Elsie glanced at Feverrette, who had paled just a shade at the fabric. As much as she would have adored seeing the man suffer, the tailor in her could not smatter his person with such a color. Still, she let him remain in a small amount of agony, moving to compare the fabric against his person and making a large display of debating the matter. He eyed her with a glare that she could only imagine was meant as warning before she lowered the cotton and turned to Leona.
"It is a bit effeminate for him, don't you think?" She asked at last.
"But I thought His Lordship liked green."
"Perhaps a bit more green and less blue, Milady?" Elsie set the fabric back onto the merchant table. Each bolt of fabric had a sample piece set before it, allowing them to review the colors and quality of it before choosing. Three bolts to the left there was a dark, brackish green color and she stepped to it, holding it up for Feverrette's review. "Is this more to your liking, Milord?"
"That it is, Miss Nessa." It was obvious in his tone of voice that he realized she had just saved him from social despair. If he'd had to reject Leona's suggestion himself he would have felt the brunt of her pout, something that no doubt would have made him uncomfortable. "I can see why you have made such a reputation for yourself."
"That is more of a mannish color, I suppose," Leona sighed, fingering the bolt of teal with a look of longing on her face.
Elsie saw the opening and took it. "Though that color you chose would make for a lovely gown, Milady." In moderation, she thought and smiled at Leona, trying to pull the girl from her sudden sulk. "Perhaps with that remarkable ivory satin you bought last week?"
Leona brightened at that. "Do you really think so?"
Something moved across the roof of the northeastern building and Elsie felt her stomach grip. Fates! Artimus was not going to wait. She looked at Feverrette, who must have spotted the same thing she had because he was squinting up at the building in question. His shoulders were tense, prepared but she doubted he could fend off her mentor.
"Or perhaps Your Ladyship would like to wait for the trip to Little Delgora," Elsie said, moving just barely closer to Feverrette. "You know how many different shades and fabrics come through the port town."
Leona might not have noticed her move, but Feverrette and Bryva certainly had. Bryva, who had been silent through the entire exchange, was focused on something entirely different. Elsie noticed her warning signal a moment too late. There was a flash and a bang, and the merchant table before them exploded into a mess of splinters and fabrics. Leona screamed and from the corner of her eye Elsie saw Bryva dive for the lady, covering her with her body.
It was moments like these that struck her with the inward battle - to use her Talent, or not to. If she used the Talent in front of Feverrette he would notice. If she didn't, people would be harmed. It was a struggle she had often dealt with, and one she could never fully accept. Artimus had said discretion was the best choice, keeping her identity secret from Reonne so that her life could not be threatened again until it was too late for the lady to act.
But then, Artimus was her problem today. A flash-bang was something the Bedim created. While the contraption did little more than make a bright flash and a loud bang on its own, when it was boxed up tight and attached to the underside of a table it could be dangerous. Artimus was not merely trying to distract them with the trap, he wanted someone hurt.
In the end it was Feverrette who made her decision easy. Without hesitation or preamble he used his Talent, bending time and warping reality until he had yanked Leona and Bryva away from danger. He was, however, only a Second Born and his Talent was limited. While he had enough time to grab those two, he was unable to rescue her from the explosion - something she was actually grateful for.
It was exactly as she would have preferred it.
She forced herself not to act on instinct. Allowing heat and shards of wood to sink into her skin, she fell back, curling herself into a ball to keep the damage to a minimum. The pain of it was not so bad as to be disabling but bad enough to make her yelp. The moments that followed next were a chaotic mingle of screams, panic and people running. Dazed, she was aware that it was Bryva who hurried to help her to her feet as the smoke and debris began to settle.
"Is she all right?" Leona's voice rose to a high, panicked pitch.
Feverrette came to aid, a look of accusation written on his features. Elsie noticed it in a distant sort of way, still battling the shock of what had just happened. The obvious entanglement she had put herself into took its time registering. She had, after all, shown him the Sanctuary.
"Bryva, take Leona back to the Manor."
Bryva frowned at her, obviously not wanting to listen. The smoke was settling and Artimus would have a clear shot in a matter of seconds. Elsie grabbed the girls arm and squeezed hard, "Get Leona home."
Her friend scowled but took off.
Elsie turned to Feverrette, whose grimace had managed to falter just enough that she felt she had the opening she needed. "Hurry! Come with me," Elsie began to move on wobbly legs, ducking low under the smoke.
There was a moment of hesitation before he began to follow.
Smoke burned at her lungs, making her choke. She could hear Feverrette coughing behind her, close on her heels. Thanking the Fates that he had chosen to trust her instead of argue, she spotted the door of a nearby building slightly ajar. She paused for a second, taking cover behind an upturned merchant table. It was the bead sellers table. Bright beads of various colors rolled over the ground and made uncomfortable indentations in her thigh as she surveyed the situation. Feverrette crouched beside her, his eyes watery from effort.
"You go first," Elsie coughed and gagged, pointing to the door in question. "Stay clear of the windows!"
