Laina and Tristan stood there, panting and wet, and stared at her. Nobody moved.
Finally Sora motioned to a small, empty table in the corner of the room. "Set your things there, then you all need to leave... even you, Burn." She met the Wolfy's eyes apologetically. "I need as much space as possible, and this is a small room." She motioned again to the desk, then shook her head when Laina tried to speak. "Put your things down and get out. All of you."
There was a scrambling of feet as the items were set down; then the group filtered awkwardly out, casting glances in Crash's direction. Sora was surprised that they all seemed worried; she hadn't thought Laina or Tristan were overly fond of the assassin. Finally, Burn nodded to her and shut the door.
Sora took a moment to regain her nerve, then pulled back the blankets to inspect her patient. She found, with a start of surprise, that her assassin friend was already shirtless. She watched as his chest rose and fell in small, abnormal bursts. She could hear his wheezing breath, hinting at an infection. The poison was acting quickly. Sora tried to think back on the books she had read at her mother's house, the things she had learned about treating poison. She would have to draw as much poison out as possible. With a bit of help from the herbs Tristan had brought, hopefully Crash's immune system would take care of the rest.
Her eyes landed on the deep gash near his diaphragm. It looked like the beast had snagged him with its teeth. She winced. The slash was covered in dried blood, but she could still see the dark purple flesh beneath it. A sure sign of poison. The wound had been washed, she could tell, but it needed to be sewed shut, as it was still oozing fresh blood.
She quickly inspected the rest of Crash's body, looking for any other damage. His legs and head were fine, and she rolled him slightly to one side, quickly glancing over his back, trying to ignore his tight, powerful muscles. All seemed in order, though she noted a myriad of scars covering his body, nicks and dents, white streaks and rough patches. Some older scars were overlaid with newer ones, a chaotic history of his life. She would have to ask him about some of them when he woke up.... She ran her finger over the longest one, which started at his jaw and went all the way down his chest, past the cut muscles of his abdomen. This one, Volcrian had caused.
Then she inspected his arms, over the faded tattoo of a green snake. Her eyes landed on his right side, and widened with surprise. There were several bloody holes up the side of his forearm, as though he had been pierced by a very thin knife, or a thick needle. Strange. The wounds were also tinged with black. Poison? She felt the skin: hot, swollen and red. It looked like a fairly fresh wound, barely scabbed over. But how... where....?
There was no time to linger on it. Who knew where the assassin got all of his cuts and bruises? Perhaps he had stepped on a garden rake and gashed his arm. A poisoned garden rake? She grinned at the thought.
Sora grabbed a towel, wet it with hot water, then turned back to clean the wound. She started at his torso. At first the blood was stubborn and hard, but after a minute or so, it softened and came off easily, exposing the deep gash beneath. She continued to clean it, wiping away pus and dead skin. She pinched and prodded the wound a bit, waiting to see if Crash would react, but he stayed unconscious throughout the entire process. Good, because this is about to get nasty. Sora finally pulled out a knife from her belt and wiped it clean. She stared at the gash, noting all of the blackened flesh. It would be difficult to suck the poison out... but she had to cut away all of the infected area. Otherwise, the poison would continue to spread.
She started small, cutting off tiny chunks of infected flesh. The new blood that filled the wound was a healthy red color, which was a relief. She had to stop every minute or so and dab up the excess blood.
As she moved deeper into the cut, the blood turned a darker, blacker color. Sora knew she would have to suck it out somehow—and only one way presented itself. The gash was only about an inch deep, but the thought of putting her lips against it made her want to retch. I can't stall on this.... If I wait too long, the infected skin will return.
She forced herself to lean close to the wound and place her lips against it. She had done this before, but not on such a grand scale. She did her best to suck out the infected blood, spitting it into a bowl on the bedside table. It was sour, putrid, and stank of infection. It made her want to gag.
