You’re hurt…
”It’s nothing.” Croe managed to smile at him, reassuringly. ”That cesspool wasn’t kind to my magic, either. But it’ll be better by tomorrow.” She hoped. It did feel better already, and burns (fortunately) were within her power to heal. If Mallos’ magic didn’t return to him quickly, he’d need strong antibiotics and a cocktail of topical potions. Croe pondered where she would get them, intermixed with her visions of flaying and salting whoever had done this. When she got her hands on them…
Watching him drink – or try to – was agony. Even when he’d been injured in the cave, he hadn’t looked this bad. It must have shown on her face, but she smiled again when he echoed her words, her eyes burning with devotion. They would get through this, together. They could get through anything.
But she couldn’t have done it without Sperantia; it turned out they needed her, too. ”Be careful,” she murmured as the cat made for the door again, to brave Grenada’s streets without the aid of magic. Croe was sure Sperantia could take care of herself, but recent events had her feeling exceptionally cautious. With his familiar gone, she shifted closer to Mallos, delicately investigating his injuries with her eyes and free-hand before settling on the matter of his manacles. She fished a pick from her pocket and deftly prodded the keyholes, cursing quietly at them when they resisted her. The one on the hand she still held popped free; she hesitated to work on the other, unwilling to let him go. In the end, she had to reach awkwardly across him to lift his other hand into his lap, where she could reach it. ”Hang in there, my love.”
The chains fell away and Sperantia returned, faster than Croe could ever have expected. She watched the cat with obvious appreciation as the latter programmed the hop loops, and passed them over. Croe fastened Mallos’ gently around his wrist. ”See you on the other side,” she whispered, then leaned over and kissed him briefly, right before he vanished. His disappearance was simultaneously a torment and a relief – she hated to be parted from him, but was glad he was out of here. Her fingers trembled as she activated her own screen, and felt herself shunted through space. The last time she’d traveled by hop loop, it hadn’t been by choice.
He reached for her; his hand was the first thing that resolved into sense, followed by the light from the window. She kissed him again for good measure, then dragged him to his feet. ”I know getting wet is probably the last thing you want, but you...we smell terrible,” she said, and half-carried him to the bathroom. Nursing did not come naturally to her; she stripped him as gently as she could, kept the shower brief and did her best to clean his wounds, but could not redress him. She supposed she had a lot of practice getting him out of clothes but not back into them. So she deposited him in bed, instead, drawing a clean sheet up to his chest, and smoothed a wild lock of hair out of his face.
”I’ll be right back,” she promised, and walked back out into the living room.
The evening light was beautiful, gilding the edges of the furniture, glittering across the tile…but Croe moved first to the curtains, yanking one side out to the middle to obscure the view below. Half the room was suddenly cast in purple shadow. She stood in it a moment, worried the damp braid she’d pulled over his shoulder, darkness upon darkness.
”I’m going to go find him some medicine,” she told Sperantia, her voice barely more than a sigh. ”I…I don’t know what else to do. How long will it take for his magic to come back?” She paced a little, the question sounding rhetorical even to her own ear. ”Do you need anything? ”
|
 |