A world in chaos was a world ripe for the taking.
But Navuh was not taking anything from his bed in the windowless room of the clan's underground keep. He was watching stupid movies and reruns and waiting for the meals to break up the monotony.
Even plotting was pointless at this stage.
Navuh set the remote on the blanket and lifted his arm.
The cuff that had been slapped on his wrist was thin and shiny, snug against the skin, and he had been warned what it would do if it were activated. A neurotoxin would be injected directly into his bloodstream, and according to Gertrude, the experience would be excruciatingly painful.
He did not intend to test it, and not because he was afraid of the pain or doubted her words. It would be pointless because he had nowhere to go and nothing he could do would warrant the effort. His legs were regaining sensation, which was a good sign, but he was still far from being able to move them on his own. His spine had been reconstructed, but it was not yet strong enough to support him. He could not even lift himself out of bed without assistance. The cuff was a precaution, not a barrier.
As the door opened and Gertrude entered, pushing the wheelchair ahead of her, Navuh's mood dipped.
He didn't like the daily excursions, even though they broke the monotony.
"Time for your outing," she said.
He didn't answer.
She positioned the chair beside the bed and locked the wheels. Then she pulled back the blanket, swung his legs over the edge of the mattress, and lifted him as if he were a child.
Navuh hated this part.
He hated being picked up. He hated the small adjustments she made to his body once she had him in her arms, the way she carefully positioned him in the chair and straightened his shoulders against the backrest, the way she arranged his feet on the footrest and tugged the hospital gown down over his thighs to preserve the small fraction of dignity that remained to him. He hated the blanket she spread across his lap as if he were a convalescent geriatric human.
Most of all, he hated that she did all of this in good humor and with brisk efficiency. It would have been easier if she hated it as much as he did.
"What happened to Azul?" he asked when she was finished.
Gertrude stepped behind the chair and took the handles. "Who?"
"The physical therapist. The little one. She was supposed to start working with me."
"Ah, yeah. That one."
The wheelchair began to roll. The door, which Gertrude had left propped open on her way in, was wide enough to accommodate the chair with a small adjustment of the angle.
"You're not ready for physical therapy," she said. "You won't be for some weeks yet. By the time you are, we'll have to find a different therapist because Azul took on another project."
A project. So that was what he was called now.
It was a shame, though. He'd been looking forward to playing with little Azul.
She was a pretty little thing, with her tiny pixie face and short dark hair. Not that he cared about her looks. She couldn't hold a candle to his goddess. Areana was resplendent, spectacular, one of a kind. But Azul had been a small bright thing in his very narrow horizon, and he'd been looking forward to sessions with her.
"So, who is going to do my physical therapy, you?"
"We'll find someone for you."
He frowned. "Did I scare little Azul? Is that why she took on another client?"
Gertrude sighed. "Yeah. Not everyone has my sense of humor."
He had no idea what she was trying to say by that. "Am I funny?"
"No, but the situation is a little comical. Don't you think? The big bad wolf, Lord Navuh, the archenemy of my clan, is lying broken in my clinic and is at my mercy. The Fates have a sense of humor."
He didn't bother to dignify that with a response.