When she was done dealing with the poison, she wiped her mouth and rummaged through the bottles that Tristan had brought in. She finally found a familiar one—sprig juice, it read—and she opened it up. It was a natural disinfectant. She gargled the solution, then poured more of it onto the wound. She repeated the process on Crash's arm, sucking out the poison and cleaning the small cuts. It went a lot quicker the second time.
Finished with the poison, she stood up, opened the door, and tossed the infected waste into the sea.
Shockingly, Crash didn't make any noise through the painful process. He was completely unconscious. She kept thinking he was dead, but his steady breathing reassured her.
Certain that the wounds were clean, Sora turned and rummaged around in the pile of herbs. Yes! She found a bundle of white willow bark, a strong painkiller. She dropped the bark and a few other leaves into hot water to make a tea. Then she grabbed another cloth. She dabbed it in the jug of water next to the door, then placed it on Crash's sweating brow.
The tea was finished after a few minutes. Sora propped up her patient's head and carefully poured the concoction down his throat. At first he coughed, but after a bit of coaxing, the liquid flowed smoothly. Soon Crash moved into a deeper, more natural sleep; only then did Sora start threading her needle. She looked at the thread in amusement. Pink.... She wondered if her assassin friend would mind.
The texture of skin was tougher than cloth. Sora had never gotten used to this part, though she had practiced countless times with her mother, stitching everything from flayed pig's hide to real, human patients. She still shuddered as the needle punctured his flesh. She tried to imagine that she was in sewing class, way back in her manor, creating a grand tapestry. Stiff with concentration, she made surprisingly neat, small stitches.
Sora's scalp prickled suddenly. She was almost finished, but she glanced up—then dropped her needle in surprise.
Crash's eyes were wide open. He watched her with the calculating look of a caged predator. She froze at the expression, unsure if he was angry... then slowly, she frowned. Her breathing eased. There was a peculiar glassy look to his eyes, despite their shrewdness. She had seen this in a few of her mother's patients, especially those with high fevers. He wasn't truly awake... but wake-dreaming. His eyes were open, but his mind wasn't in the room.
"You should lie back down and rest," Sora murmured softly. She picked up the needle and pulled it through the wound, continuing the last few stitches.
Crash didn't even flinch. His eyes followed her hand, and his gaze changed at the sound of her voice. Then, he slowly sat back. "I was dreaming."
"Really?" Sora asked. She quickly finished the stitches before he could start moving around. She tied off the end neatly and snapped the string with her teeth. Then she said, “Dreaming about what?"
Crash shook his head, closing his eyes. Sora could see him shaking slightly. Shivering? Unnerved, she reached out a hand to touch his forehead, to check his fever... but his hand caught hers in mid-air.
“I thought someone else was here, not you,” he said quietly. “In the dream, I was young.”
“Your mother, maybe?”
A dark cloud passed over his face. His eyes were still closed. “I have none.”
Sora gently pulled her hand back. She watched him warily. She had seen patients throw fits before, become violent in their delirium. If Crash became upset, who knew what he would do?
She looked for something that would make a good bandage. She spotted an old sheet in one corner, and moved carefully over to it, ripping off strips of fabric. Then she returned to the bed. With a bit of prodding, she got Crash to sit up s
traighter, and was able to wrap the bandages around his torso. She couldn't help but watch him in concern.
"Are you a dream, Sora?" the assassin asked suddenly.
Sora blinked in surprise. "Of course not," she answered. "Why?"
"Because... perhaps this is the dream. I am asleep now... and before, I was awake, and you were gone. In fact, you never were." Crash's green eyes snapped open, looking directly into hers. A strange, dark smile touched his lips. "I've imagined it all... I've imagined everything, since the Hive...." He caught her hand again and pulled it against his chest. “What do you have to say for yourself...? What do ghosts say in dreams?”
