Ismael returned with a pair of soldiers pants, with all the pockets and weapons harnesses. With it was a loose, dark coloured shirt that swam on David’s shoulders.
“It’s Smith Martillo’s,” Ismael explained. “The long jacket you came in with is around somewhere as well. I could probably find it if you want.”
“I would appreciate it.”
The mage twisted on the bed, moaning and clutching at his head.
Dina shoved his hands aside and put her fingers on him as she’d done to David. After a moment, the mage settled. Stroking his temples, Dina leaned close and spoke so softly David couldn’t hear what she said. Castillo nodded a couple of times, eyes still closed, his hand reaching blindly for Dina. She took it and curled her fingers through his.
“Ismael,” she said softly, “perhaps you should take him to Mage Castillo’s tent. Anyone might come in here and see him.”
Ismael hurried David out of the hospital and, checking to make sure no one saw them, directed him to Castillo’s tent.
“Not very neat, is he,” Ismael murmured and began to tidy up.
David ignored him, looking through a gauze window in the tent. Three men were walking toward the hospital and the tug of David’s task spiked.
Walking between two mages was the boy. He was dirty and bloody, as if they hadn’t let him wash after leaving the tunnels. The left side of his face was bruised and swollen where David had punched him. As he walked, the boy favoured his right side, hand pressed to his ribs, a limp making him stumble every other step or so. One of his escorts was the Fire Mage David had encountered the day before, the other an Air Mage.
They went into the hospital and David slipped out of the tent, following them.
“He can’t see anyone at the moment,” Dina was saying as David entered.
“But he said he would see the prisoner as soon as we got back,” the Fire Mage said, holding onto the boy with one hand.
The Air Mage turned to David. “Who are you?”
The boy and Fire Mage turned as well. Blanching under the coating of bruises, dirt and dried blood, the boy whispered, “I thought you were dead.”
“Not while I have a duty to perform.” David took the boy’s arm from the mage. “He’s my prisoner.”
“Where did you come from?” The Fire Mage took the boy’s other arm.
“From Duke Ibarra. Let him go.”
“Ruben,” Dina hissed in warning.
Ruben gave a little tug on the boy’s arm. “Until I’m told otherwise by my captain, this boy is the prisoner of Colonel Cabrera and I won’t relinquish him to some nameless upstart.”
David narrowed his eyes. “You were there yesterday when I gave my credentials to your lieutenant.”
“No. I saw you cow a stupid man into submission, that’s all.”
Dina grabbed Ruben’s other arm. “It’s all right, Ruben, really. He can be trusted.”
Between them, the boy sagged. He looked up at David, face twisted by pain and sadness. “Don’t take me back to him. Please, I beg you. He has to be stopped.”
David met his tortured gaze, saw the conviction in them. The boy believed he was doing the only thing he could.
The task burned hot in his chest. It was almost done. All he had to do was commandeer a dirigible and order it back to Ibarra with him and the boy on board. If he didn’t, the duty would consume him, stealing what little self he had left. He would forget his Name, forget his past, forget what had driven him to rebel in the first place. The faceless, empty person would devour David Exposito de Ciro and then there would only be the Immortal Soldier.
Yet, the moment the boy was back with his father, David wouldn’t be needed anymore. He would be taken down below the cathedral, locked away and left to rot.
“You can’t take him,” Dina said. “Not yet. He needs to be healed.”
“And when can that happen?” David asked.
“Not until tomorrow, at least.”
The heat in his chest subsided a touch. “All right. But I’ll keep him under watch until then.” It wasn’t much of an excuse but it would feed the compulsion. Enough that he could resist the urge to throw the boy over his shoulder and commandeer a dirigible—for a while at least.
“I don’t think so,” the Air Mage snapped. “He’s a prisoner of Ibarra, not you.”
David levelled a glare on the man. “For all intents and purposes, I am Ibarra. Go running to your captain if you want, but she’ll only tell you the same thing.”
