Chapter 60

Evelyn

The ropes fell away with a soft snap.

The relief was immediate. I rubbed my wrists slowly. The deep grooves left by hours of tension and trying to break free still pulsed red and raw across my skin.

The rogue guard who cut me loose didn’t meet my eyes. He just looked to Jesse for further instruction, ever dutiful. When Jesse gave him a curt, dismissive shake of his head, the guard turned on his heel and left, leaving me standing in the center of Jesse’s tent, confused and on edge.

“You’re free to move about now,” Jesse said smoothly, lounging on his makeshift throne of scavenged, mismatched cushions. He lifted a cup of wine as if this were some kind of toast. Had I seen him without a filled goblet yet? “Well, relatively speaking.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

He tilted his head. “Because you’re not going anywhere, Evelyn. It would be most unwise to try after what you saw happen today.”

“You’re right,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m not. Because you’d kill Logan if I did, right? That’s the kind of game you’re playing at?”

His smile widened, infuriatingly pleased. His lips were tinted a dark hue from the red wine he had been sipping since the early morning hours.

“See,” he said. “I knew you were clever. But don’t forget about the princling too. Try anything, and all bets are off with him as well. I don’t take well to trespassers, and if you force my hand, I’ll have to return the favor and pay him a visit instead.”

My stomach turned, but I didn’t flinch. I wouldn’t, not in front of him. “You didn’t need to tie me up in the first place, Jesse. As I’m sure you know by now, threatening the people I care about works just fine.”

He chuckled, swirling his wine. “Ah, my name sounds so lovely coming from your pretty little mouth. It’s nice that we can come to an understanding in the midst of all this mess.”

I turned away from him, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of watching me try to compose myself. I wasn’t going to fall apart in front of him. I refused.

“Am I free to go then?” I asked, my back still to him.

“This camp is yours now,” he said. “Treat it like your home, because it is from now on. Make yourself comfortable.”

His words and tone grated on me like a whetstone. I strode from his tent before he could change his mind.

As I left the tent, the guards stationed outside straightened and parted a path for me. Fortunately, there was no rough handling this time or snarling remarks. There were just a few nods, showing strange respect. I must have been a valuable prisoner indeed.

Being under Jesse’s “protection” changed everything.

It made my stomach churn.

Before long, I noticed how a lot of the other rogues looked at me. It was not that they were looking at me like prey or even regarding me as the enemy. Instead, they seemed to view me as just another reluctant resident of the camp. It was clear that I was someone they didn’t trust, but someone didn’t want to piss off either.

I hated that Jesse’s power gave me that. With just a few spoken words from their leader, he had essentially declawed me. I wasn’t viewed as a threat or as someone to watch over.

But perhaps I could use it.

It didn’t take long before a young rogue, barely out of his teens, approached me. It seemed impossible that someone so young could be working with the rogues, but then again, I supposed that Jesse would take in anyone he could get.

“You’re… the healer, right?” The young rogue was having trouble meeting my eyes,

I blinked. “I was.” The past tense already felt like a slap across the face. Would I ever see the palace again?

He rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s a tent. Sort of. Some of the wounded are in there. We’ve been trying to take care of ‘em but… It’s bad. We were wondering if you would be interested in—”

“Lead the way,” I said, cutting him short. A chance to be useful in the middle of this chaotic turn of events was like a lifeline. The possibility of saving lives was why I had initially ventured into the rogue camp, after all.

The rogue boy blinked, startled by my eagerness. When he mutely turned to redirect us into the opposite side of the camp, I followed him without hesitation.

The medical tent—or what passed for it—was a small structure made of patchwork fabric. Even from a few strides away outside, it reeked of blood and mildew. The canvas sagged on one side, and inside was a chaos of bandaged limbs, fevered mutterings, and ragged breathing.

These rogues were in bad shape. It was not lost on me that their poor condition was a result of Logan’s battle tactics. Every person bleeding now had felt like a victory at the time. But now that I saw them outside of the violence of the battlefield, they seemed impossibly young and frail.

My chest tightened.

I searched through the limited inventory to see what I was working with. It was immediately apparent that they didn’t have much. There were maybe a dozen clean cloths, a cracked bottle of antiseptic, two bottles of strong liquor they were using as a sedative, and one decent needle in the entire tent.

They didn’t need another healer. They needed a miracle.

“Start boiling water,” I said, stepping forward and rolling up my sleeves. “And get me anything that looks remotely like a clean thread.”

The young blinked at me again. Perhaps he hadn’t expected me to eagerly take to such a daunting task, because he asked, “You’re really going to help?”

“I’m not here for Jesse. I didn’t come into this camp trying to please nobles,” I muttered. “I’m here for them. I came for peace. I’ve always been first and foremost motivated by saving lives.”

The rogue watched me for a long moment as I gathered what supplies I could. He seemed to be assessing the validity of what I’d said. He must have come to a favorable conclusion, because he eventually turned to put a pot on to boil.

And I got to work.

There was no time to think or grieve the swift loss of my life just a few hours ago. One by one I was occupied by the seemingly endless flow of patients as I stitched gashes, cleaned burns, and checked for infection. The hours passed like smoke, there and gone without ceremony. By the time early evening rolled around, my body ached, my stomach growled, and still, I didn’t stop.

I couldn’t. Every life I saved was a reason to stay alive. Every fever I broke was a reason to endure. Every wound I stitched closed was the distraction I needed to keep me from breaking apart.

I was elbow-deep in stripped fabric that was used as makeshift gauze when the flap rustled, and another rogue boy with a nervous flush on his cheeks ducked inside. This one had copper hair and could at least look me in the eyes while addressing me.

“Evelyn?” he asked, voice high. “Jesse says… He’s expecting you. For dinner. Tonight. ”

I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I just looked at the blood on my hands and the broken people around me. In the midst of this work that had grounded me, the request from Jesse seemed like the definition of absurdity.

I was being asked to have dinner with the man who held me hostage. Dinner with the man who thought he owned me now.

But what choice did I have? I was his prisoner. When Logan was escorted out, I became Jesse’s.

I gave a tight nod. “Tell him I’ll come once I’ve washed up.”

Because playing his game was the only way I was going to win.