Sora swallowed in surprise. His words were confusing, but she thought she knew what he meant. She still had dreams of Dorian, of hearing his voice, as clear as a real conversation. Dreams of returning to her manor, of seeing her stepfather, the house as vivid as her waking life. She knew that bewilderment, unable to tell which was more real, her mother's house or her stepfather's, the scent of expensive perfumes, the heaviness of her blankets....
"Is this a dream, Sora?" he asked, his voice suddenly frantic. "Is this whole damn thing my imagination?”
"No, you're not dreaming. I'm here."
“But you can't be.”
“What are you talking about, Crash?”
"I'm talking about... about...." There was an abrupt, wild expression in his eyes. They darted around the room, narrow, cunning, as though he anticipated an attack.
Sora pulled away, alarmed, but she couldn't break his grip on her wrist. Goddess, is he hallucinating? Perhaps the poison's residue was affecting his mind. I know what he needs... more tea! She grabbed the teacup with her free hand and forced it to Crash's lips. "Drink!" she ordered. "Your fever is coming back. You need to rest."
The assassin seemed grateful, and drank with long, hard gulps. Sora practically drowned him with it. The tea was a painkiller and would put him straight to sleep. After a minute, his eyelids drooped.
"Rest," she murmured, and lightly brushed the hair from his forehead.
A faint smile formed on his lips, though Sora knew he was unconscious. She could tell by his breathing that he had fallen back to sleep. She allowed herself to smile as well. Disaster averted.
With a sigh, she turned to stand up. She was halfway to her feet when she realized that she couldn't go any further. Crash still had a death grip on her hand.
"Crash?" she whispered, turning pink. "This isn't funny. Let go!"
He was dead asleep.
Sora stood there for a moment, writhing in silent frustration. Outside, a brief fork of lightning flashed, followed by a roll of thunder. She glared down at the sleeping figure on the bed, then around the room, as though the lanterns were somehow to blame. Finally, she let out a resigned sigh. She climbed into bed next to him. If she was stuck here for the night, she could at least get some rest. The bed was certainly big enough for both of them.
She curled up next to Crash's side, digging herself under the covers, enjoying his warmth. I'm not going to snuggle with an unconscious man, she told herself. Still, the thought was tempting... and he probably wouldn't remember....
As the night wore on, the lanterns died out, leaving the two in stormy darkness.
Crash's hand was her anchor through the night.
* * *
Sora awoke to the sound of someone pounding on the door. She felt heavy and exhausted, but her nerves were so tightly strung, she would have awakened to a pin dropping.
"Sora?" came a voice she didn't recognize. She wondered who it could be, and straightened up from her cramped position. She stretched. Then she gave a start, remembering the previous night. She looked down in horror, her mouth slightly open....
Crash was sprawled next to her, still firmly asleep. Even better, her hand was free.
There came another knock at the door, this one even louder, and Sora stood up. She rushed to the door and poked her head out, taking a deep breath of the chill morning air.
"Yes?" she asked.
A Dracian stood before her, one she didn't recognize by name, but whom she had seen around. He bowed his tousled red head and offered up a metal tray, which Sora looked at suspiciously.
"I have breakfast for you, sent from Jacques, along with some soup for the patient."
Sora stared at the food, surprised. Then the ship rolled beneath her. Her stomach flopped; for a moment, it was as though she had swallowed her tongue. Ugh. I don't know if I can eat... but Crash needs his strength. She took the tray carefully and nodded to the tall Dracian.
"Thank you," she murmured. From the dampness in the air and the turbulence of the ocean, she figured the storm was not finished yet. I doubt this is going to be a very easy ride—no, far from it. The ship hadn't stopped rolling since she had set foot on it.
She touched her Cat's Eye briefly, trying to see if the storm was magical or not, but there was no response from the necklace. She frowned. Could it be natural? She had never seen such horrible weather. The wind gusted in sudden, violent bursts, whistling down the hallway, and Sora's teeth chattered.
“I'm letting all the warm air out,” she said, giving the Dracian a small smile. “Thanks for the tray.” Then she started to shut the door.
