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“Peregrine?” It was Sebastian. “Can you hear me?”
Peregrine could, but speaking was impossible. He was too lost to his pain and too exhausted to try to overcome it.
“Keep him still,” Everard demanded. “We need to work the rot out or he’ll never get any better. The pain will be intense, as the old wounds have to be opened to give it clear passage.”
“You’re hurting him, Everard!”
“I must, or he will die.”
The pain increased. Not only was the warmth pulling on something, but it was splitting him open as well. Peregrine screamed, and screamed, and screamed, and it only ended when he fell back into the darkness.
* * *
The first time Peregrine opened his eyes following the attack, he found himself surrounded by the comforts of a quiet bedroom. Late-day sunlight streamed through a nearby window, its sheer curtains dancing in a gentle breeze that mitigated the worst of the afternoon heat. On the other side of the window, a fair distance from the wall, was a date palm heavy with fruit. Its sweet aroma drifted into the room.
Peregrine’s stomach rumbled.
He was hungry.
From the window, he followed the room’s intricately decorated arabesque walls to a large, ornate doorway with a pointed domed top. One of its extravagantly carved double doors had been left ajar.
“My lord?” Peregrine tried to call out, but his voice broke and it came out as a croak. How long had he been asleep? If his dry throat was any indication, it must have been years.
There came a rush of footsteps, then the door swung open and in stepped Alistair. There was a crazed look about him, as though he’d seen a ghost.
“Peregrine?” he asked as he hurried to the bedside. “You’re awake?”
“I am.”
“Lord, and you speak, too. Sebastian will be thrilled. We feared you might never awake.”
“If that is true, I must have been unwell a long time indeed.”
“It’s been weeks,” Alistair revealed. “Sebastian has procured for us this palace. It’s south of Beirut, and quite lovely for being a smaller sort of town. There is a fascinating market filled with art and jewelry you might enjoy when you are well enough to stand. It—” Alistair stopped abruptly as one of the large pockets on the front of his gown wiggled. A moment later, a curious creature emerged from inside and tumbled clumsily onto the bedding. “Bother.”
“What is that?” Peregrine asked.
“This,” Alistair scooped the creature up, “is a tortoise. It was given to me by one of the local artists in appreciation for my patronage.”
“Is it meant to be so small?”
“Yes. It is but a hatchling.” Alistair approached the bedside and held the tortoise out on his open palm for Peregrine to inspect. It was quite small indeed. The creature barely took up a quarter of the dragon’s hand. “It feeds on greens and other things. I was on my way to put it in the central garden when I thought I heard you, and rushed over to investigate.”
The tortoise stretched its neck and blinked at Peregrine. It wore a shell like one might a tunic, covering its body so that only its neck, head, and limbs were exposed. Its skin was a dusty yellow-brown and its shell bore honeycomb-like patterns in the same color accented with dark brown. Each of its stumpy legs ended in four tiny claws. If not for its shell and its diminutive size, Peregrine thought it bore somewhat of a resemblance to a dragon.
“Here.” Alistair set the creature on Peregrine’s chest, where it began to wander across the sheets. “It can keep you company while I go fetch Sebastian. You may have it, if you wish. No doubt you’ll take better care of it than I ever could.”
Peregrine did not object, so off Alistair went. Once he’d left the room, Peregrine cautiously tested to see if he was strong enough to lift his arm, and when he discovered that he was, he extended a finger and used it to stroke the tortoise’s head. It was very smooth and pleasing to the touch, and better yet, the tortoise seemed to enjoy it, too. It lifted its head to nuzzle Peregrine’s finger and ambled across his chest in pursuit of it when Peregrine lowered his hand.
“Lus would adore you,” Peregrine whispered to the tortoise as it climbed up and onto the back of his hand. “So I shall give you a Frisian name. You will be Pake.”
Pake butted his face against the curve of Peregrine’s knuckle as if to nuzzle it.
It seemed he had no objections.
A moment later, Sebastian appeared at the bedside. He’d grown whiskers. Peregrine quite fancied them.
“Peregrine?” he asked breathlessly.
