Agony.
Cass could think of few other words for the situation he was in.
He breathed deep as the palace medic peeled back his shirt. The woman made a sound of disapproval. “You should have left the blade in place. It would bleed less.”
“I’ll try to make sure the next person who stabs me is more considerate.” Speaking hurt. Part of him suspected he deserved it. He’d been an idiot, in more ways than one. He shifted as she directed while she cut the shirt off him, disturbing the injury as little as possible. The cloth he’d been given to hold tight against it was just as unpleasant as the fabric the medic removed and discarded.
“Well, now you’ve done it, haven’t you.” The sweet voice that came from the doorway was entirely unwelcome, as was her silhouette in the doorway.
Cass avoided looking at her. Instead, he focused on his breath. The cut over his ribs was better; the medic had seen to that as soon as he’d reached Nythmar. It had only been two days, but that had been long enough for the medic’s high quality, mage-made poultices to do their work. The medic would pull out something stronger for this, no doubt.
Whether or not he acknowledged her apparently mattered little, for the queen planted her hands on her hips and marched across the room. “I told you to stay in your room and rest, Cassian. Not to tangle yourself in the first bit of trouble you can. Now look at you.” She waved a hand at him as the medic removed the cloth and pressed something else to the wound. Whatever it was, it stung, but it stanched the blood flow at once.
“I would prefer you didn’t,” he replied flatly. “I’m undressed.”
She snorted. “As if I haven’t seen you without a shirt before.”
He inhaled again, long and slow, to distract him from the urge to roll his eyes. “Does Valdessic know you’re here?”
“Why should he? He has enough on his plate without knowing you’re wounded. He’ll feel guilty. He feels badly enough that you were hurt the first time.” Her eyes roamed in a way he didn’t like, taking in all the scars he’d earned through the years. Regret furrowed her brow. “We never should have asked this of you,” she murmured.
“I don’t want your pity.” Nor did he want her feeling sorry for herself, if he were honest. She’d dragged him back to his old job, but he’d been the one to take it in the first place. If he hadn’t, would they be here now? It didn’t seem likely. Yet he felt no regret for what he’d done, for the position he’d put himself in that earned him all those scars. He lowered his voice and made himself look her in the face. “I promised I’d take care of you.”
She’d always been pretty. The crown atop her sleek black hair made her radiant, but even that was dampened by the way her face crumpled. “I never asked that of you.”
“I asked it of myself. And I’ve kept my promise, haven’t I?” He nodded downward, toward his wounded shoulder. The medic was coating it with something he couldn’t identify, but it had a sour, musty smell and took away the pain. The healing poultices would follow.
“Yes,” the queen murmured. “I suppose you have.”
The queen. He almost snorted at the thought. Year after year, it grew harder to think of her as anything else. But that was what she’d become; Valdessic’s wife, first and foremost, and the sweet, innocent girl he’d known after. The girl who needed to be protected, who Cass had decided to protect on his own when his father had failed to do so.
Abruptly, her expression grew cool and she drew back a step, her hands clasped before her. “A question for you, Cassian. How is it that a girl escapes such an assassin unscathed, while my finest officer takes such an injury?”
Ah. So she’d already heard. He shouldn’t have been surprised. Everything in the palace reached her ears, more often sooner than later. Yet he had no answer to give. How was he supposed to explain? He hadn’t told her how he’d sustained the first injury, either.
She raised a brow when he didn’t reply.
Just when he thought he wouldn’t escape the question, the medic cleared her throat.
“Well, Your Majesty,” the medic said, “I believe he was stabbed.”
For a moment, the queen stood, stunned. Then she laughed, soft and sweet, and the gentle girl he’d grown up with reappeared. “Yes, I do believe that’s so.”
It was easier to relax with that version of her around. Easier to speak. Cass shook his head and lowered his gaze to the floor. “I couldn’t let her be hurt, Lessi. It wasn’t her fight.”
“One could argue it wasn’t yours, either, since I told you to stay in your room.”
“Maybe you should give me a room that isn’t near the next assassin’s point of entry,” he replied.
“I’ll consider that. But you owe me a full explanation of the situation and who this messenger is as soon as you’re well. From what the guards are saying, it sounds as if you’ve crossed paths before.” She raised a delicate brow and stepped forward.
“Don’t touch me,” he growled.
She pinched his cheek anyway.
Cass jerked away with a snarl, earning himself a sharp, reprimanding cluck from the medic.
Alessia smirked at him before she walked away, as graceful as a swan.
He sighed hard. If not for the medic treating his shoulder, he would have slouched. As it was, the most he could do was run a hand through his hair, though he desperately wished to cradle his head in his hands and stew over everything that had gone wrong.
It wasn’t Elia’s fight. He repeated that in his head, over and over again, as if the repetition might make him believe it.
He knew better.
The medic gave a soft hum. “Would one be correct in assuming this girl was worth taking a dagger for?”
Cass peered at her from the corner of his eye. “Stupid question.”
“Because you already took the dagger? Or because the answer should be obvious?” She did not meet his eye, focused on the task of mixing herbs in her little stone bowl. Pouring magic into them, he decided. Magic put an odd sort of prickle in the air, even when it was a variety he couldn’t touch. That he’d been able to feel it when his sister worked her magic in the family gardens was the reason he’d discovered his own gifts.
He chose not to answer the question. It was only after he made that choice that he realized he didn’t know what the answer was.
She’d hurt him in a way he’d never known possible, digging her way beneath his hardened demeanor and finding a cozy place inside. A place he’d wanted her. She’d offered companionship he’d never known he wanted until she gave him respite from loneliness. He hadn’t realized how long he’d carried that burden. It had plagued him for longer than he could recall. In only a few days, she’d uprooted it and tossed it out like weeds plucked from a garden, making room for something new to grow.
And grown it had. He’d first noticed it when they stood outside her family’s home, her smile dazzling and her eyes like stars as snowflakes kissed her freckled skin. Now, he saw it ran deeper than that, and when he traced it back to the root, he realized those seeds of feeling had been planted that first morning together. It had been when she served him pancakes, something made from next to nothing, a light of pride in her eyes.
That light had kindled something.
Her betrayal had left it all but smothered.
“I don’t have medicine for that,” the medic murmured.
His eyes opened. He hadn’t realized he’d closed them. “What?”
“Whatever it is you’re feeling. There’s no medicine for that.”
“What’s the cure, then?” he asked with more than a little sarcasm.
“Only words.” She shrugged and straightened. She’d smothered his wound with healing salve and wrapped it while he stewed. “Right now, you need rest.”
Cass grunted an acknowledgment as he pushed himself from the medic’s table and took the clean shirt some member of the serving staff had brought. He wouldn’t disagree out loud, lest the medic send the queen after him, but the thought was there.
The last thing he needed was rest.
Right now, he needed an answer.
