“Thank you, but we don’t know yet if she’s dead or not.”

“True.” She felt through his hair. “There’s no infection here. We’ll have to get those bandages off before I can tell you any more. Might I suggest a bath?”

“You certainly may.” Leaving Kordira in the tent, he enlisted the help of a couple of soldiers to get him to the bathing tent. His back hurt a great deal from the wrenching it had taken, but he was able to walk, if slowly.

It took three tubs of water to remove the crusted bandages and soak the blood from his hair. Swathed in flannels, with one wrapped around his head, he hobbled back to the tent without help. Kordira was waiting with fresh bandages and a fragrant honey salve.

“Riding is a very bad idea, Baron,” she said, inspecting the wounds on his chest and neck. “You’ll open up these cuts again if you’re not careful.”

“Please, call me Seregil. We don’t stand on ceremony here.” The truth was, riding a horse was looking less and less attractive. The bath had taken most of his energy, and his various wounds were burning like fire in spite of the salve. Even so, he let a young servant boy help him into fresh clothing while Kordira waited outside, then looked around for his sword belt. That, too, was covered in blood—his own, this time.

“I’ll find you a new one, my lord,” the boy offered.

“Thank you.” Seregil lowered himself carefully down on the edge of the cot. “Now where are my extra boots?”

The boy found them and helped him into them. “Anything else, my lord?”

“Please send the lady in.”

“Well, you look a bit better,” Kordira observed with a wry look as she entered. “It’s a bit belated at this point, but it is good to finally meet you.”

“Likewise, Doctor.” Seregil passed a hand ruefully across the two bare patches on his scalp. “I don’t usually look this piebald. You wouldn’t happen to have a comb?”

Smiling, she produced a wooden comb from the purse at her belt. “May I?”

“Please do. After all, we’ve only just met.”

She chuckled as she sat next to him on the bed and draped a dry flannel over his shoulders to catch the water still dripping from his wet hair. With incredible gentleness, she worked through the tangles until the long locks were smooth. “Come out and sit in the sun to dry.”

Seregil took her advice, settling on a stool in front of the tent. Her horse was tethered nearby, and Seregil saw that there were large leather panniers behind the saddle. “You came prepared.”

“Always. I never know when I’ll have to deliver a baby or stitch up a gut. I have a few things that might help you, as well, if you’re willing to let a Plenimaran physician minister to you.”