Argus shuddered. The beautiful numbness that had carried him off to sleep was gone. The fire was back. He tried to roll and writhe, but there was no escape from the agony that claimed every part of him.
“Stay still,” said Lord Syrio's favorite daughter. “You'll open up your wounds.”
Argus tried to nod, couldn't, and fell limp. Pain coursed through him. One moment he was hot, then cold, then hot again. It was either a fever or a blazing hearth he felt; with all the commotion, he couldn't decide which.
Footsteps thudded down the stairs. They stopped just behind Argus's head, shuffling around while the chambermaid panted. Someone cradled his head and slid a few pillows beneath it while the other ripped at his tunic.
“Help me lift his head,” Janna said.
Argus groaned. The moment she did that would be the moment the cuts in his side opened. He kept groaning, tossing his head from side to side in hopes she understood.
“Hold on,” said Morgan, “I have another idea.” She scampered away and returned a few seconds later.
“Careful,” Janna said.
“Of course, my lady.” Then came the sound of ripping fabric, a blast of air where his tunic had been. By the time Argus opened his eyes Morgan was pulling it off while Janna held him up.
Both women gasped. Janna nearly dropped him, wedging her fingers between his head and the floor at the last moment. “He looks awful,” she said.
“Most of the wounds look shallow,” said her chambermaid. “My father's a butcher, my lady. We'll see.”
“What about the girl he's with?”
Argus grunted. They turned and looked at him. Nasira! He tried to sit up and look for her but his head weighed as much as an ale keg. He slumped on the pillows, flinching while Morgan covered his wounds in a cold salve before draping a blanket over his naked torso.
“Stay still!” said Janna.
“Take… take care of her. Watch her stomach…”
Janna whispered and stroked his hair. Argus itched to escape that cloying sweetness—not now, not until he saw Nasira was all right—but was too exhausted to move. Then came more ripping from the corner of the room, and Morgan's yelp when the task was done.
“She looks bad, my lady. Really bad.”
“Go wake Griswold and tell him to bring his brother. The girl needs a mender.”
Morgan disappeared in a babel of rustling skirts. The doors creaked open and closed a moment later.
“Janna…”
“Shh. She'll be back soon, love. Just be still.” The blacksmith fell silent save for the occasional splash of water onto Janna's rag. She dabbed his face. When she turned to Nasira, he grunted and lunged toward them.
Janna ordered him to stay still. But Argus didn't stop until his hand found the Comet Tailer's. He cleared his mind, and remembered what he'd learned from the Touch Branch. He opened Nasira up, felt inside, and probed the hole the Whisper had made. Her pain became his pain. Slowly he started to stitch it up, reminding himself to keep fighting, to stay conscious.
That battle raged for an eternity. Every time he closed the wound, it popped open again and more blood seeped to the surface. Argus tried subtlety, brute force, and everything in between. He kept his eyes closed—even when he felt dizzy and weightless.
With his mind he threaded it, chanting all the while.
It held. Finally it held.
He collapsed to the sound of doors creaking, earnest whispers trailing behind them.
* * *
“Drink.”
Argus didn't know whose voice that was. And he was too exhausted to care. Strong hands reached under his neck and lifted him until his lips met cool water. It flowed down his throat. Invigorating. Perfect. He would have swallowed all they had—if only he could remember how.
“He's choking,” one man said.
“I know he's choking, you nit,” said another.
The waterskin disappeared. Fists pounded his back until Argus coughed up the water. Finally, when he gathered his breath, he opened his eyes and faced them.
“Ah,” said Griswold, the flamboyant tailor who'd helped Argus find some new clothes before the festival began. “He's awake, Lady Christine.” Griswold ran a finger through his hair, which was still dyed green in honor of the Turning, and frowned. “Our man is in one piece. Though I can't say the same for his wardrobe.”
He ducked aside to make room for the blonde woman with dark circles under her eyes. “Oh, thank gods!” Janna leaned over and showered him in kisses. “I've seen you bad off before, but last night I thought you were a dead man.” She kissed Griswold on both cheeks and leaned over to kiss Wilford, his brother, the mender.