“Ruben, Tibercio.” Dina hustled past David and the boy, ushering the two mages ahead of her. “You can trust him, but do talk to Captain Meraz if you wish. Now please, Mage Castillo needs some quiet and calm.”
The Air Mage glared at David until he was gone.
Ruben held back. “What’s wrong with Gabe. Did he pick another fight?”
“No. He’s just tired from a healing. Please, Ruben, go.”
The Fire Mage frowned, but went. Dina leaned against the closed door for a moment, then sighed.
“Are you all right?” David asked.
She nodded wearily, pushing off the door and waving him and the boy into the ward. “Let’s get him cleaned up and I’ll see what I can do for his pain while we wait for the mage.”
In the ward, Castillo was asleep again, snoring softly, one arm flung over his eyes.
Dina prepared a basin of warm water and a row of balms and ointments. She called the boy Rafe and made him sit. He couldn’t take his shirt off so she cut it off him, revealing black and blue ribs, abrasions on his shoulders from falling rocks and a long, shallow cut across his back. Shaking her head in disgust at the lack of treatment given at the encampment, Dina cleaned Rafe’s wounds and dressed them. Done, she bound his ribs and settled him into a bed.
David paced the aisle between the rows of beds, certain that in his present condition, Rafe wasn’t going to run. Dina went back to Castillo, checking him tenderly.
“Is he all right?” David asked, hoping the mage hadn’t damaged himself just to heal him.
“He’ll be fine. It’s just exhaustion.” She glanced at David, trying for a smile that failed into a worried frown. “He works himself too hard. What he did for you was probably equivalent to two days’ worth of surgery here. He’ll sleep for several hours now.” Standing, she considered Castillo, then the boy. “Perhaps you should take Mage Castillo to his tent. It would be best if he was away from any potential trouble.”
David looked to the boy. He was lying on his bed, head turned so he stared listlessly at the wall and didn’t have to see David or Dina.
“He won’t go anywhere,” Dina assured David quietly.
Something in her confident tone convinced him, so David scooped up the limp mage and carried him out of the hospital. The mage stirred as David put him down on his cot, but only enough to mumble a name—Evellia—then he settled into deep sleep again.
As he pushed at the door to the hospital, he heard the boy talking. Pausing, he listened.
“—let me go. I can’t let him take me back to Ibarra.”
“I’m sorry,” Dina replied, sounding truly regretful. “There’s nothing I can do.”
“Yes, there is. You can help me get back to the main encampment. Just let me go while he’s gone. It’s vitally important I talk to—” The boy cut himself off with a soft gasp. “I mean, I have to go back and find Dem. He’s my... best friend. I have to find him.”
Wondering what the boy had stopped himself from saying, David opened the door the rest of the way and entered. Both Dina and Rafe startled at his appearance, jerking apart. Dina, seated on the side of Rafe’s bed, stood and blushed as if she’d been caught doing something inappropriate. The boy, sitting up, pushed back against the wall, eyeing David warily.
“Your friend didn’t make it out,” David said. “He fell to the Alarians. As did most of the company you put at risk by going into the tunnels with them.”
Rafe’s wariness turned to disbelief. “No. He can�
��t be dead.”
“He went down amidst the enemy. I doubt they were in the mood to take prisoners.”
“Have some compassion,” Dina snapped at David.
“He needs to know the truth,” David said steadily. “He wasn’t trained for this, yet he went down there all the same. His friend’s death is only one of many he may have had a part in.”
Surging off the bed, Rafe swung at David. Swaying out the way, David easily caught the boy’s arm, spinning him and holding his arm up against his back, putting pressure on his elbow and wrist. Grunting in pain, Rafe stilled, knowing when he was helpless.
“I didn’t want to go down there,” Rafe hissed between clenched teeth. “Neither of us did, but we couldn’t get out of it.”
“Then why were you there in the first place?” David asked. “Why did you run down here and force him to send me after you?”
“I, I...” Rafe gasped for breath, his free arm wrapped around his ribs.
“Let him go,” Dina commanded. “He can’t breathe. You’ve aggravated his injuries, you great fool.”
