wall,” Gowran said.
“No, you won’t,” the doctor said. “I don’t need your germs infecting the place.”
“But—”
“He’s not going anywhere. Now, get. You’re wasting my time.”
Metal instruments clanged together. Soft footsteps, along with clinking glass, approached.
“I have everything,” Emelia said, setting the multiple glass containers at Eric’s head.
“Good. Add four drops of red weed to the tea and give him two syringes full. That should do the trick.”
Eric opened his eyes, his gaze wandering over Emelia’s features, her hands.
One day, the very soul you loathe may be the one to save your hide someday.
He reached out and swept aside tangled strands of red hair from her eyes. She smiled at him and drew the liquid into the syringe.
“I need you to drink this, Eric. It will help with the pain and make you sleep.”
She cupped his neck in her hand and drizzled the liquid into his mouth. After the second dose, she laid his head on the table and combed her fingers through his hair.
“You’re going to be all right, Eric. I promise.”
Eric nodded, the herbs taking effect. He reached for her hand. “Thank you.”
She kissed his temple.
And the lights faded to gray.
***
Eric woke. His head pounded. His body throbbed. Various smells: sweat, smoke, medicine and food, all mingled together in a nauseating blend. To his left the surgeon worked on another patient. To his right, others lay on cots or in beds. Most looked to be recovering, but there was one, a male with gray, chalky pallor, who already seemed to have one foot in the grave.
Lady Emelia rinsed a rag and placed the wet cloth on the doomed patient’s forehead. She turned, her red, swollen eyes meeting Eric’s gaze. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She walked toward him, fidgeting with the handkerchief in her hands.
“You’re awake,” she said with a forced smile. “Here,” she picked up a goblet from the table beside his bed. “Drink this. It will help with the pain.”
Her hands shook. The liquid sloshed over the edge.
“My lady.” Eric winced and pushed himself up. He took the cup from her and set it on the table. “What is wrong? Why are you crying?”
Emelia looked away, her chest rising and falling with her sobs. “I’m sorry, Eric. I’m so sorry.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, her shoulders heaving.
“Sorry for what?”
Her eyes met his, the tears falling like summer rain. “It’s Sestian. The surgeon tried everything—”
The words hammered a hole in Eric’s chest.
“Move,” he said, shoving her aside.
“Eric, you can’t get up.”
“Get out of my way!”
He slid out of bed and stumbled across the room.
His insides rattled. His limbs trembled. This couldn’t be happening. There had to be a mistake.
The surgeon yelled for him to return to bed.
Eric ignored the shouts, as well as the pain slashing through his shoulder and back, intensifying with each step. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.
“Ses.” He reached the bed.
His friend groaned and turned his head. “Eric.”
His whispered name shuddered through his entire existence. Eric’s stomach roiled. Vomit rose in his throat. He looked up at the ceiling and blinked, blinked, blinked.
Emelia’s hand rested on his shoulder. He flinched and turned his head, trying to find someplace to look other than at his friend. He breathed deep, pretending not to feel the pain caught in his chest.
“Eric,” Sestian whispered again. “Did you see him?” His voice trailed off. “Did you see the dragon?”
Eric looked down at his friend’s burnt, blistered face, the layers of bandages wrapped around the stub of his left arm. His limbs trembled and his knees buckled. He reached for a chair and sat down. Taking Sestian’s right hand into his, he nodded. “Yes. I saw him.”
Sestian smiled, and Eric was sure he heard a slight chuckle. “He. Was. So. Big.”
Sestian’s face contorted, and he groaned. “I
“No, you won’t,” the doctor said. “I don’t need your germs infecting the place.”
“But—”
“He’s not going anywhere. Now, get. You’re wasting my time.”
Metal instruments clanged together. Soft footsteps, along with clinking glass, approached.
“I have everything,” Emelia said, setting the multiple glass containers at Eric’s head.
“Good. Add four drops of red weed to the tea and give him two syringes full. That should do the trick.”
Eric opened his eyes, his gaze wandering over Emelia’s features, her hands.
One day, the very soul you loathe may be the one to save your hide someday.
He reached out and swept aside tangled strands of red hair from her eyes. She smiled at him and drew the liquid into the syringe.
“I need you to drink this, Eric. It will help with the pain and make you sleep.”
She cupped his neck in her hand and drizzled the liquid into his mouth. After the second dose, she laid his head on the table and combed her fingers through his hair.
“You’re going to be all right, Eric. I promise.”
Eric nodded, the herbs taking effect. He reached for her hand. “Thank you.”
She kissed his temple.
And the lights faded to gray.
***
Eric woke. His head pounded. His body throbbed. Various smells: sweat, smoke, medicine and food, all mingled together in a nauseating blend. To his left the surgeon worked on another patient. To his right, others lay on cots or in beds. Most looked to be recovering, but there was one, a male with gray, chalky pallor, who already seemed to have one foot in the grave.
Lady Emelia rinsed a rag and placed the wet cloth on the doomed patient’s forehead. She turned, her red, swollen eyes meeting Eric’s gaze. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She walked toward him, fidgeting with the handkerchief in her hands.
“You’re awake,” she said with a forced smile. “Here,” she picked up a goblet from the table beside his bed. “Drink this. It will help with the pain.”
Her hands shook. The liquid sloshed over the edge.
“My lady.” Eric winced and pushed himself up. He took the cup from her and set it on the table. “What is wrong? Why are you crying?”
Emelia looked away, her chest rising and falling with her sobs. “I’m sorry, Eric. I’m so sorry.”
She sat on the edge of the bed, her shoulders heaving.
“Sorry for what?”
Her eyes met his, the tears falling like summer rain. “It’s Sestian. The surgeon tried everything—”
The words hammered a hole in Eric’s chest.
“Move,” he said, shoving her aside.
“Eric, you can’t get up.”
“Get out of my way!”
He slid out of bed and stumbled across the room.
His insides rattled. His limbs trembled. This couldn’t be happening. There had to be a mistake.
The surgeon yelled for him to return to bed.
Eric ignored the shouts, as well as the pain slashing through his shoulder and back, intensifying with each step. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered.
“Ses.” He reached the bed.
His friend groaned and turned his head. “Eric.”
His whispered name shuddered through his entire existence. Eric’s stomach roiled. Vomit rose in his throat. He looked up at the ceiling and blinked, blinked, blinked.
Emelia’s hand rested on his shoulder. He flinched and turned his head, trying to find someplace to look other than at his friend. He breathed deep, pretending not to feel the pain caught in his chest.
“Eric,” Sestian whispered again. “Did you see him?” His voice trailed off. “Did you see the dragon?”
Eric looked down at his friend’s burnt, blistered face, the layers of bandages wrapped around the stub of his left arm. His limbs trembled and his knees buckled. He reached for a chair and sat down. Taking Sestian’s right hand into his, he nodded. “Yes. I saw him.”
Sestian smiled, and Eric was sure he heard a slight chuckle. “He. Was. So. Big.”
Sestian’s face contorted, and he groaned. “I
Similar Books
