Read Bound (Bound Trilogy) for Free Online Page B

again.
    Della poured boiling water into a heavy mug and set a generous pinch of heartleaf bark strings next to it on the tray. “Sleep well, Rowan. I won’t wake you, but there’s plenty to be done tomorrow when you’re ready.” She kissed me on the cheek and hurried off to prepare plates for herself and Matthew, and I felt a pleasant ache in my chest. It was good to be home.
    When I returned to my rooms, the lump on the table hadn’t moved. I set the tray down next to my favorite old armchair and ate a few bites of everything while I tried to think what to do. I went to the bedroom and dug my sewing kit out from under the bed, and blew the dust off of it, then carried it and the mug of hot water over to the table. There were needles in the kit, strong thread, scissors, and a pair of pointed pincers buried beneath a tangle of string and fabric scraps. I dropped the pincers into the hot water, then pulled the ruined jacket off of the eagle and tossed it into the corner of the sitting room.
    The bird watched with glazed eyes as I stripped off my heavy sweater and slipped into a long-sleeved button-up shirt. He didn’t seem able to do anything else, except twitch for a few seconds when I lifted the injured wing to examine the wound. I hesitated for a moment, waiting for an attack, but he just lay there as I began my examination.
    It was worse than I’d thought. A nasty rip through the skin and muscle of the wing left bone exposed, and I suspected a break farther down. I took the pincers and carefully removed a piece of wood that was embedded in the wound. It was splintered lengthwise, jagged at the ends. Part of the arrow’s shaft, then, but it had a strange, sickly green color that shimmered in the flickering light. I dropped it onto the table and went back to work.
    There wasn’t much bleeding now, even with the wood removed, but I didn’t know how I’d ever stitch the skin together. There were no clean edges to match up, and not enough flesh to cover the bone. I leaned back in the wooden kitchen chair and pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes.
    “ Skrork? ” The bird was watching me again. For the first time I noticed the green flecks scattered through the deep brown irises of his eyes. They were beautiful. Cold, but expressive, almost human. Not like our chickens, which often seemed like alien creatures to me. I could almost believe that this bird understood what I was trying to do.
    “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I’ll do what I can, but I’m no doctor.” The eagle closed his eyes and turned his head away from me. I pulled the lamp closer and cleaned the torn skin. If I could cover it and keep it clean, it might heal—but he would never fly again.
    Sharp pain twisted through my head, and I picked up a few strings of bark to chew on. It didn’t work as well as brewing them, but it was something. My eyes throbbed to the slow rhythm of my pulse.
    I tried to stand to find something to cover the wound with, but felt light-headed and sat down again, suddenly feeling ill. The room wasn’t spinning like it was supposed to if a person were fainting, but instead seemed to fade away. I could still see everything around me, but none of it seemed real. All of my focus was pulled to the eagle, its wing, the raw, bloody gash.
    Nauseating pain washed over me and slashed at my skull, but I couldn’t pull back from the lamplight to find relief in the dark. White spots filled the edges of my vision. Something pulled at me, gentle but insistent.
    The wing started to come back together. The veins knit themselves, and blood began pumping through them. My breath caught in my throat, my heart hammered. Impossible. I tried to look to the eagle’s face, but couldn’t shift my gaze away from what was happening in front of me.
    I groaned as the pressure in my head increased to an unbearable level. My voice sounded far-off and weak.
    Tears blurred my vision, but through them I watched as the healing continued. Muscles grew