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“Kara, do you need anything?” he asked, practically wringing his hands. “Water? I have water. Or tunjen? Tunjen might be better.” His gaze shifted to my leg and away as he gulped. “I’ll get you some juice.” He wiped his hands on his trousers, scanning the table for anything that resembled juice.
“Painkiller might be better,” I said, biting back the urge to tell him to find a Xanax for himself. My voice had an annoying rasp to it, and I grimaced. “Any sort of painkiller. That’d be good.”
He stopped fluttering and blinked at me. “Ibuprofen! I have ibuprofen. Be right back!” He turned and headed for the door at a near run, coming to an awkward sliding stop about six inches before barreling into Mzatal.
The lord stood still in the doorway, hands behind his back, as usual, as he gave Idris a hard look. Idris managed to straighten and get fully upright with some semblance of decorum, though the wild mane of his hair ruined the effect a bit. “Sorry, my lord,” he said and hurriedly stepped back out of the way.
Mzatal kept his eyes on Idris for another few heartbeats before continuing into the room and allowing the young man to flee. He moved to the other side of the bed from Gestamar, face expressionless and gaze intense as he took in my overall condition. Even through the collar I had the sense he was probing, likely assessing my mental outlook as well as how mangled my physical body was.
I bit back a cry of pain, hands clenching in the sheets as the reyza shifted my leg. Yeah, my mental outlook was just peachy right now.
Mzatal’s eyes narrowed a hair. He shifted his attention to Gestamar, said something in demon, and received a deep-voiced answer. Neither’s face or manner betrayed the subject, to my deep annoyance.
Mzatal shook his head, spoke again in a slightly more commanding tone. Sick fear pierced through me as the reyza seemed to hesitate. Were they talking about amputating my leg or something extreme like that?
Gestamar gave a huffing snort, replied in demon, then turned and exited the room.
“What’s going on?” I asked as I worked on unclenching my hands from the sheet. “Can y’all fix my leg?”
Mzatal slid his gaze to my face. “I have sent Gestamar to create a particular medicinal blend for you.”
“Please tell me it’s a painkiller,” I said, swallowing. “Or at least an antibiotic.” I risked another look at my leg. I didn’t see any dirt anywhere, so apparently it was cleaned while I slept. “Can’t you do one of those sigil things again?”
“You need not worry about infection,” he continued, tone unnervingly mild. “And yes, the draught will ease the pain. It is too soon for you to tolerate another analgesic sigil. The bleeding has been stopped and the break set as well as is possible.”
As well as is possible? What the hell was that supposed to mean? “Wait…you can heal this, right?”
“It is a serious break,” he said, clearly watching for my reaction. “I will assess it to see what action will be taken.”
I did my damnedest to keep my expression even, but I didn’t think I could completely hide the deep fear that took up residence in my gut. “Can’t you do some healing now? Or just send me home. Let me go to a hospital. They can fix it back home.” I locked eyes with him. “Don’t you let me end up a cripple.”
His gaze remained steady on me. “I have already done some healing,” he stated. “No, I will not send you home or to a hospital. And you will end up as you will end up.”
The wash of fury that swept through me helped to drive back some of the pain, but I kept silent and refused to look away. I fucking hated how completely I was at his mercy, and I wanted him to know it.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw Idris come back in. He stopped dead, likely feeling the level of tension in the room, and began to slowly back out, grimacing as the pill bottle rattled. I snapped my gaze to him and held out my hand for the bottle with a give-me-the-goddamn-pills-now expression on my face. He gulped and looked up at Mzatal. He must have received the okay, because he continued to my side.
“Here you go,” he said with a wary flick of the eyes at Mzatal before he set the pill bottle in my hand. “Two hundred milligrams.”
“Thank you,” I managed, fumbling with the top. My hands shook, and I ended up dropping pills on the bed before I managed to get four in my hand. That would bring it up to prescription strength and hopefully put a dent in this pain. “Could I have some water, please?”
“You will not be able to take the draught as well,” Mzatal said, calm and conversational, “and the pain relief will be far less with the Earth medication.” He lifted one shoulder in a graceful shrug. “It is, however, your choice.”
I went still, clutching the pills in one hand. He could have said that before I spent a couple of shaking minutes trying to get the damn pills out of the bottle. He’s fucking with me, I realized. Pushing my buttons. I didn’t know if it was to test me or to torment me, but either way, now that I recognized it, I knew how to deal with it. Buttons got pushed all the time when you were a cop, especially as a female.
Sweat trickled down the side of my face from the pain, but I smiled, replaced the pills in the bottle, and snapped the cap back on. This good lord/bad lord game sucked. Wasn’t it just a few hours ago he was healing me and telling me about how the zrila made his ties? “That’s very kind of you to share that information,” I said, voice dripping with honey and false gratitude. “It warms the very cockles of my heart to know that you hold such a deep concern for my well-being.”
The lord’s face darkened. “You will remember your place, Kara Gillian.”
I gave him my best wide-eyed innocent look. “Oh, I know my place, Lord Mzatal,” I said, and tapped the collar with my middle finger. A crash to my right told me that Idris had dropped the water glass he was holding, but I kept my smile in place and my finger extended.
He narrowed his eyes but then turned and departed without blasting me into several squishy bits. I exhaled as the door closed behind him and dropped my head back to the pillows. Maybe, possibly, I won this round?
“Holy shit,” Idris breathed. “Holy shit!”
“First off, try saying ‘fuckballs’ every now and then for variety,” I said, breathing a bit raggedly as the brief adrenaline surge wore off. “Second, could I please have some water?”
“Oh, water.” He looked down with dismay at the broken glass at his feet, then swung back to the table. A near-comic sigh of relief escaped him as he found an intact glass. He poured water and brought it back to me. “Fuckballs,” he said, trying out the new word. “Fuckballs, Kara, but you’re insane.”
