He stopped abruptly, and she nearly slammed into his back. He turned to look at her. She could feel his scrutinizing gaze as he took her in once more and came to the obvious conclusion that something wasn’t right.
“It happened a long time ago,” she waved at her own face vaguely. “I just got them back from… from the one who had them.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
She couldn’t help a chuckle, as inopportune as it was. Idris Gharbi saying that he didn’t understand something was unheard of.
“I’ll explain, but you said we need ice.”
He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts, then nodded.
“Lucky it’s winter. The low temperature slows corruption of the flesh. “
Instead of rushing back up the stairs, he started rummaging through the satchel he always carried slung across his body. It was a familiar sight, as he’d worn it at the academy as well, once the relic war broke. Inside, he had a small surgeon’s kit.
“Hold this.” He pushed the torch into her free hand. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I should’ve done this first.”
“It’s all right,” Seraphina said, even though she had no idea what he was talking about. She could sense his distress.
He pulled out a flask and uncorked it with his teeth as he took hold of her wrist. The smell of brandy assaulted her.
“This will prevent mortification.”
He poured the spirit over her hand and eyes and didn’t stop until the flask was empty. He returned it to his satchel to refill later, then produced a strip of clean cloth used for bandaging wounds. He carefully wrapped her eyes in it, made it into a bundle, and held it gingerly as he took the torch back from her and resumed ascending the stairs.
Seraphina let out a whimper. Her old friend’s easy gestures acted like a balm to her soul, burdened for so long with making decision after decision, trying to do things right, doing her utmost not to fail. Idris knew what he was doing. He was a man of science, a surgeon hardened by the atrocities of the war, and she could trust him with this. She could trust him to restore her vision.
They emerged on the first floor of the schloss, and Idris put out the torch in a puddle of dirty water. Seraphina kept close to him. The soldiers knew him as one of them, so there were smaller chances of stopping her and questioning her presence. They seemed to be busy, though, distracted by something that was happening in the western part of the castle. There were whispers, shouted orders, weapons clanging and boots thudding up and down the narrow staircase that led up to the tower.
Just as Seraphina and Idris were crossing the main hall, they were intercepted by the soldier she’d sent to find Rune. She swiveled her head, hoping the relic would show her Rune’s tall, familiar shadow, but he wasn’t there. Her stomach dropped. Somehow, she’d expected it. She didn’t have a rational explanation for it, but she could sense him far away, removed from her, the connection they’d shared severed, its tattered remains bleeding. Idris had asked her if she was hurt. She was,only not physically. And it was all her fault. She’d done it to herself, to him, to them.
“I found no blind man,” the soldier reported.
He was agitated, looking left and right, as if searching for an escape. He made eye contact with one of his comrades, his mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Seraphina realized the influence of the thrall relic must’ve been wearing off.
“You,” she said the moment the man looked back at her. “Tell me what’s happening.”
“I don’t know. Half of the company is in the western tower. They found Captain Mayer dead.”
“Go out, then. Find the blind man. He’s tall, taller than anyone here, and he has dark hair and…” She was about to say blue eyes. As blue as the clear summer sky reflected in the stillness of the sea. She swallowed around the knot in her throat. “Go.”
He nodded, turned on his heel, and purposefully walked out through the main entrance, ignoring everyone around him. A fellow soldier grabbed him by the arm and shouted something at him, but he shrugged him off and continued on his way as if his life depended on it. Maybe it did. Seraphina didn’t know how the thrall relic compelled the mind, how it bent it into obedience, what horrors the magic carved into the victim’s consciousness.
Idris stared at her like he’d done that first time they’d sat together under the linden tree. With suspicion.
“You give soldiers orders and they follow them,” he said. “Seraphina, what are you doing here?”
“I’m on your side.”
She started walking, and after a few seconds, she heard him follow. But he wasn’t done asking questions.
“You were part of the resistance,” he said. “Did you… But you’d never.”
“Defect? I did. I defected to the High Harvester.”
She bit the inside of her lip and prayed Idris would believe the lie and spare her having to use the thrall relic on him. She didn’t know if she could do it. No, she could. Even as she thought about it, she felt the pull of the bone. It wanted to be used. She didn’t want to do it.
When she’d realized she’d used it on Rune without meaning to, she’d sworn she’d never do that to him again. But then… The ledger, the list of parts that made up his body… She hadn’t had a choice.
