White Heart of Justice by Jill Archer Page B

still compete in the race. We could leave from here on Friday just like I’d originally planned. That is, we could if I could make it out of bed by then. And what had Rafe meant when he’d said Night thought the arrow tip may have been ensorcelled? That didn’t sound good. But I had all day tomorrow to worry about me. Right now, I wanted to know how Rafe was doing.
    â€œAnd you?” I said to him. “Are
you
okay?”
    â€œMe?”
    â€œYes, you. I know you almost ran out of
potentia
.” Just because I hadn’t died didn’t mean I didn’t still want to tell him what I’d wanted to tell him on the train.
    â€œRafe,” I said slowly. “If I die during the race . . . promise me you won’t feel responsible.”
    He gave me a sardonic look. “I’m your Guardian, Noon,” he said in a dry voice. “Of course I’m going to feel responsible.” He frowned and bent down to open one of the drawers in the bedside table. The table and the bed frame were both made of white enameled cast iron. The furniture and the slightly antiseptic smell were the only indications that I was in a convalescent house.
    I wanted to tell Rafe that’s not exactly what I’d meant. That Luck, and Luck alone, was responsible for when someone died. But maybe Rafe didn’t believe that and wouldn’t appreciate hearing it. And he
had
managed to keep me alive against all odds during the trip down here. Whether it was Luck, faith,
potentia
, or simply Raphael Sinclair’s sheer will that I remain alive, who was I to argue?
    I handed Rafe the empty glass of water and was just about to close my eyes again when he held up a pack of gauze, tape, and some sort of ointment.
    â€œWhat’s that?” I said warily.
    â€œI think you know,” he said. “Hold still.”
    Rafe peeled back the covers and, with no warning, started to untie the strings that held my tunic together.
    â€œWait!” I cried (although my voice was so weak, it sounded more like a squeak). “What are you doing?”
    â€œChanging your bandage,” he said patiently. “It might be uncomfortable, but it won’t hurt.”
    â€œHave you done it before?”
    No one worries about being seen naked when they’re near death. Holding on to life (or wishing you were dead if the pain’s that bad) is all anyone thinks about. But now that I wasn’t in agonizing pain or hovering near death, my natural modesty returned. Baring my demon mark during a fight was one thing. Baring anything lower than that—for any reason—was quite another.
    Rafe laughed. “No, one of the Mederies has been. But it’s not like it’s complicated and—”
    He interrupted himself as something occurred to him. “Are you
shy
, Noon? About me . . . undressing you?”
    He grinned.
    I felt the blood rush to my face. It betrayed emotions I’d rather Rafe not have seen. If I didn’t think about him in
that way
, I wouldn’t be shy, right? And I didn’t. Think about him in that way.
    Except that I just had.
    I tried to clear my throat, but the sound came out as a hiccupy grunt.
I’d probably best shut up now,
I thought and leaned back on the pillow.
    I tried to relax.
    But it was hard when Rafe started to untie my laces again.
    In the end, however, it was much less awkward than I thought it would be. Nothing untoward was revealed. Rafe untied the laces at the top of my tunic and then peeled the shirt down just low enough to see the bandage he’d be changing. My chest was unbelievably sore too, so once Rafe got to work, there was nothing suggestive about anything he did. And when I got a look at the arrow’s entry point, it was off-putting to say the least.
    My demon mark was gone, obliterated by a thick, nasty looking, dark slash that was crisscrossed with stitches.
    â€œAnd they say ‘
X
marks the spot,’” I