I hurried to fetch it, and Phelan remained still, staring up at the ceiling as I opened the wooden box. There was a pack of needles, dark thread, rolls of linen, a few small jars of healing salve, and antiseptic.

I cleaned the wound first before threading my needle, planting stitches along his skin. I had done this once before, with a cut on my father’s arm, and while this wasn’t a new experience, it was one that still made my heart quicken, to see Phelan’s wound close beneath my fingers. To watch a different sort of magic spill from my hands.

“I’ve noticed something about you,” he said just as I was finishing.

He was quiet until I looked at him. I was pleased to see some color had returned to his face.

“Your name,” he said. “Anna Neven. You can spell both of your names forward as you can backward.”

I cut the thread and wiped the lingering traces of blood from my fingers. “My mother was fond of palindrome names.”

“Hmm.”

I spread healing salve over my handiwork, and the fragrant smell of herbs began to drift in the air between us. I watched the steady rise and fall of Phelan’s chest as he breathed.

“It’s not your real name, is it?” he said.

I smiled as if he was ridiculous, finishing with my ministrations. “Of course it is. Why would you doubt me, Phelan?”

“Because you have told me so little about yourself.”

“That doesn’t make me a liar.”

“No, but it gives me moments of doubt, Anna. And I . . . I don’t want to doubt who you are.”

I didn’t know what to say. I couldn’t afford to have him doubt or suspect me, and I did the only thing I could think of, the only thing that felt natural. I traced the hard cut lines of his stomach, the contours of his bare skin. I traced his scar.

“You doubt me in this moment, Phelan?”

He made a low sound that seemed forged from both pleasure and irritation and grabbed my hand with his, to halt my caress. “You wanted to leave me here, floundering on my bed!”

“I wanted to fetch you a tonic to dull your pain, you fool!” I leaned down closer to him, so that our mouths were a breath apart. My braid had come partly unwound in the battle, and my hair fell around us. “Now, I’m going to the library to harvest some herbs, and make you a tonic that will help you sleep. You will stay here and trust my word and not move, and when I return, you may ask me anything you want and I’ll answer you.”

He was silent, but he continued to hold my hand, pressed against his heart. I could feel the frantic beat, pounding against my palm. A rhythm that made me realize things had started to shift between us.