“Rest now,” I tell him. “When you wake, you’ll feel much better.”
He doesn’t respond. He is already unconscious.
The door swings inward. Jac stands there, the shoulders of his cloak dusted with fresh snow, his hands holding the ice I’d requested he fetch from outside.
“Cold as an ice giant’s cock out there,” he declares, plunking down beside me by the pallet. “Where do you want this?”
I take the block of hard-packed snow from him, my palms tingling at the frigidness, and gently apply it around the break.
“What are you doing?”
“Numbing the wound,” I murmur, focused on my task. “The ice will make it less inflamed when I realign the bones. And less painful when the herbs wear off in a few hours.”
“Can’t you just give him more?”
“Too much medicine can kill a man quicker than any battle wound. More than one dose a day, and he may never rouse from the stupor.”
Jac blows out a sharp breath but asks no more questions as he rejoins the other men by the door. I continue to ice the break, sopping up the runoff with a spare sheet as the snow melts in watery trickles. Only when I feel the leg is thoroughly numb do I glance up. My gaze snags immediately on Penn’s. I swallow hard and look into Uther’s steady gray eyes instead.
“I’ll need someone to hold his shoulders. The tonic I gave him should keep him sedated, but there’s a chance he’ll wake and, if that happens, the last thing I need is him thrashing about, causing himself more damage.”
There is a beat of silence as the men look at one another.
“I’m half-drunk,” Jac announces happily. “So I’m out of contention.”
“Mabon is the strongest,” Uther offers, looking at the stocky man beside him.
Mabon shifts uneasily, scratching at his neck like there are bugs crawling beneath his midnight skin. “Suppose I could…”
“I’ll do it.”
I don’t look at Penn when he speaks. I’d somehow known it would be him who helped me even before I asked for assistance. I merely nod and turn my attention back to the task at hand.
Beside me, a pile of materials pilfered from the healer’s orderly shelves sits at the ready—firm slats of wood and a roll of cloth for splinting. Thin leather straps to secure it. A dowel to twist the knots tight once the cast is in place.
I can do this.
Iwilldo this.
Just as soon as my hands stop shaking.
I look up into Penn’s eyes. He is crouched by Farley’s head, his grip planted firmly on the sleeping man’s shoulders, ready to hold him down if necessary.
“I’ll start now,” I tell him needlessly.
He nods.
I chew my bottom lip. “Have you ever done something like this before?”
He shakes his head.
Of course he hasn’t. He’s aprince, for gods’ sake. There is probably a team of royal healers at the ready whenever he catches a case of the sniffles.
“It’s rather straightforward,” I say, as much for his benefit as my own. “The bones are out of alignment. I’ll need to pull down until they separate, then slide them back into their proper place. Once that’s done, I’ll set the leg with a splint so it doesn’t shift as it heals.”
He arches a dark brow. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
“I’m telling you,” I snap, abruptly annoyed.