Rafe was shaking, and not just from the pressure of David’s hold. There were tears in his eyes, whether from pain or grief, David couldn’t tell. Part of him didn’t care. His job was to take the boy home, nothing more. But that was the part David didn’t like, the part that, if he let it, would consume him.
He let Rafe go and the boy stumbled away from him. Dina rushed forward and helped him to the bed. She checked his ribs again while Rafe gasped for air.
“Is it true?” Rafe asked her when he could. “Did Dem not make it out?”
Dina sat back and closed her eyes, lips moving silently. When she opened her eyes again, she took Rafe’s hand and shook her head.
“No,” he moaned. “Please, no.”
“I’m sorry,” Dina said gently. “He didn’t come through the hospital. I read the recognition stamps of all the wounded. There was no Dem or Demetrio.”
Understanding her patient better than Rafe understood himself, Dina pulled him into her arms, rubbing his back and murmuring softly in his ear. Rafe’s stunned silence dissolved into painful, choking sobs, leaning against the Sacerdio as if she were the only support in the world.
David stood at the foot of the bed, watching his prey.
He would have to take Rafe back to Ibarra, where the boy would face the consequences of his actions. David had no doubt his punishment would involve pain and blood and more emotional trauma than losing a close friend. It had been in the back of David’s head the entire time he’d been chasing Rafe, that he would be taking the boy back to face very harsh consequences. It had been there, and he’d ignored it, like he’d ignored all the violent, bloody results of his previous tasks. The binding to the dukes of Ibarra didn’t let him embrace those feelings, didn’t let him feel much more than the surface of any emotion. He’d forgotten what it was like to cry as if his heart was broken, to laugh at a joke, to feel so deeply for someone that losing them was like dying.
Gently, Dina extricated herself with practiced ease from Rafe’s clinging arms. The boy curled up, sniffling.
Turning to David, Dina asked, “Can you watch him while I fix something to help him sleep?”
David nodded and she disappeared into the surgery, returning with a mug of something warm, steam rising from the liquid. She helped Rafe drink it in slow sips, saying it would ease the pain and put him to sleep. Within moments of finishing the drink, the boy was sagging against her, eyes closed, breathing evenly. David helped Dina lie him down and the Sacerdio tucked a blanket around him.
Taking the mug, she went back to the surgery. A crash drew David in after her, finding her leaning against a bench, shoulders shaking, the mug shattered on the floor.
“You’re exhausted,” David said. “You should rest.”
“I’m fine.” She straightened and gave him a brave smile, but looking at the broken mug, her face crumpled.
David caught her in his arms and lifted her off the ground. “You need to sleep.”
Her weak protests meant nothing to him. He carried her out to the ward and set her down on a bed, holding her down with one hand while he pulled a blanket over her.
“I can’t rest. I have to watch Rafe and Gabriel,” she said, her voice fading. “And the wounded. We’ll be getting wounded soon.”
“I’ll wake you then,” David promised. “For now, sleep.”
The fight left her the moment the blanket touched her chin. She relaxed and was gone a moment later.
David touched her hair. It was soft and fine; her skin the colour of a blushing pearl, long dark lashes standing out in stark contrast against her cheeks. She was beautiful and she was in love with the Bone Mage.
Something twinged in David’s chest, something he hadn’t felt in a long time, could barely remember what it was. He stood and backed away from the Sacerdio. Whatever that feeling was, he couldn’t let it distract him. He had a task to do, and until someone who could help him complete it woke up, he would just have to wait.
Chapter 16
A spear of bright light woke Gabe, lancing into his eyes like a perfectly aimed arrow. He groaned and rolled over, wondering why he was in his tent instead of the hospital. The answer came in small bursts of memory—talking with Meraz and Ismael, healing Nothing, collapsing—all of it arriving with the lingering sensation of missing half his guts.
