A cool breeze whispered through the small tent, and the soft glow of a lamp brought him to wakefulness.

A woman’s touch came to rest on his injured limb.

“Why didn’t you come to me with this?” Lisa asked, voice low. She knelt beside him, her normally pretty features contorted with worry.

Rion tried to move his leg away from her, but found the muscles too stiff to flex after hours of lying still.

“Stop being difficult, this is deep enough for serious infection,” she scolded, digging in her pack for her paste, made from ground up plants and molds.

She cleansed the area with water before dosing it with paste, and sewing it closed. He kept his peace during the long moments of stitching.

“Did the general say anything at dusk?” he asked, finding his mouth uncomfortably dry.

Lisa’s hands paused in their work of bandaging, and her eyes slid shut. He’d known his question would hurt her. He’d asked anyway.

“Why do you wish to leave so badly? Now that you’ve earned your freedom, do you desire to waste your life like a common slave?”

He did not feign shame for her benefit. If he could not be honest with her, then he’d strayed too far from the path of a warrior. “I have my duty. I gave my word to fulfill it.”

“You made a promise when you were a child, Rion!” she nearly shouted, exasperated. “You’re a man now, and the Crown says you’ve earned your freedom serving in this war. Nothing binds you.”

He sighed, wishing she would stop making this difficult. He had little experience with grown women, but he knew Lisa desired him. She wished him to stay with her. They shared a similar past, having both come to Sybia from the same distant land as young orphans. She’d been adopted by the sisters of Pria, he by the monks of Chell. It was only natural she’d want a companion from the homeland. The men of Sybia who might consider her as a wife would never honor her spirit. At best, she might become a second wife to a lower noble—unable to control her own destiny, nor the lives of any children she might bear.

Stiffly, he hefted himself to a sitting position, reaching out to hook one finger under her chin and gently turned her face toward him. “We’re of the same people, Lisa. You’re a proud, strong woman. Would you have me in your bed, knowing I turned my back on such a promise?” he asked, tilting his head to one side.

He didn’t know what else to say to her. She’d done well by him over the years of the war, and he would never forget it. In another life, perhaps even at another time, he might’ve married her, settled down. He couldn’t imagine a peaceful existence with a wife and children, but her adamant conviction almost made him believe.

She turned away, her eyes overly bright. Her small hand rose to squeeze his much larger one. “You know I would,” she whispered, before grabbing the lamp, and disappearing out into the night.