Chapter 35-1

After Tristan left, Sam received no more visitors in the infirmary for six days. The first day, she hadn’t minded; despite Addie’s warning, Tristan had overexcited her and she spent the rest of the afternoon and evening sleeping. But she quickly grew lonely and bored. Addie talked to her sometimes, not only about doctorly things, but funny stories about her father and the men who tried to court her. Addie never asked about Tristan, which Sam appreciated. Still, Sam was one of many patients and Addie seldom had more than five minutes at a time to spare for her. On the third day of no visitors, Sam asked Addie about Braeden. She thought maybe she had missed him while she was sleeping; had their positions been reversed, she would have been by his bedside night and day, if he let her. “Has Braeden come by to see me?” she asked while Addie replaced her bandages. An uncomfortable look crossed Addie’s face. “Aye, he came,” she said vaguely. “Oh,” said Sam, and some of the tightness in her chest dissipated. “Was I sleeping? Did he say he would come back?” Addie applied a cool salve to her wound and didn’t glance up. “He came by right after you woke up, and he left almost immediately. He said nothing much to me beyond hello and goodbye.” “Ow,” said Sam. Her chest hurt. Addie furrowed her brow. “That shouldn’t have hurt,” she said, and finished wrapping Sam’s bandages. Was Braeden mad at her? Sam thought they had mended the broken fences between them, but perhaps she was mistaken. What awful thing had she done that he couldn’t be arsed to come see her? She’d almost died, and she didn’t even warrant a “hello” or an “I’m glad you’re not dead?” The more she thought about it, the angrier it made her. Braeden didn’t come the next day, or the day after that. Sam grew angrier and angrier until she thought she would choke with it. Or choke him with it, if he ever afforded her the opportunity. Finally, on the sixth day, she caved. “Addie,” she called, “would you fetch me a pen and paper?” Hastily, Sam scribbled a note: Braeden— Come see me in the infirmary. I miss you. -Sam In return, she received: Busy, sorry. -B He hadn’t even bothered to sign his full name. Sam crumpled his note into a ball and seethed silently. “I don’t envy the man on the receiving end of that look,” said Addie. She shuddered. “Scary.” “Men are idiots,” Sam said feelingly. Addie raised an eyebrow. “There’s no need to state the obvious.” She smacked her forehead with her hand. “Speaking of idiot men, I almost forgot—I have a gift for you.” “A gift? For me?” Addie ducked out of the curtain opening and returned to Sam’s bed a moment later. The doctor held a long, curved object with her fingertips, as though it were filthy. “Here. This is yours.” She dropped it on Sam’s lap. It was a scabbard—a beautiful sheath plated in bronze, inscribed with intricate patterns.  The hilt of a sword stuck out of the bottom: the disk-shaped pommel and guard were made of gold, and the grip was covered in tan sharkskin. Sam wrapped one hand around the hilt and the other around the scabbard and pulled apart. The sword slid out of the sheath with a metallic whisper. Impossibly light in her hand, the blade was steeply curved, single-edged and obsidian in color. Oh gods, it was a scimitar. “A note came with it, too,” said Addie. She unfolded a piece of parchment and placed the open letter on Sam's knee. To Sam of Haywood— May this blade serve you well. Regards, Tristan Lyons He who would have bought her a gown had instead brought her a sword. Sam recognized the gift for what it was—a peace offering, and one she would gladly accept. She was relieved: She valued their relationship, but hadn’t been sure it could survive both her lies and the fallout from his proposal. Like Tristan had said of her, Sam wanted him around—just not in the way he intended. Even without his title, Tristan would forever be her Paladin. Sam slid the scimitar back into its sheath. “If you see Tristan before me, please give him my thanks.” “I will,” Addie promised. “He dropped it off here yesterday, but I didn’t want to give you any ideas.” “Ideas?” Addie put on a mock-stern face. “Don’t even think about swinging that thing until you’ve fully healed.” “Would I do that?” Sam asked innocently. Surely one practice swing couldn’t do much harm… “You are not to be trusted,” said Addie, “which is why I’m taking it back for safekeeping until your stitches are out.” She plucked the sheathed sword from Sam’s grip. “Oi!” Sam protested, grabbing for the sword. “Give it back!” Addie twisted out of reach. “Don’t be such a ninny. I’m taking your stitches out in a week. You can come back for it then.” “Come back for it?” Addie smiled. “Aye, you’ve healed quite nicely, and it’s time to relinquish your sickbed to another. I’m kicking you out.” “But…” Sam bit her lip, feeling utterly lost and alone. “Where will I go?” Braeden was avoiding her, she certainly couldn’t impose on Tristan, and neither returning to the Center or Haywood were options. Addie’s face fell in sympathy. “Oh, Sam,” she said. “You can stay here in the Beyaz Kale, of course. My father was supposed to come by to talk to you about it, but he’s been tied up with an emergency.” Reassured, Sam asked, “Will I stay with Tristan and Braeden?” Addie went crimson. “Will you…stay with Tristan and Braeden? Share a room with two men?” She shook her head adamantly. “No, no, definitely not. It wouldn’t be proper.” “I’ve been sharing a room with them for months,” Sam said practically. “What difference would it make?”