Pain slices into my right arm, sharp and bright, jerking me through the layers of darkness and thrusting me into the harsh reality of consciousness.

The person screaming is me.

“She’s waking up. Hold her down.” Samuel’s voice is calm.

“Might be easier to just knock her out again,” Ian says.

“With what?” Samuel asks as more pain blazes up my arm and seizes my chest. “Get her legs before she kicks out my teeth!”

Something heavy lands on my legs, and I pry my gritty eyelids open to see Ian sitting on me while another man holds my right arm steady enough for Samuel to dig into my wound with a thin silver blade.

Blood and pus gush out of the wound and drip down my fingers. My throat feels thick and raw. I’m lying on the second bed in the medical bay. I can’t see if Heidi still occupies the bed closest to the door, and I have better things to worry about than who shares the room with me.

Samuel lowers his blade, and brilliant agony sears me. I scream, arching my back off the mattress and doing my best to send Ian onto the floor. I claw at Samuel with my left hand, trying desperately to reach him. He evades my grasp, and seconds later Ian snatches my arm and anchors it to the mattress with his own. Samuel raises his knife again, and I crack.

“Stop. Please. Stop,” I say. I hate to beg Samuel for anything, but I can’t bear more of that pain.

“It’s infected, Rachel,” he says. “I’ve done my best to remove the bad tissue and squeeze the infected fluid out, but I have to get it all, or you aren’t going to survive this.”

“Give her some pain medicine,” says the man holding my arm in place. I stare at him with his pale eyes and ridiculously large blond mustache and decide of everyone in this room, he’s my favorite.

“No.” Ian’s voice is cold. “She swore she could handle any pain I could give her. Let her prove it.”

“And what good will that do?” Samuel asks quietly.

“I’ll feel better about the way she broke her promise. The way she chose to take what wasn’t hers in the first place, just like her father.”

“If a young girl’s screams make you feel better, then you need help,” Samuel says.

Ian swears. “I don’t need help, Samuel. Not now. And certainly not from you.”

Samuel sets the blade on the table and dabs his hands with a white towel. I look away from the blood that dots its surface and try not to think about Oliver’s blood staining my white tunic while I sat in the back of the wagon trying to understand that he was dead.

“Give her some medicine,” Samuel says to the blond man. “Once it kicks in, I’ll finish.”

Ian laughs, a mocking, bitter sound that seems to bow the set of Samuel’s shoulders. “I see. Take care of the little Baalboden girl whose father helped destroy mine.”

“Her father didn’t intend the harm that was done.”

I blink at Samuel in surprise. I never thought I’d hear him defend my father, especially when it meant going against his own leader.

The blond man offers me a pinch of gray-white powder, and I obediently open my mouth. I don’t know what he’s giving me, and at this point, I don’t care. My arm hurts more than I ever thought was possible. I’ll do anything to make it stop. The powder coats my tongue with a fine grit that tastes sour and is hard to swallow without water. As if he understands my thoughts, the man brings a cup of lukewarm water to my lips and tips a little of the liquid into my mouth.

“Did you intend the harm that was done?” Ian asks Samuel, a challenge in his voice.

Samuel looks at the blond man. “Thank you. Can you give us a moment, please?”

The man leaves without a sound, and Samuel grabs another clean towel and begins mopping up my arm, careful to avoid touching the open seam of flesh. I wish he wouldn’t be so gentle with me. I can’t reconcile this treatment with the man who would let Ian poison innocent people and trap an entire group in a ring of dangerous white phosphorous fire.

Finished with my arm for the moment, Samuel sets the bloodstained towel on the floor and presses a cool palm against my forehead. Until that moment, I didn’t realize that the fever that turned my thoughts sluggish and my body weak is nearly gone. He must have given me something for that when I lost consciousness. I wonder how long I’ve been lying here, and if Quinn was able to return to the supply room without being seen.

“How long have I been out?” My voice is nothing but a hoarse croak.

“We found you on the deck just before midnight last night. It’s now midmorning,” Samuel says. “You were feverish. Delirious—”

“Kept calling for someone named Oliver. Does Logan know?” Ian smirks at me, his blue eyes hard.

I don’t have enough spit in my mouth for the tirade of abuse I’d like to aim at him. I settle for looking away like nothing he has to say matters to me in the least.

It’s not very satisfying.

“You’d tried to treat your wound yourself. Do you remember?” Samuel asks as he holds a cup of water to my lips.

“This is stupid.” Ian jumps off the bed and grabs my face, knocking aside the cup. “You don’t deserve water. You don’t deserve medicine.”

“Ian.” Samuel’s voice is still calm, but there’s pain inside it.

Ian digs his fingers into my cheeks. “You deserve to be staked to the deck and left to burn in the sun until your skin peels away from your bones and you beg for relief that isn’t coming.”