No more trying.
In that moment, Alastor was willing. If there was any justice, any balance on a cosmic scale, the universe would take him in trade. He couldn’t worry about the greater good, or what would happen once he was gone.
This is right, he thought. It should be me. Not Dedrick.
With that deal on the table, he stopped fighting and let go.
18.
Two days.
In that time, Sheyla hadn’t slept. It had taken Gavriel five hours to break the captive, another for the hospital to locate the antidote. Neither Alastor nor Dedrick had awakened yet; while the prince’s injury wasn’t as serious as the guard’s, his illness might complicate treatment.
Her eyes burned as she gazed at his pale face. She took his hand, as she had countless times before, but he didn’t flex his fingers or respond to her touch. The beeping machines logged his vitals, regular enough that she could take some comfort in them.
Rowena had stepped up with admirable fortitude, taking command of the Golgoth soldiers with a certainty that it seemed as if she had been born to lead. The woman knocked on the door a few minutes later, despite the ridiculous hour.
“I’ve come to report,” she said.
“Go ahead.” There was no point in reminding Rowena that Alastor couldn’t respond, and professional opinions were mixed as to whether an unconscious patient could hear and/or comprehend what was said in his presence. Sheyla leaned toward them recognizing familiar voices more than understanding words, but it wasn’t as if her beliefs were provable.
Rowena stood at the foot of the bed at attention. “We’ve set up checkpoints, sire, and rooted out five Talfayen loyalists. There may be more in hiding, but Korin has her men questioning the populace. If strangers have gone to ground, the wolves will hunt them down.
“Korin has completed flight training in her war machine. The bears have finished installing artillery around the perimeter of Old Town. The Chancellor has specified that will be the final fallback if the war effort goes badly. Local masons are repairing the ancient earthworks from the historic fort and we’ve cleared two warehouses that will shelter civilians. We’ve also…”
Sheyla let her attention wander as Rowena went on listing preparations, like the raid siren. It came to her then that Alastor wouldn’t thank her for haunting his bedside when there was so much to do. That galvanized her into motion and she cut into Rowena’s monologue with a brief, “Please stay with him until I get back.”
First, she needed to clear her conscience. It took several calls since Callum wasn’t answering his comm, but she eventually tracked down the war priest in Old Town, overseeing instruction in proprietary bear-tech war machines. As she drew closer, even his majestic beard couldn’t hide the exhaustion.
“What?” he demanded when she pulled him aside.
“I need to call my family. Once it gets real here, I don’t know when or if I’ll be able to again.”
He scowled. “Just call. What do I care?”
“This is a local comm. I’m not sure what channel to use, as the tech in Ash Valley may be compromised.”
“Ah.” He seemed to understand her problem then, took her unit and fiddled with it for a few minutes. “This is the best we can do on our end. Don’t assume it’s secure, which means—”
“Don’t report anything about defense, got it. Thank you.”
No putting it off any longer. It was past dawn at least, and since her parents were both early risers, they should be making breakfast. Picturing it sent a pang through her as she input their comm codes, after using the secure prefix Callum had provided.
“Who is this?”
Voice-only calls were rare, so no wonder her dad sounded suspicious. “It’s me, Pap. How is everyone?”
“Who is this? I have no daughter.”
In the background, she heard her parents scuffling and then her mother’s voice sounded in her ear, not cranky as her father’s was but shaky with relief. “Sheyla! Are you all right, my baby? I can’t believe you didn’t call us to let us know you arrived safely. Your father’s angry, don’t worry, he’ll get over it.”
Since she had been disowned six times, she already knew that. “We’re in Hallowell. I’m safe. I can’t say more, I’m afraid. How are things there?”
“A little better. We won some breathing room and we’re hunting again, so the food’s better. We’re still rebuilding. Your brothers are asleep. Let me wake them…”
Before she could say not to bother, her dad was talking again. “You know what you must do, yes? Do it straight away and I’ll try to remember if I have a daughter or not.”
“Come home?” she guessed.
“Damn right. We didn’t let you study medicine so you could fight a war.”
Conflicting emotions assailed her, so fucking uncomfortable when she preferred not to deal with them. Sheyla swiped her free hand across eyes that weren’t dry at all anymore. She leaned her head against the wall and listened to her father’s chastisement, which didn’t end until Darvid snatched the comm away.
“Zaran is furious. Maybe don’t ever come back. He said—”
“I don’t need you repeating my words.” Her oldest brother got on then, voice thick with sleep. “I’ll offer the beating personally. You know how hard it is here? Mum cries herself to sleep and she—”
“Don’t tell her that,” Mum exclaimed.
More wrestling sounds, and then Avi seemed to emerge victorious, that or they let him win. He was quietest and the gentlest of her brothers, so maybe he wouldn’t threaten her. “Be safe, Shey. I won’t tell you what to do, but just know that our love goes with you, no matter where you are.”
There was a hiss and crackle, and an alarm code played. 723: communication compromised, please check—then she lost the connection completely. Shit. So Talfayen’s people—or maybe Tycho’s—were monitoring Ash Valley communications. Her father would certainly report it, but that only added to her worries.