"How is he?" the Dracian burst out, as though his mouth had been corked up to that moment.
She blinked. “Tell Jacques he's doing all right," she answered. "I think he'll recover soon. And tell Burn not to worry.” Then she shut the door.
Sora walked across to Crash's bed and set the tray down on the side table. She carefully placed her hand on his forehead and winced. Still burning hot. She silently berated herself for not checking him during the night. His fever had obviously returned.
She began to mix a new batch of tea. The tray included a kettle of hot water, which was a very good thing. Then she peeled back Crash's bandage carefully. She really should clean the wound once more and check her stitches. It had been late at night when she had treated him. She hoped she hadn't missed anything....
Sora was surprised. The wound, although still angry-looking, was a good deal smaller than it had been the night before.
"Unreal," she murmured, or was she just imagining the change? Her hand trailed over the wound. She could see where the skin had already healed over her stitches. It should have taken days, at least....
She looked at her friend's face. She had seen her mother treat countless humans, and none of them—not even the most physically fit—could heal so fast. What is it that I don't know about you? she wondered. That poison would have killed an average man. Her eyes traveled to the scar that ran up his chest and neck. She set her finger on it gently and traced its length, then swallowed. That wound should have killed the assassin, too. But you're never injured for long....
She remembered that name everyone called him, Dark One. Was it some sort of code? A term amongst thieves? Or... something else?
Sora's finger traced the scar lower, across his chiseled abdomen, closer to the waistband of his pants.
Abruptly, his stomach muscles twitched.
She let a slow, sneaky smile spread across her face. "Crash?"
"Mmm?"
Only his sleepy murmur answered her, but Sora wasn't fooled. She continued inspecting his wound, despite his stirring. “How long have you been awake?” She jabbed her finger against the cut, perhaps a little harder than she needed to, testing the stitches.
Crash groaned and sat up. "What time is it?"
She placed a hand on his chest and pushed him back down. "Oh no! You're staying in bed until I say you're ready to get up."
Crash's green eyes narrowed to slits, and then gave a small, amused grin. "Yes, mother," he joked, then his tone turned biting. "Are you going to spoonfeed me, too?"
Sora was surprised by his mood, then grew annoyed. She stopped checking his wound and looked him in the eye—glared—then reached for the bowl of soup.
"You were going to die," she said, and picked up the bowl with ca
reful hands. She wasn't sure why she said that; maybe she was hoping it would change his attitude.
"I'm aware of that."
“Yeah, well, I saved your life again. That's twice now....”
“Right, and I've returned the favor... how many times?” He raised an eyebrow. “Let's not forget who saved whom last night.”
She rolled her eyes. He was being difficult, not the best thing after a restless night. Sora held the bowl steady as she looked around for a spoon. His eyes widened again at the smell of food, and he looked at the bowl dubiously.
"That's right," Sora muttered. "And you'd better behave, or else you're not getting fed at all!"
"That's fine, I'm not hungry,” he sniffed.
"Nonsense, you've been a full day without food. You'll eat if I say so."
"No."
Sora sighed at the finality in his voice. How could anyone be this stubborn? He reminded her of a grumpy old man, the kind her mother used to treat in the village, who would complain about the weather, about the farmers coming and going, about tired, sore bones—but would refuse to take any medicine.
She closed her eyes and begged for patience, then looked back at Crash. He regarded her with a flat look; he plainly wasn't about to give in.
"Why?" Sora finally asked. “Why are you being like this?”
He let out a slow breath. It seemed that her calm words had done the trick. He raised a hand to his face and rubbed it viciously. "Seasick."
"Seasick?" she asked incredulously.
"Surely you can feel it, too?" He nodded. "Like your stomach has turned inside out?"
On second thought, Sora did feel a bit woozy, and the thought of food didn't agree with her at all. Her eyes dropped to the bowl in her hand, and she felt her hopes plummet. If Crash wouldn't eat anything, how would he ever recover?