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A good man, loyal to his liege. Anhuset was glad Erostis had survived the attack. “Of course, I'll seek you out as soon as he opens his eyes.”
In the hour that followed, the monks took Megiddo's bier to one part of the monastery while sending her and Serovek to another.
“We reserve this wing of the monastery for visitors,” Cuama told her as they followed a group of priests carrying Serovek down a narrow cloister and up a flight of stairs. They emerged into a hallway that reminded her of the barracks at Saggara. Plain doors on either side, unadorned walls and wooden floors that creaked underfoot.
When Cuama tried to separate her from Serovek at the entrance to one of the chambers, she planted her feet and glowered. “It's worth it to me to fight for the right to stay. Is it worth it to you and your brothers to fight to make me leave?”
Cuama gave a long-suffering sigh before ushering her inside the chamber where she took up residence on a small bench set out of the way in one corner of the room. A bed and table with an unlit oil lamp were the only other furnishings. She watched without commenting as the monks deposited Serovek on the bed, his feet hanging over the end, his broad shoulders taking up the entire width of the narrow frame. The chamber, already small when unoccupied, grew crowded with the arrival of more monks, including the healer Ulsten.
They surrounded the bed, blocking her view. Cuama sat beside her. “These are our healers. They'll examine the margrave, judge the extent of his injuries, and decide how they might help him.”
“I'm not leaving,” she reiterated.
He offered a brief smile. “None of us want to brawl in an effort to show you the door. You're welcome to stay as long as you don't interrupt or interfere.”
“I make no promises,” she said. If she thought they were harming Serovek in any way, she'd damn well interrupt and interfere.
Two hours later, and the healers were deep in their invocations. Serovek had been stripped of his clothes, and another monk had delivered basic physicking supplies including bandages, hot water, drying cloths and small pots of salves. Anhuset was glad to see the monks didn't just depend on spellwork to help their patients.
Ulsten and the other monks had been chanting nonstop since they completed an examination of Serovek's injuries and cleaned his skin of dirt and blood. Their hands glided over his body without touching, leaving behind a soft glow that enveloped him and pulsed to the chant's cadence and rhythm.
“How much longer?” she whispered to Cuama who'd stayed with her.
Her companion observed the proceedings for another moment before replying. “Soon. His injuries beneath the skin were worse than those we could see.” Her heart stuttered at this new revelation. “My brothers are focusing all their power on healing those. When they're done, his lordship will still look ragged, and he'll still ache, but his bones will be knitted, and if Faltik the One deems it so, any bleeding inside will be staunched.” He shook his head, wonder creeping into his voice. “The margrave must be very strong. To fight with such prowess while so wounded is impressive.”
The dull ache of regret beat under Anhuset's breastbone at his words. Serovek was strong, exceptionally so, but he wasn't invincible. Her own faith in him and his ability to hide how badly he was hurt had enabled him to fool her into thinking otherwise. She shouldn't have agreed to the plan of using him as bait, no matter how effective it had been; shouldn't have left him to fend for himself or succumbed to a moment of weakness and kiss him until her knees turned to water and her blood to a molten river where desire overwhelmed caution and sense.
Were he awake and heard her thoughts, he'd scoff. She knew it in her bones. Still, it was difficult seeing him like this, vulnerable yet somehow still undiminished. Anhuset thanked both fortune and any gods paying attention, including this Faltik the One, for the monks' timely arrival on the island.
The chanting finally halted, trailing off to a heavy silence. Everyone in the room stared at the margrave as the glow around him pulsed once before fading away. He looked unchanged to her, still bruised and battered, but his breathing was no longer labored, and his chest rose and fell in an even rhythm. He looked like a man sleeping off the effects of too much drink and a hard night of brawling in a rough tavern.
Ulsten approached her. He wore the serene expression of a religious devotee and the sword of a soldier. “Don't be alarmed if he doesn't wake for a few hours. Sleep is his kindest friend right now and a better healer than any spell.”
“He's out of danger then?” Anhuset battled back a surge of euphoria as well as a wide grin. No need to make everyone in the room jumpy.
The monk nodded. “You may remain here with him if you wish. Someone will bring tea and food for you. The room next to this one will be yours and ready when you wish to rest.” He pointed to the scabbed cut on her arm, visible through the slash in her sleeve. “We can heal that.” He touched his own face to mark where her bruises were on her features. “Those too if you wish.”
She declined the offer. Human magic wasn't Kai magic in her opinion, and she was wary of it. Besides, her injuries were minor and nothing a poultice couldn't cure. “If you can send more water and cloth along with the food and leave the salves, I can take care of them myself.”
Once the monks left, she approached the bed and its sleeping occupant. Despite Ulsten's assurances, she set her finger under Serovek's nose, taking comfort in the draft of his breath tumbling over her knuckle. Thanks to the monks' spells, his bruises had faded from purple and red to shadowy blue, and the swelling had subsided. Bits of dried blood still glued his eyelashes to his cheeks, but beneath all that his handsomeness shone through once more.
The thought brought Anhuset up short and she backed away from the bed. Her own breathing stuttered. She stared hard at the margrave. Hard enough and long enough that her eyes began to burn. His features didn't alter under her intense scrutiny. Still handsome, still refined.
As they had always been, at least to human eyes. And now to Anhuset's. She crossed her arms and turned her gaze away, refusing to acknowledge the fear tightening around her chest like a vise. She recalled Brishen's expressions when she caught him watching Ildiko. How they'd changed over time from fascinated revulsion to lustful adoration. In that moment she would have bartered all her possessions for a mirror so that she might gaze upon her own reflection and discover whether or not she wore the same look. The vise wrenched tighter against her ribs.
She turned away but didn't go far, taking up residence once more on the narrow bench. She closed her eyes to ease their dryness and shut out the sight of Serovek, peaceful in his slumber. Her thoughts whirled and her heart raced, but not for long. Sleep she thought impossible to capture crept up on her and soon her pulse slowed and her mind calmed as she leaned her head back against the wall and drifted into slumber.
The squeak of a door hinge brought her instantly awake, dagger ready in her palm as the door eased open, revealing first a bar of light from the lamp-lit corridor beyond, then a silhouette poised at the threshold. The windowless room she shared with Serovek lay in darkness, its lamp guttered out while she napped. It was a darkness she saw well enough in but one that blinded the visitor. She kept her eyes slitted so their telltale luminosity wouldn't betray her position. Likely a monk to deliver sustenance and the water she requested, but she wasn't relaxing her guard.
“Don't just stand there, man,” Serovek said, his deep voice tired and raspy. “Come inside or leave, but shut the damn door.”
Chapter Twelve
So sayeth you. And only you.
Serovek shieldedhis eyes from the bright bar of light that spread to a wedge as the door opened wider. A second silhouette joined the first, and the two figures merged with the darkness as they entered the room.
A familiar voice brought him more awake. “I thought you done for, my lord.”
