Reign of Shadows - Deborah Chester [13]
“Sit up, please,” Agel said coldly. “If you’re too weak, I’ll assist you.”
Caelan levered himself slowly upright, finding himself absurdly weak. Pain flared across his back, making him suck in a sharp breath, and with it came clear recollection of his attempt to join the army, the soldiers who had robbed him and speared him, leaving him for dead in a ditch.
Meanwhile Agel had started undoing his dressings. Caelan tried to catch his cousin’s eye.
“I remember,” he said. “The soldiers tried to kill me.”
Agel’s hands went on working with gentle skill.
“How did I get back?” Caelan asked.
Agel said nothing.
Caelan sighed, then winced. At once Agel stopped and reached for a damp sponge to soak a place where the dressing had stuck to skin.
“I asked you a question,” Caelan said.
Agel evaded his gaze and made no answer.
Footsteps outside the screen made both boys look up. Master Grigori entered with his hands tucked austerely inside his sleeves. His white robe was stained with blood splatters. His eyes held the cool blankness of severance.
Agel stepped aside, and in silence Master Grigori examined Caelan’s back. His fingers were warm on Caelan’s skin. His probing was gentle, pausing at each place when Caelan winced. His touch drew away the pain, leaving behind a gentle tingle. A sense of well-being seeped through Caelan. He felt stronger already.
Finally Master Grigori stepped back. “That will do,” he said, glancing at Agel. ‘The wound is closed and will finish healing quickly in a day or two. Bandage him so he doesn’t forget to protect the area, then arrange his release from the infirmary.”
Agel bowed. “Yes.”
“Thank you, Master Grigori,” Caelan said, but the healer turned on his heel and left without another glance at Caelan.
“So it’s to be the silent treatment, is it?” Caelan muttered angrily.
Saying nothing, Agel rebandaged him with quick efficiency. “Your clothes are in the basket,” he said, pointing at the foot of the cot.
Resentfully Caelan flung off his blanket and dug out his clothing. He found a fresh shirt and leggings and a replacement novice robe, all clean items from his quarters.
He dressed while Agel stripped the bedding from the cot and removed it. By the time Agel returned, rolling down his sleeves, Caelan was ready.
In silence they left the infirmary and walked across the courtyard. The day held the warm golden light of mid- afternoon. Serfs were baking bread in the large, outdoor ovens. The fragrance of the loaves was intoxicating. Caelan closed his eyes and drank it in.
“I could swoon from hunger,” he said. “How long have I been unconscious?”
Agel walked steadily beside him, not looking at him, not replying.
Caelan’s anger flamed higher. He grabbed an apple from a basket and munched on it as they entered the hall, shadowy and silent, its vaulted ceiling soaring high above their heads.
Novices were arranging the long trestle tables and benches for the evening meal as part of after-class chores. Some of them looked up at Caelan with open mouths and astonished eyes. Others turned away with frowns.
At the entrance to the quarters stood a hooded proctor. Caelan tensed involuntarily, but the proctor let them pass without question. They climbed the broad staircase to the fourth floor and walked down the silent corridor. Agel pushed open the door to Caelan’s room, and Caelan walked inside.
Agel started to shut the door on him without entering, but Caelan gripped him by the front of his robe and pulled him inside. Slamming the door with a bang that echoed down the corridor, Caelan released Agel and stood with his back to the door.
“Now you can talk,” Caelan said, glaring at him. “How was I found? How long have I been unconscious?”
Agel compressed his lips, but Caelan strode over to him and gripped him by the arm. Agel jerked away from his touch, and the two boys glared at each other, nostrils flaring and eyes hot, for a long moment.
“Talk!” Caelan said.
“It’s forbidden.”
Caelan snorted and swung away.