packed with silks, some
glittering with gemstones, each one probably worth more than a house.
Made with magic, no doubt, for the fabric to survive thousands of years and
still look this perfect.
I grab a blue robe, its texture smooth and cold, and dip it in boiling
water to sanitize it, then set it aside to cool. When the cloth is cool enough,
I carry it over to Talan and gently dab at his wound. It takes me several trips
back and forth from the cauldron to properly clean the injury, then I get a
clean piece of cloth, soak it with water, and dab his forehead.
He looks so still right now, peaceful in a way that makes my chest
tighten. His dark lashes rest against sharp cheekbones, his beautiful lips
parted just slightly. He doesn’t look like a warrior or a Dream Stalker, a
killer or a prince. He just looks…breakable. If it weren’t for his blinding
beauty, he’d almost seem human right now.
“Don’t leave me,” I whisper. “You’re in good hands. We’ve got Nimuë’s
healing knowledge. I won’t lose you. I absolutely fucking refuse.”
“Nia?” he asks, his voice hoarse, eyes half shut.
“I’m here.”
“Where?”
“We’re somewhere safe.”
His eyes
📚🔔 Tatil zili çaldı!
Bir yıl boyunca verilen emeklerin ardından şimdi dinlenme, keşfetme ve yeni maceralara atılma zamanı. 🌞
Bu yaz bol kahkahalı, bol anılı ve elbette bol kitaplı geçsin. Tüm öğrencilere keyifli tatiller diliyoruz! 💙📖
Sömürgeci toplumun çılgınlığa varan taşkınlıklarında büyücülük ve yalacı hekimlik dinle iç içe geçiyordu. Kutsanmış yağlar ve dualar hastalıklara iyi geliyordu ama, bir kilise ya da gümüşten bir sunak yapılmasını vasiyet etmek çok daha etkili oluyordu. Ateşli hastalıkların tedavisinde İncil çok işe yarıyordu. Manastırların bir kısmında dualar vücudu serinletiyor, bir kısmında da ısıtıyordu. "Amentü duası demirhindi gibi serin, Salve Regina ise portakal çiçeği gibi sıcaktı..."
He slept like a Corpse
As soon as he removes his weight and lets go, I take stock. I’m in my
room, and Ryatt, Judd, Os, and Hojat are all hovering around me—the latter
putting away his smelling salts. “Why are you all crowding around my
fucking bed like I’m a corpse in a coffin?”
“Not far off,” Judd says, head tilting to motion at my chest.
I look down and immediately grimace. I’m shirtless, so everything is
exposed, and my chest is a fucking wreck. My black, rotted heart is showing
through stretched skin, as if the organ has begun to swell, trying to burst
right through. All around it, the sickly black roots have lengthened and
grown thicker, pushing against the surface, and my skin…it’s peeling. As if
I were out in the sun too long. Except instead of being burnt, the skin is
dead, chuffing off in ashen flakes.
“Your permission to apply this salve, Sire?” Hojat says.
I eye the sludge already cupped onto his fingertips in a tacky mound.
“One of your concoctions?”
“Of course.”
That’s what I was afraid of. Hojat is always coming up with different
experimental mixtures, but the ingredients are usually enough to turn even
the hardiest person’s stomach. Though, they usually are effective.
“Just don’t tell me what’s in it,” I grit out.
Hojat’s scarred face twists as one cheek lifts in a smile. “As you wish,
Sire.”
With quick, efficient movements, he starts slathering the gunk on my
chest, which fucking hurts, but the scent…
“Goddess, Hojat. That’s fucking foul.”
Judd cackles at my bedside.
The scent must hit Ryatt’s nose too, because he takes a step back.
“I’m not sure anything topical will actually help,” I tell the mender.
“Perhaps not,” he concedes. “But at the very least, it will soothe the
aggravated skin.”
Seni Sevmeden ÖnceEdebiyat
Aşkın lisanı gözümde seni konuşuyor.
Sana aşık olduğumu söylüyor.
Vücudumun hastalığı benim adil bir şahidimdir.
Sana olan aşkından, çarpan hasta bir kalbim var.
Seni sevmeden önce, aşkın ne olduğunu bilmezdim.
Ne var ki, Allah'ın kulları hakkındaki takdiri önceden olmuştur.
Ali b. Salve