If the Golgoth attack again—
Sheyla fought the urge to curl into herself and cry. Ash Valley had barely survived one assault—with multiple doctors working flat out. Now that I’m gone…
“I ask myself that all the time,” Callum said quietly.
Her head came up, defensive posture. “What?”
“Would it have gone different if I’d been there? But I didn’t care to bother with treaty nonsense, too much protocol and etiquette. I’m a bit of a hammer, you ken, so to me, all problems look like nails.”
“Is that so?” She really didn’t know what she was supposed to say, if anything.
“It is. That’s also the least productive question in the world because even if the answer is yes, you still can’t do anything about it. Only in the present can we act and bring change.”
These were the most words she’d ever heard from Callum, but it was clear he saved his speech for good purpose because she took heart in his message. Sheyla squared her shoulders, and marched out of Old Town with a mission. One trolley ride later, and she was at the ministry, prepared to wait all day if she had to. As it turned out, the chancellor was happy to have her secretary provide a writ of authorization.
Maybe I can’t force him to wake up, but I can continue his work.
Shortly before noon, Sheyla presented herself at the factory gate without an appointment. The ministry-stamped documents smoothed her path, and in record time, she took a seat in Finneas Furbander’s office.
“I don’t know if you’ve heard,” she started.
“About the assassins? Foreign royalty in peril. Yes, my sources informed me.”
“Then you won’t be surprised by this, either.” She slapped the writ on the table between them. “Chancellor Quarles has approved our defense imitative, and you are to cease production of machine parts and convert immediately to weaponry. Burnt Amber is willing to share schematics.”
Furbander offered a rueful smile. “That would’ve been my primary objection.” Then he picked
up the letter, adjusted his spectacles and then skimmed it. “There’s no reason to resist, is there? Whether I like it or not, we’ll soon be under siege.”
“It’s pointless to pretend otherwise,” she agreed. “I’ve made a list of other essentials that we’ll need. Since you’re well-connected in the industry, would you mind reviewing it and giving me some idea whose facilities are best suited to conversion?”
The factory owner raised a brow. “I thought you were a doctor, not a requisitions officer.”
Sheyla studied the various photos on the wall. “Nobody is only ever one thing. You’re a husband, a father, a philanthropist, and a businessman, are you not?”
Furbander laughed. “Well-put, well-put indeed. I’ll do you one better, Dr. Halek. Not only will I evaluate your list, I’ll also contact my associates on the matter. If I know my colleagues half as well as I suspect, they’ll take Hallowell over our dead bodies.”
This time, Alastor was surprised to wake to wake at all.
He had a vague recollection of making a deal with death, promising his life in exchange for Ded’s. Possibly that was a hallucination. More than usual, he felt like shit: sore shoulder, tight chest, bruises where the needles had gone in. The usual tubes and sensors were affixed, a testament to the fact that he’d survived. Again.
“Dedrick?” he rasped.
The woman in the chair stirred. Rowena, not Sheyla. He shouldn’t be disappointed—it would be unkind to display it—yet he was. She brushed back her pale waterfall of hair and he was startled to see how worn she looked. No ranking braids, he noticed; she still saw herself as the lowest of the low.
“Don’t you sleep anymore?” he tried to tease.
“With both you and Ded lying down, somebody has to work.”
“Is he—”
“Alive, if only just. Between the knife slicing past his heart and the poison in his system, the doctors are impressed at Golgolth durability.”
“And the men…?”
“They wanted to come. I said they could best serve you by sticking with their rotations and keeping Hallowell safe.”
Relief swelled higher, rivaling physical discomfort. “You did well. What else have I missed?”
Rowena reported on all the progress thus far: the capture of the assassins, what the Eldritch, wolves, and bears were doing. Then she proved how well she knew him by answering his next question before he asked it. “Dr. Halek asked me to stay with you until she got back.”
“Where is she?”
“Not sure. Early this morning, she just got up and ran out.”
“How intriguing. We have a mystery,” he said lightly.
It did sting more than a little not to find her waiting. They were… what? No words readily came to mind, and the only promise he’d made was that he wouldn’t cling when she decided to leave him.
She wouldn’t, though. Not like this.
Sheyla was a woman of courage, conviction, and principle. If she’d realized she couldn’t walk this path farther, she would say it to his face. Odd, people had been leaving for as long as he could remember, and normally, he saw it coming, could brace for it. Today it was a little hard to get his breath, not for the usual reasons.
Rowena read his distress, if not the why of it, and she offered him a cup of water. He drank it down.
“Better?” she asked.
“Thank you.” Not really an answer. “Can I see Ded?”
She hesitated, but in the end, he got his way. Rowena rounded up a wheelchair and they received permission to visit the critical unit, if not the room. It was harder than he expected to see his oldest friend so still and pale. Still huge but also shrunken. Machines beeped and whirred, monitoring him and keeping him alive; Alastor gave thanks for that technology in a fervor so sincere as to feel religious. He pressed two fingers to glass, wishing he had the words worthy of the devotion he had received, time and again, not because he was a good person, but due to an accident of birth.