With no time to question he nodded once and leapt to his feet, running for the doorway. Elsie was up a second behind him, her feet hammering hard on the cobbled street as she ran with all her might. Artimus, however, had already guessed her move. A dart hit Feverrette at his left shoulder blade and she knew the second one was coming. With a shout of effort she leapt, utilizing her magic for the merest of moments, letting it push her a little further than was natural. Her body slammed into Feverrette, pushing them both through the door before the second dart could meet its mark.
It thunked into the wall just beyond them as they toppled to the ground. Elsie turned and kicked the door shut, breathing heavy and still choking on the after-effects of smoke.
Feverrette rolled to his side and strained an arm behind his back, reaching for the dart that had hit him. Finally catching the thing between two fingers he plucked it out and cursed low and heavy. For a moment he glared at the dart, and then his body convulsed with a new kind of strain. Elsie hurried to his side. The hole the dart had created was too small for her to see through so she grabbed the knife tucked into his belt and tore his jacket open. The blade was sharp enough to pierce through his undershirt, revealing a smooth expanse of shoulder and a tiny pinprick of blood.
Every muscle in his body twitched at different intervals and his skin became hot to the touch in a matter of seconds. Fervarium, her own blasted poison; fast acting but only lethal with the combination in the second dart. She'd created the pair of darts to work together, one to boil the blood, putting the target into so much pain that they could not react before the second dart struck them dead.
Using his knife, she cut open the point of impact, making a hole large enough for her to do what needed to be done. Tossing the knife aside she knelt over him and began to suck the wound, drawing the poison from him. She took a breath when she spit the first lot out and went at it again. Only men had Healing Talent or she would have gone ahead and risked everything, displaying her real identity by using it. She was certain he was in too much pain to recognize her Magic through the skin contact so she continued to pull the poison out, ignoring the burn of it on her mouth until his body began to relax.
His hand suddenly touched hers where it rested on h
is side and he mumbled, "I can do it from here."
Elsie sat back, wiping her mouth as he covered his shoulder with one large palm. There was no light, no sound, just the sight of his wound closing up as he worked his Talent. Outside their little room she could hear the bustle of people running, shouting for loved ones, trying to make sense of the attack. With a shaking hand she pushed back her hair and tried to steady herself.
"We have to get out of here," she said.
He grunted and sat up.
"Are you capable of running?" Elsie searched hard for an escape plan. Normally she would think Artimus gone by now, unwilling to risk exposing the Sanctuary by getting caught. But with his open attack, and his shrouded past with Feverrette she couldn't accept that. Whatever had happened between these two men was serious enough to make Artimus go mad.
If she was being honest with herself, she'd had her doubts about his sanity anyway. Feverrette just managed to push him over the threshold.
"Are you?" he asked instead.
The pace of her heart had drowned out the feel of her wounds. She had been right, however, in her assessment mid-explosion. The damage to her body was not sufficient enough to disable her, and she nodded to him. "I can."
They were in the brewery, surrounded by closed barrels and a musky scent she could not identify. For caution's sake she kept low as she led the way to the back room. The general layout of the shop was similar to her own, even if it was full of unfamiliar machines. Something in the western corner clanked loudly and in a steady rhythm. A high-pitched hiss followed each clank as a long pipe released hot, humid steam into the room. Elsie felt the unpleasant prickle of sweat bead up around her neck and chest.
The shutters were open, giving them light as they slid open a window for their escape. Her skirts caught on the sill, forcing her to half-dangle outside the window. Hissing a curse she reached back to tear the fabric and free herself, but Feverrette was a step ahead of her, cutting the hem of her skirt with his knife until she toppled to the ground.
He climbed through behind her, crouching low as she righted herself.
The street was still in chaos and she frowned. She would need to take Feverrette someplace secluded for a moment, let things die down a bit and then somehow return him to the manor. The best place to hide in Delgora was the jungle, but her skirt was going to become a problem in their retreat. She held out her hand to Feverrette, "Let me borrow that knife."
His eyebrow cocked, but he flipped the dagger over, setting the hilt into her palm. With swift movements she sawed through her skirts, shortening them to her knees and revealing a great deal of her legs in the process. Somehow managing to keep her mind on her task and not on the appreciative roam of Feverrette's gaze across her calves she dropped the excess fabric to the side and handed him the knife again.
"You must trust me," she ignored the fact that it took a moment for him to lift his gaze back to her face. The corner of his mouth twitched at the command, but he nodded. "Stay directly behind me."
With that she stood and moved to the corner of the building, peering around it and up at the roofs.
***
Dorian debated the sanity of trusting the girl as she considered their escape route. His first instincts had been that she'd set up the whole attack scenario, but then he knew she couldn't have. He'd had her within his sight since the moment they'd left the shop, and by all appearances, she'd been quite shocked to see him still in Delgora. Besides which, the woman had been fighting too hard to get him to leave.
An unfamiliar breeze across his shoulder reminded him of the wound he'd just been forced to heal and the efforts Nessa had gone through to keep him alive. He grit his teeth as the list of ingredients for the poison flashed through his memory. The flirty little alchemist Gremor had found to investigate the darts in Basten had confused him to tears on the technical jargon but he caught onto the fact that its main purpose was blinding pain. So if only one dart hit its mark, the luckless victim would still be helpless and writhing while their assassin finished the job. He'd thought the girl had been exaggerating.