“Nasira…”
Janna squeezed his hand. “The Comet Tailer girl will live.”
Argus sighed. The pain he felt now was the dull, aching kind. In a way he was grateful for it, because every ache reminded him that he was still alive.
“The girl's still resting,” Wilford said. “With the size of her wounds…” He lowered his voice. “She shouldn't be alive. It's really quite remarkable.”
Argus smiled. He felt dry lips cracking, and gestured for more water.
“What?” said Janna. “Tell me, Argus.”
She shouldn't have used his real name. He looked around for cracks in the walls where daggers might slip through. Argus of Leith was anathema in Azmar. Just by speaking the words aloud, he wondered if he'd draw more Whispers.
“He knows how to mend,” Wilford said. “That's the only explanation.”
“Or,” said Griswold, in a tone that suggested an ongoing sibling quarrel, “the girl just got lucky and survived when she shouldn't have.”
Wilford snorted. “Don't be ridiculous. She should have died before they even got here last night.”
Argus looked at Janna, questioning with his eyes.
Yes, those eyes said. Go ahead. You can trust them.
“I helped her along.”
“Aha,” said Wilford.
“I wouldn't call it mending. Just a trick I learned from an old book.”
Murmurs. The three of them looked at one another with their eyes wide. “Are you… saying what I think you're saying?” said Griswold. Janna grabbed his hand, squeezing it this time. “Are you dabbling in magic?”
Argus croaked out a laugh. “Dabbling? I've sailed past that point months ago.”
“A real life sorcerer,” said Wilford. “Gods. Are you still sane? You look functional enough.”
“I seem to be holding it together so far.”
“Nonsense,” said Janna. “You nearly got yourself killed. Make way, gentlemen. Here comes that soup.”
Morgan pressed through them with a steaming bowl. “It's just broth. I would have fixed you something heartier but with so little time—”
“It's perfect,” Janna said, taking the bowl. “Give us some space, friends. He needs to eat, to recover his strength.” After propping more pillows beneath him, Wilford and Griswold turned their attention to Nasira while Janna fed him. The first few spoonfuls made him realize just how famished he was. Soon enough that bowl was empty, and Morgan shuttled into the corner to refill it.
“Is it true?” said Janna. “What you told Griswold?”
“Aye.”
Her face twisted. Moisture coated her eyes. It was impossible to tell if it was sweat or tears or both. “Why? Why would you go down that path? I've seen how it ends. It's the same ending for everyone. The debtors I hide among. My last chambermaid. Even one of my father's favorite chancellors at the palace.”
“Janna…”
“No! It always starts with the powders. Until the powders aren't enough. Then it moves on to whispered conversations and secret books. What is it you need to know, Argus? You know this doesn't end until your mind is broken.”
“There's a lot I haven't told you. Things that might make you change your mind—”
“Let's hear them, then. Once you're healed. We'll flee Azmar and start anew somewhere else.
I've always wanted to see the world. You know that.”
He nodded. Janna had expressed similar sentiments years before, though she was little more than a child back then. They both were. But this time, the way she looked at him was different. This time she means it.
She leaned over and kissed his parched lips, hair tickling his face. “I was up all night,” she whispered. “Keeping you cool. Praying you'd get better.”
“I know. Thank you.” That night had been a slew of horrors. Fever and chills and pinpricks of slumber. All the while he'd felt her hand on his.
“You're okay,” she said, kissing him again. “That's all that matters.”
“And Nasira will live.” The words rolled off his tongue slowly. He couldn't believe them.
“That's what Wilford says.” Her face darkened. “She isn't… special to you, isn't she?”
Argus looked over and found the Comet Tailer swarmed by a mender, a tailor, and a resolute chambermaid. “She's like the younger sister I never had. I couldn't have lived with myself if she… It was my fault. That's bad enough as it is.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It was the Whispers again.” He sat up and grabbed her by the shoulders. “They haven't come for you, have they?”