Doing his best to ignore the echo of Nothing’s wounds, Gabe fell out of bed and staggered to his feet. It was while he was fumbling about for his towel he realised the light was coming from the wrong direction. Peering through the window, he saw the sun low over the western wall of the camp. He’d slept all night and most of the next day. Rubbing a hand over his stomach, to assure himself it was all there, he guessed healing Nothing took more out of him than he’d thought. Tentatively, he took off his glove, wriggling the wrinkled, white fingers of his left hand. The tingle of his magic was faint, weak. So much had been used on rebuilding Nothing’s body he doubted he’d be able to fix a bout of hiccups any time soon. On the bright side, it seemed everyone had been right and no wounded had arrived. Gabe was certain, near miraculous healing or not, someone would have woken him if wounded had shown up.
Shaking his head free of the dregs of grogginess, he trekked to the showers. The hot water revived him partway and coffee in the mess tent finished the job. The idle chatter in the mess was all about the Alarian retreat and where Negron Battalion might end up. Unsure of how he felt about it all, Gabe went to the hospital.
Nothing stood just inside the doors, arms crossed, expression grim, a silent sentinel. Rafe was sprawled across his bed, sleeping, and Dina, rumpled and bedraggled, was busy tidying up. Gabe went to Dina, taking the pile of fresh sheets from her.
“Have you been here all night and day?”
“I slept, I’m fine.” She tried to take the sheets back.
Gabe held them behind his back. “Have you eaten?”
“I had some bread when I woke. Mage Castillo, please give me the sheets back. I have to prepare the beds.”
“Somehow I don’t think we’re going to get any wounded and I’m not convinced you’re all right. Why isn’t Nacio or Agata here? Isn’t it their shift?”
Dina pushed her untidy hair back from her face, accentuating the dark shadows under her eyes and the strain around her mouth. “I sent them away. I didn’t think they should see Rafe or him.” She waved to Nothing. “They deserve a day of rest anyway.”
Gabe put the sheets down and grabbed her arms before she could retrieve them. “If they deserve a day of rest, then you deserve two. Dina, I’m sorry for how I behaved yesterday. I was in a bad mood and confused about, you know, him.”
“I’ve forgiven you,” she said, trying to twist out of his hold.
Realising she didn’t want to be near him, he let her go and stood back. “I’m sorry.” Repeating it couldn’t hurt, surely. “I know I’m not the easiest person to work with, especially lately, and I just
want you to know you’re amazing.”
Dina paused in mid grab for the sheets. “Pardon?”
“You’re the best Sacerdio I’ve ever worked with. You take care of me when I’m exhausted or being a bastard and don’t deserve any kindness. I know I’ve taken shameless advantage of your good nature and dedication. So I want you to go rest and eat something decent. I’ll take care of the hospital for a while.”
She looked as if he’d just punched her in the stomach. Before he could work out what he’d said wrong, Dina pushed past him, stalked by Nothing and out of the hospital, doors slamming shut behind her.
Gabe stared at the doors, then at Nothing, who just shook his head in disgust.
“I don’t understand,” Gabe said to him.
“No, you don’t.”
Rather than get into a discussion about Dina with Nothing, Gabe went to Rafe. The boy was sleeping deeply, a small trickle of drool tracing down his cheek to a wet patch on the pillow.
“The Sacerdio’s keeping him asleep,” Nothing supplied. “So he won’t aggravate his wounds before you can heal him.”
Gabe touched Rafe’s head, feeling for the drug. It was there, perfectly dosed for a deep, therapeutic sleep. Why would Dina keep him asleep? Her excuse was decent enough for someone who didn’t know much about healing, but to Gabe, it smacked of intervention of a different sort. Nothing had come to fetch the boy home but he seemed willing to wait until Rafe was well. The boy had a few cracked ribs, a fairly enthusiastic knock would break them fully, and his knee was damaged enough to make walking annoying but running not impossible. Neither was too debilitating; sitting in a dirigible on the way back to Ibarra would only do him good. If Nothing really was the Immortal Soldier—something Gabe had to admit when he allowed himself to think about it—then he would have seen his share of injuries over the years... centuries. Nothing would know Rafe could be moved. So why was the boy still here?
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