Steelhands - Jaida Jones [134]
He was leaving, I realized, so that he would not commit some kind of criminal offense in my apartment. Of all the types of people in the world, flippant ones like Troius were Adamo’s least favorite, and I knew how he felt wasting his time on people he thought were idiots.
Troius was a lucky man—though from the expression on his face, he had no idea about the terrible fate he’d just dodged.
I locked Adamo out, with appropriate thanks, then turned to face my remaining guest.
“Wow,” Troius said, letting out a low whistle. “Would you believe it? The Adamo. Chief Sergeant of the Dragon Corps, the big statue himself. He’s about the same size as his memorial, unlike you. Pretty impressive. Does he stop by often?”
“Because of the fever,” I explained, moving to stand by him, so I could try some of the bread for myself. Troius was right; it was so stale I nearly chipped a tooth.
“Looking after you, just like a mother,” Troius said. “Isn’t that thoughtful? He doesn’t seem the type. Did he say Luvander was coming, too?”
“Another of my fellow airmen,” I said.
“Of course,” Troius replied. “Naturally. You all get together regularly, then? I suppose they were worried about you, and those voices you were hearing. I would be, anyway, if I were them.”
For a moment, I was too taken aback to say anything. In that instant, Troius’s face changed from one of curiosity to sheepishness, and he slapped himself on the forehead. “I really am sorry,” he said. “I might as well skip work myself, today, at the rate I’m going. Some days you always step in it, don’t you? And here I am, still chewing your ear off, when you’re trying to recuperate. I just thought you might like a little distraction—but I’ve probably been too distracting, chasing your friend off and eating your cheese. If it can still be called that,” he added, with a quiet laugh. “Sorry about that, Balfour. Really.”
“It’s all right,” I told him. “Adamo’s like that with practically everyone. And the bread is stale. I can’t even imagine what the cheese tastes like.”
“I’ll get out of your hair, leave you to recover on your own,” Troius said, clapping me on the shoulder. “Don’t think twice about me—suffering all alone with Auria and Chanteur, the lone brave soldier left on a bleak frontier—and no, don’t follow me; I’ll see myself out.” He paused by the door, one hand on the knob. “It’s just good to know you’re feeling better,” he said earnestly. “I always worry about you.”
“That’s really not necessary,” I murmured, staring at the floor. “I haven’t even written home about it.”
“No need to worry Mother, eh?” Troius asked, his cheeky grin returning, before he disappeared out the door.
At least, I told myself when he was gone, I wasn’t cleaning up the stain he left behind on the floor when Adamo was through with him. And it would make a fabulous story for Luvander when he arrived. Finally, I had something with which to repay him after all he’d done for me.
TEN
LAURE
I’d managed to put the appointment off for two weeks, but I woke that morning with a feeling of dread after not sleeping too well—my dreams were full of anxious noise and not much else—knowing for certain they weren’t going to let themselves be brushed off any longer. The nervous fog followed me out of bed while I got dressed and trudged downstairs, shrugging off Toverre the way I’d been doing lately—making his face scrunch up in hurt though he didn’t say anything about it.
My suspicions were confirmed when I found the summons in my mailbox, printed in capital letters. It told me just what I’d been expecting—and I didn’t have to be some prophetic Margrave with well water in my veins to have predicted it coming.
If I missed another appointment, then I was in deep dung.
Those weren’t the exact words, of course, but I knew when someone was fuming mad and trying to be nice about it, holding off on the curses because they thought honey’d catch more flies than vinegar. Professional or not, these physicians sure were persistent, and there wasn’t much point in saying no to them any longer. My appointment