“It took him a while before Sivas knew, didn’t he?” Eris asked.
Constance laughed. “I had to confess to him. It was after a great bloody amputation, if I recall, but I couldn’t wait any longer. You had a young girl wringing her hands, blurting out ‘I think I like you’ to a surgeon who had just completed the worst four hours of his life, now stunned into silence while blood dripped from his hands, and accompanying them a moaning patient on the table who just had his foot cut off. It wasn’t the most romantic of confessions.”
“What did Sivas say?”
“He says he doesn’t remember, but I did. He said he loved me too. We shared a smile, and then we went back to treating the poor man. It was a lovely moment.”
Eris imagined Constance sopping up blood on the floor while Sivas wrapped a blackened rotting foot in cloth to dispose of it. “I’m sure it was.”
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