Nessa signaled to him and took off down the street. Dorian followed, pushing the debate out of his mind to concentrate on the race through town. Nessa was spry for a commoner, though he could tell she was combating pain while leaping crates, barrels, and half-empty hand-carts as they sped down different streets. Her creamy-colored stockings were torn here and there, stained black from trouncing through puddles, but he could still see the outline of her lean legs and nearly became distracted. At one point she lost a slipper, but since she didn't pause to pick it up he imagined it wasn't important.
They came skidding around a corner, and she nearly crashed into a stack of crates. He had to grab her, pull her bodily with him as he bent time, dragging them around the crates and averting the near-disaster. Her hair was singed, he could smell it when she got close, and when they started off again he took note of the frayed left side of her gown.
Breaking through the last of the streets, Nessa ran headlong into the jungle, not slowing down or stopping until they had left the town well behind them. When she finally stopped, she collapsed to her knees, breathing heavy and hard, her chest heaving. He might have enjoyed it more had he not been in a similar state, pulling in urgent breaths of air and moving to rest against a nearby tree.
Endless moments passed before he refocused on her. "You saved my life."
Carefully cradling her left arm, she began fishing through the sleeves of her gown, wincing as she pulled a large splinter of wood from just above her elbow. "I would not have had to if you had left when I asked you to."
"You didn't ask me to do anything. You took me to the Bedim House hoping to offend my sensibilities enough to make me run away."
"Pity I didn't know you were bereft of sensibility, Milord." She pulled another shard from her forearm.
"Oh, you offended me all right," he muttered. Deep jungle green curled around her form, making the paleness of her stockings and gown stand out. His magic stirred awake, whispering something at him that he could not comprehend. Deciding to have mercy he moved to her side. "Give me your arm."
She eyed him with distrust.
"Just do it."
Relinquishing her arm with an unhappy frown, she looked away from him. Dorian tore the sleeve completely open, revealing the havoc the explosion had wreaked on her. There were several more splinters, some smaller and some larger, peppered around the arm. He knew without looking that he would find more down her side, possibly along her left leg as well.
Healing Talent was only slightly different from combat. Instead of bending time to get places, manipulating the people around him, it was a matter of speeding the time up, allowing the wound to take its natural course. Scars could not be avoided though, especially for some of the more serious wounds. There was no way to remove her pain, which he suddenly wished for when he could see the paleness of her features mid-way through the process.
And then he felt it, tingling through his palms where he had contact with her skin; Talent.
He was so startled by the revelation that he almost forgot what they were doing.
"I'll need to see your side as well," he said, fighting for nonchalance.
The prospect of her mostly bared before him was a nice one, even if she was wounded. Her mouth pursed at his words, her molten eyes glowering at him, the dark of her hair curling about her head in such a way that he could not help noticing it. Fates preserve him, she might be a fool for trusting the Bedim, but she was a beautiful fool.
"I think I'll suffer through those wounds on my own, milord."
"It's the least I can do. You did manage to suck the poison from my back, after all."
The color in her face rose three shades and she began to smooth her skirt over her legs in an effort to cover them. It was no use, of course. The work she'd made with his knife to shorten the thing had exposed everything to just above her knees.
"You'll make a new fashion with that, Ne
ssa. All the men will thank you for it."
Glaring at him, she tried to tuck the fabric under her legs and crossed her ankles in an attempt at modesty. "You'll understand now why you must leave."
"I understand why you think I must leave," he relaxed, leaning back on one hand to survey her. "That doesn't mean I have to take your advice."
Sunlight filtered from the treetops above, speckling her features with warm shafts of light. Dorian thought for a moment that she was far too much fun to look at. Complication seemed to settle itself around her. Bedim Knight, no doubt. But was she the Heir Apparent? Their touch had been too brief for him to feel the full measure of her Talent. Yet, he couldn't think of another reason why the girl would be running around Delgora, gathering enough men to storm the manor house.
"You would risk your life to spite me?"
He forced himself to pay attention again. "Not to spite you, no."
She became agitated enough to stand and he followed her to his feet. She paced her way to one of the mangrove trees and back again, brushing her hair back through her fingers. Dorian was a patient man and he displayed this quality for her. He waited, silent, as she fought for her next move. There were secrets here that he was not aware of, problems she was facing that she could not trust him with yet. Since he had his own secrets, Dorian didn't fault her for the obvious struggle on her face.
His mind told him that he was getting distracted again but he didn't care anymore. She was tied to the Bedim. Eventually he would get what he wanted, if he wasn't assassinated first.
"Tell me why you remain then," she squared off against him, obviously done with any pretenses.
"I must speak with the Heir Apparent."
Nessa opened her mouth and he could see the lie formulating. Advancing on her in three quick strides, he forced her to retreat until her back was against the tree. "Do not do it, Nessa." Dorian spoke low and dangerous, trying to force her to hear him. "Elsie Delgora is alive, and I know it."
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