Steelhands - Jaida Jones [78]
“If he was recalled home, then surely someone would know,” Toverre pointed out.
“I hadn’t heard anything about him moving out,” I agreed. “He couldn’t just go and leave all his things behind, either.”
“You don’t think …” Toverre held the spoon back, apparently unaware that I was leaning toward it for my next mouthful. “Laure, you don’t think he’s run afoul of anyone rough in the city, do you? Or that he might have even … ventured into Molly?”
“No, I don’t think that,” I told him, reaching over to take the spoon for myself now that I felt a little less shaky. I could see that my getting sick was even worse for Toverre—despite how much he complained—because this way, Toverre’d had all that time to let his imagination run away with him. “Gaeth’s big. He’s not stupid, either. Boy like that can take care of himself. Probably even better than me, but you never heard me say that. Might be the fever talking. Gimme that soup bowl.”
“Hm,” said Toverre, but he didn’t look all that convinced.
Not everyone, I thought, was as madcap romance crazy as Toverre. His problem wasn’t just being like that, but assuming everyone else was as crazy as he.
“Then let’s look for him today,” I said. I was eating a bit more quickly now that the soup wasn’t quite so piping hot, and my stomach was growling loudly every time I tried to think. “He’s got to be somewhere. Nobody just disappears like that. He’s more careful about where he goes and who he talks to than we are. Anyway, we’ve run into him more than once in the city, so I think we probably have a good idea of what places he likes to go and when he likes to go there. It’ll be a little like your stalking, only not as ridiculously creepy.”
“I have seen the error of my ways with regard to that particular endeavor,” Toverre assured me, which meant he’d be back at it in no time the minute another pretty face crossed his path. “And we will not be embarking on any wild-goose chases before you’ve cleaned yourself up and talked to your professors. If you think it’s bad when I write home for you, I can imagine you won’t want the ’Versity doing it.”
“You imagine right,” I said, tilting the bowl of soup so I could drain it down to the bottom.
Toverre winced, and I gave him my very best smile, licking my lips.
“Good soup,” I said. “Thanks.”
“You are feeling better, aren’t you?” Toverre asked, taking the empty bowl and spoon from me and setting it down on the table instead of immediately spiriting it back to the kitchen to scrub it out. That, more than anything, told me how worried he must have been. It was almost enough to make a girl feel guilty. But it wasn’t my fault for being sick, and I shoved those silly thoughts aside.
“Well, enough to do all the things you said, and look for Gaeth on top of that,” I said, oozing out of bed. “If he’s sick like I was, and he didn’t have you to look after him, who knows what might’ve happened? Could’ve passed out on the Rue or something, and with nobody here to check up on him all the time …” I shook my head, feeling sorry for him. Being sick like that had been no fun at all, and I suspected even someone as stalwart as Gaeth must’ve had trouble with it.
Standing up made the world seem a little less dire, and even though I wasn’t about to go dancing through the streets or start up a game with Thib in the halls, I was happy to be feeling more like myself again.
Unfortunately, I didn’t look like myself. There were big bags under my eyes, and my skin was pale, and when I made a face at Toverre’s mirror, I looked like the ghoul from a children’s story.
“I really think some inquiries ought to be made into the reputation of that physician,” Toverre said, standing along with me—presumably in case I toppled over, and so he could catch me before I fell on my ass. I’d’ve liked to see him try to catch me. “The things I’ve heard indicate a severe lack of care for one’s patients.