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Rogue cocked his left eyebrow, the sharp spine above it rising also. “That could work. Though it has to be something you want with all your heart. This would be a deeper unconsciousness than just being knocked out like you were before. We can’t afford to have any stray dream-thoughts leak out. If you fight it in any way, you could blast our Healer’s Familiar, which I don’t think I need to tell you, would not add to your popularity and in fact, would ensure your death sentence.”
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Death sentence over my head, I get it already.But I kept the thought deep.
“Close. I almost couldn’t hear that.”
I was tired. In every way a person could be. Vultures of despair lurked in the corners of my mind, circling. Organize your options, I ordered myself.
1.Endure the pain of cleaning, disinfection and stitches on traumatized deep tissue, then spend weeks convalescing chained to this bed, surrounded by people hoping to kill me.
2.Attempt to control myself long enough to be knocked unconscious, risking the possibility that I could harm someone else and likely be killed.
3.Do nothing and die here of starvation and infection.
Rogue regarded me. “I must say, you do have interesting thoughts when you’re not running in circles. So which of your three options will it be?”
I have to try.Will someone be ready to stop me if it looks like I’ll lose it and hurt someone?
Rogue nodded. “I’ll kill you myself.”
Chapter 5
In Which Surcease Is Offered
‡
So it cameto be that I was surrounded by five women, a cat, and Rogue with a silver-bladed knife at my throat. At least none of the women were Nasty Tinker Bell.
“Relax,” Rogue murmured in my ear from his position next to my face.
This wasn’t easy to do, what with the knife and all. However, I was concentrating on being the most Zen I could be. Which was so not my forte.
They’d pulled the wooden bed out from the wall, and me along with it. As the bed was really just a simple frame with a pallet over it, this made it a good working surface—no headboard or footboard to get in the way. Turned out I was only chained to the bed frame and not to any iron rings in the wall. Why this seemed better, I couldn’t say. It just was. Plus, now I had a clear view of the door and everyone who came and went.
If I survived, I should probably start planning some kind of escape. And getting home.
Four of the women came in almost immediately after I agreed to the plan, answering Rogue’s verbal call out the door. Maybe not everyone was telepathic. The women were clearly of the same tribe of whatever they were, with long bones and large eyes, though several of them were significantly shorter—perhaps shorter than my own five-four. One of the more petite women had a striking pattern on her face similar to Rogue’s but with a different theme, which made me think of moth wings and moonlight.
None of them looked directly at me, as if they were afraid. A short brunette, with a plumper figure and the sensuous mouth of an odalisque, looked with interest at my dress, but she wouldn’t meet my eyes. Rogue had directed one to stand at each corner of the bed. He gave each a silver key, then fetched the knife from the table by the far wall, where it had been lying all this time next to the hand mirror. Interview tools.
Rogue knelt down behind my head, knife in his right hand up under my chin, with the blade biased to my left, so he could make a good strong stroke. Then he nodded to the moth-woman and she went to open the door, standing back respectfully for the woman who entered.
I think I would have known her for a healer anywhere. She radiated a sense of restorative serenity that felt like cool water on a hot day, along with the godlike arrogance of a brain surgeon. Draped in layers of green, she glided across the room, earth-brown hair trailing down her back and onto the floor, a train behind her. A tortoiseshell cat trotted by her side. I felt a pang for Isabel but let it sink deep into my Zen-ness.
She sat on the bed next to my hip—I should set out a guest pillow there or something—lifting my hand as she did so, as if checking for my pulse, though her fingers were nowhere near the pulse point, all the while searching my eyes.
“You let it go long,” she said to Rogue, with some asperity.
“It couldn’t be helped—it was her decision to make.”
“Going soft, Lord Rogue?” Then she clicked her tongue and the cat leaped onto her lap, gazing at me with bright inscrutable eyes. “I am Healer and this is Darling.”
This literal translation thing was going to be totally unhelpful. Hopefully not all their names would be descriptions of character or professional occupations.
Healer stroked my hand. “Right now you are too injured to understand much.”
I caught a definite sense from her that she didn’t expect me to be all that bright, even if I wasn’t injured. Rogue returned my questioning gaze soberly, just the left side of his mouth cocked up in a twist accentuated by the inky pattern around it.
“Look at me.” Healer squeezed my hand to regain my attention. “Rogue, we need her as calm as possible—try to be helpful. Soothe her.”