“No. The rest of the Turning was a nightmare. All I could think about was how you looked up there on that balcony with those terrible men and their hooks. But nothing out of the ordinary has happened since.”
“You need to find a different hideout.” Argus felt for his sword and spotted it halfway across the room, by the fireplace. “This place isn't safe anymore, Ja—”
“I know.” She pressed a finger to her lips and mouthed Christine.
“Whatever. You know what I mean.”
“This must be for what you did at the feast. Unless there's more you haven't told me.”
Argus shrugged. “That's what I thought too. But the reward is only good if I'm alive. The Whispers did everything they could to kill me.”
“Yet here you are.” Janna smiled, took the second bowl of soup from Morgan, and used the spoon to stir it. “Now lean back. I'm sure you're starving.” When he waved her off, she tried to convince him to come rest in her bed upstairs.
“Not until Nasira wakes up.” They rearranged the bedding so they lay side by side. Argus took her hand, closed his eyes and started to whisper.
“What's he doing?” Morgan said.
“He's mending,” Wilford said. “Well, not mending but—he's a sorcerer. Haven't you heard?”
“Oh, my!”
Argus stopped chanting. “We appreciate your help, truly. But best forget you ever saw us. The killers who came after us last night—I don't want them hunting you.”
“He's right,” Janna said. “You'll get triple the dragons for all your hard work last night. And your discretion.”
They swore themselves to secrecy. Argus turned back to Nasira. He gave her as much energy as he dared, focusing on the root of her wound while Wilford applied ointments and bandages on the surface. They worked until Griswold slipped out for more firewood, revealing a midday sun.
“What time is it?” Argus said.
“Probably almost noon,” Morgan said. She turned to Janna. “What about that errand we spoke about earlier, my lady? Should I stay here instead? If not, I'd best be—”
“No,” said Janna. “Go on. I'll see you in a few hours. We can't have people suspecting anything is out of sorts.”
Morgan curtsied and disappeared. Argus was still working on Nasira when she returned. She'd changed into a modest sky blue dress and scrubbed away the blood. Her hair was combed and wet, smelling of sage. She said goodbye and left through the side door.
That's when Nasira woke up.
Mender and sorcerer cried out, embracing while their patient stirred. She looked up at them with her eyes darting about. Her mouth fell open. A groan. “W-w-where…”
Argus brushed some hairs away from her face and said, “Don't say anything yet. You're safe.” He beckoned for water and Griswold brought some over. The Comet Tailer drank, tentative at first and then with abandon. When her glass was empty Janna brought her another. “You had quite a night. But you can relax now, lady. You're among friends.”
Nasira sighed, and her body went limp. After more water and some chicken broth she spoke. “What happened? I don't remember much. It comes to me in terrible flashes. Running and daggers and—they stabbed you. Are you hurt, Argus? Where are we?”
He squeezed her hand. “I'm fine. This is Christine. She's a friend. And here are Griswold and Wilford. Morgan's gone for now. Thanks to the four of them we're still alive.”
“You did plenty too. Carried me. Must have. I remember the streets were upside down.”
“Rest.”
Wilford and Griswold helped him upstairs and left him in Janna's bed. Next they went for Nasira; they carried her up to the small room across the hall, where Morgan usually slept.
“I'll watch her a little while longer,” Wilford said.
“Thank you,” said Janna, sliding into bed next to Argus. “You can leave now, Griswold. I'm sure you're exhausted.”
He left them with a bow and promises to replace Argus's wardrobe with something “a little less bloody.” As soon as he shut the door, Argus plunged into a deep sleep. He dreamed of daggers, and when he woke, moaning, sunlight angled in through the western windows.
“It's all right,” Janna said. “It was only a nightmare.” Then she leaned over and kissed him. She moved slowly, careful to avoid the bruises. She pulled away but kept her blue eyes inches from his own.
“I shouldn't have come here,” Argus said. “I'm sorry. There wasn't anywhere else.”