“That’s not true, you know.” He didn’t realize he’d spoken aloud until Rowena responded. “Ded loves you, we all do, because you are the only light in Golgerra, the only hope any of us have.”
Those words were both comfort and salt, for they added to his burden. Somehow, he caught a smile like a fish struggling on the line and brought it to his face. “Thanks.”
“I see how you are. The minute my back is turned, you’re off gallivanting about the hospital.”
His heart skipped. Sheyla’s voice, full of amusement, as she knelt before him, mindful of his various attachments as only a doctor could be. She leaned in so their foreheads touched, then she kissed him, a beautiful hello of a caress, that carried layers of meaning, fear, and sweetness.
“Sorry,” he said, when his mouth was free. “I can’t be expected to wait for you all day, can I?”
“Not at all. Are you curious where I’ve been?”
“A little,” he allowed.
At some point during the kiss, Rowena had vanished like morning mist. Probably he owed her an apology or a bonus. He wasn’t quite ready to leave the critical unit, so Sheyla fetched a chair, arguing with a ward nurse on the way past. There, she perched beside him and summarized her day while they kept Ded company from the other side of the wall.
When she finished, Alastor just stared. “You… you!” It was hard to know what to say or how to say it.
Her smile was a touch cautious. “I have mediocre people skills, but I’m great at delivering ultimatums.”
“I can’t believe you enlisted Furbander to our cause.”
“That’s the only reason I left. I wanted to be there when you woke, but then I thought of all the work you couldn’t complete and timing is so crucial, so—”
“You finished what we started.”
“Is that all right? I know you can do it. But…”
Alastor reached for her hand and tenderly traced the curve of her knuckles, memorizing the feel of her skin. There might come a day soon when such reminiscence would be all that she left him. “My ego doesn’t matter. Hallowell does. I must devise a suitable reward.”
Her amber eyes met his, the most exquisite heart unveiled in them. It took all his self-control not to reach for her. His blood thundered, here. Now. This moment. There may not come another.
“The way you’re looking at me right now is enough,” she said softly.
“That’s not like you. Were you so very afraid?”
She swallowed hard before speaking. “Yes. And I hate you for making me admit it.”
“Never fear, shalai. I am tenacious and hard to kill, much to my brother’s dismay. Do you know, he poisoned me once?”
Her hand tightened on his. “No! Before, you said he didn’t bother with you.”
“I don’t count it as a serious attempt because he didn’t try again. Given Tycho’s nature, I suspect it was a prank.”
“Hilarious,” she said grimly.
“It is, a little. He laced my breakfast with grayvine, but I was on new medicine and couldn’t keep anything down.”
Clever girl, she figured it out right away. “Your illness saved your life.”
“Exactly so. Mother replaced my food tasters after that.”
“I have never been especially combative, but the more I hear about your brother, the more I want to pull his heart out with my bare hands.”
“A scalpel would be faster,” Alastor suggested, “and more suited to your talents.”
“I should’ve said claws,” she muttered.
Her anger was…soothing. If she was outraged over his wounds, then he didn’t need to be, like her wrath had the power to shield him. Despite the chaos unfurling around him, Alastor had rarely felt so peaceful, or so free.
“Thank you.”
By her bemused look, she wasn’t sure why he’d said that. No matter. He was alive, and so was Dedrick. The outcome of that attack could’ve been so much worse, and he would never forget the lesson it imparted.
Be on your guard. T
he enemy is waiting for a chance to strike.
“Do you remember when I mentioned bad doctors?” she asked then.
“In the tent. Of course.”
“You just shared another story about your brother, so I should keep my promise. This isn’t a particularly happy story, though there is some satisfying comeuppance in the end.”
“That will do,” Alastor said.
“During my residency, I worked under a doctor who had such a stellar reputation that people believed he could cure any ill. It took months to arrange an appointment with him and if he agreed to take your case, your survival seemed guaranteed.”
“But…?” Alastor asked.
“He took too much pleasure in it. Eventually, there were whispers that he took gifts to push certain patients ahead in the line and those who couldn’t afford the incentives…”
“They died.”
“By the dozen. In the end, he was acting as a god, deciding who deserved to live and die. Our oath is to do our best for all patients equally. When the Ethics committee learned of his shady practices, they stripped his license. Which isn’t much of a story, I suppose. At any rate, that disillusionment served as a strong lesson of what not to become.”
“Thank you for telling me.”
Her tone became brisk. “It’s been forty-eight hours. Dedrick should be cleared for visitors. Let me check on that.”
He waited where he was and only caught flickers of her dispute. Ten minutes later, she returned wearing a triumphant expression. “Only family is allowed in with critical care patients, but I successfully argued that as his lover, you’re the same as family and should be permitted to see him. Furthermore, patients benefit from company and the comfort of a familiar voice.”
“You are unstoppable,” he acknowledged with a smile that wouldn’t quit.
When this woman committed herself to your cause, there were apparently no limits. That instilled in him equal measures of joy and fear. Don’t follow me until the road ends, love. Don’t follow wherever I lead.