The attack had lasted less than five minutes. The consequences stretched.
Aria sat on a low bench in the front hall while Dola carefully cleaned and bound her left wrist. The joint was already badly swollen, the skin tight and darkening. Every small movement sent a sharp pulse of pain up her arm.
"Hold still," Dola muttered, voice tight with worry. "You should not have gone out there yourself."
"If I had waited, my father would be dead," Aria replied. Her tone was flat, controlled. "Tighter. I need it stable."
Edmund sat opposite her, a cold compress against the side of his face. His lower lip was split, and a dark bruise was forming along his jaw. He kept glancing at Aria's wrist as if the sight of it physically hurt him.
"I should never have spoken to Corvin," he said. "I brought this to our door."