Azmar's favorite daughter smiled. “Nonsense.”
“We can't linger here long. More Whispers will come.”
She kissed him again, pulled away and said, “Then take me somewhere else. Rest until you're strong enough to get me away from Azmar. Didn't you say you were rebuilding Davos?”
He laughed, imagining her washing ashore there in all of her fine clothes. “Trying. It's still a long way off. Especially if Whispers insist on dogging me with their daggers.”
“Davos sounds lovely.”
“You've never even been. The luxuries of your father's palace will become a distant memory.”
“I don't care! We'll get to be together. No more sneaking around. No more pretenses.” Janna squeezed his hand. “That's all the luxury I need.”
Argus closed his eyes. She was too beautiful. Looking at her clouded his judgment. He'd tried throwing up every imaginable excuse, but she knocked them down without a flinch.
We could be together. Nice and cozy in my little stone house…
The longer he thought about it, the more that he realized it was exactly what he wanted. The Five Branches would still be there, of course, but Janna would add some much-needed balance to his life. She would soften him around the edges—if he only allowed her in.
“Janna—”
“Don't say anything yet, Argus of Leith. Just kiss me.” Warm lips brushed against his own. They traveled all over his face, claiming his cheeks, his brow, his chin. Argus felt his hands sliding up her slender back. Her skin was impossibly smooth. Naked.
“I'm glad you were here,” he said. “Thank you for saving us.”
“Mmhmm.”
Argus opened his eyes and found her on top of him. Janna steadied herself on the mattress, keeping the pressure off his battered torso. Evening light streamed through the windows. It collected on her skin, welcoming him with a healthy glow. Street noises drifted into the bedroom; soon they fell away along with everything else.
Everything except for that beautiful woman. The one willing to forgo a life of status and luxury just to be his.
When it was over Janna nuzzled against his shoulder, whispering.
Argus closed his eyes and slept.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A gentle knock woke them.
&nb
sp; Argus groaned. Janna stirred beside him. She tousled his hair and then got up, shuffling over to the closed door naked. She cut right through the last rays of sunlight, stopped at the door and said, “What is it?”
“It's Morgan, my lady. I'm sorry to wake you. But this is urgent.”
Janna opened the door and waved her in. “What is it?”
“Shall I help you get dress—oh!”
Morgan covered her mouth when she spotted Argus naked in the bed. This time he had the wherewithal to pull up a sheet. “Hello, Morgan. Sorry we keep meeting like this.”
“It's all right. I just… didn't know you were here.” She blushed.
Janna wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and said, “It's okay. Argus is a friend. You can speak freely around him.”
“I see.” Morgan nodded. “I've just returned from the palace. Your father is hosting honored guests from Pellmere this evening. Some of the members of the Council of Dozens were in the city to enjoy the Turning, and your father invited them to feast before they leave.”
“Those old saps? Oh, gods. I completely forgot.”
“I told him you were still ill, my lady. But Lord Syrio demands you at least make an appearance. He said your charms and silver tongue are needed to entertain the elders and their retinue.”
Janna sighed, scrambling for her clothes. “Surely my father has some kind of business scheme afoot. The illness excuse got me through most of the Turning, though I suppose his patience has run its course.” She laid a hand on the chambermaid's shoulder. “When does the feast begin?”
“It already has, my lady. I ran back as fast as I could. But if we hurry we should be able to get there in time for the entrees. Or at least dancing and dessert.”
Janna frowned. “I'll need to be made up and find a suitable dress first.”
“Perhaps we could borrow Wilford's carriage.”
“Your ingenuity knows no bounds, Morgan.” Janna leaned over and kissed Argus once more on the lips. “Stay here and rest.” She lowered her voice. “I meant what I said earlier. About leaving.”
Argus smiled. “I know.”
“I'd like you to stay too,” Janna told Morgan. “Our guests need you more than I do. See that they're comfortable. I'm sure they'll be ready to eat again soon.”
Fortune's Toll (The Legion of the Wind, Book Two) Page 12