She said the last offhandedly, hoping the boy wouldn’t comment or question why she wasn’t helping the young man rise. In truth, normally she would. But given that her pulse hadn’t quite returned to a resting heart rate after merely locking eyes with him, she figured it was wise to keep as much professional distance between them as possible, and not have her hands on his naked flesh again anytime soon.

“Let me just get you some poppymilk, then you can—”

“No poppymilk.”

The two words from the young man were sharp enough to draw Kiva’s eyes back to his. She frowned and said, “I won’t give you much, just enough to help with the pain. It’ll soothe your head, and”—she waved, indicating the rest of his bruised, cut, and carved body—“everything else.”

“No poppymilk,” he repeated.

Hearing his unyielding tone, Kiva slowly said, “All right, how about some angeldust? I can—”

“No, absolutely not,” he said, his face having paled all over again. “I—I don’t want anything. I’m good. Thank you.”

Kiva studied him, noting the stiffness of his posture, his muscles straining as if preparing for flight. She wondered if something had happened to him under the influence of either remedy, or if perhaps he’d overdosed before. Maybe he knew someone who was addicted. Whatever the reason, short of forcing the drugs into him, she had little choice but to honor his wishes, even knowing it was to his detriment.

“Fine,” Kiva said. “But at least let me give you some pepperoot ash. It won’t take away all the pain, but it’ll help a little.” She paused, thinking. “If we combine that with some hashwillow to ease your nausea and some yellownut to give you an energy boost, then that might be enough to get you through . . . what’s next.”

One golden eyebrow arched, but he didn’t question the end of her statement, nor did he argue her treatment options again. Instead, he gave a short nod, the color slowly returning to his face.

Kiva looked toward Tipp, and the young boy scampered off to collect the ingredients. Pepperoot ash worked well topically when dusted onto wounds, but it could also be ground into a paste and taken orally, targeting pain receptors in the whole body. Kiva had never mixed it with hashwillow and yellownut before, but the smell of the liquified combination had her wrinkling her nose and looking at the young man in question, certain that he’d prefer the nutty-flavored poppymilk or the caramelly angeldust, both of which went down considerably smoother.

In answer, he reached for the stone tumbler without a word, swallowing the concoction in one go.

Kiva noted Tipp’s full-faced grimace, and she struggled to keep her own features from copying him. The young man, however, gave only the slightest of shudders.