“Unfortunate,” was all he said.
“Ferron.” She took his shirt away from him. “I know you’re not used to it, but you need medical care. If you leave things as they are, you’ll probably die—or maybe something worse.”
He gave a rasping laugh. “Marino, that is the point. You think Bennet did this expecting it to work?”
“But I can help you,” she said desperately, helping him slip his shirt on, trying to prove how useful she could be. “Listen. I have a laboratory. I’m good at chymiatria. I’ll make a salve for you, it’ll be topical so it’ll work on the incisions. I’ll come every day to change your bandages and make sure nothing goes wrong.”
“Really, you have time for all that?” His expression was scathing.
“I’ll make time. I’ll come every day. Please.”
He seemed caught off guard. “Fine,” he
